Chapter 135
Gathering Darkness
To this day I have no idea what Sauron actually did. I have no doubt that it was nasty and horribly intimidating, but I have no idea how he actually went about it. Then again, I am not magical, as anyone who knows me will doubtlessly agree. The how was not important in the great scheme of things anyway.
We kept on moving in spite of it and don't go thinking that was in any way easy. Most of us still wanted to run, myself included. I had tangled with orcs and even Nazgûl, but Sauron himself was quite a step up from anything I had dealt with before. The idea presented itself to me that we were on something of a mission impossible.
We went on regardless.
It later turned out that Faramir had been the one who kept his head when all about him were losing theirs. Faced with the possibility of a mass flight, he instructed Teddy's rider to keep moving. This was not the hardship that it would seem, since Mûmakil are not that easy to deter from their chosen path. Teddy would have kept on walking anyway and so the only thing Faramir had to do was to tell the rider not to give the command to stop.
Sometimes a solution really can be that easy.
That wasn't to say that the mood was not somewhat volatile. Many men muttered among themselves as to the wisdom of this plan, but their leaders were showing no signs of backing down and honestly, after I had given the good example, they couldn't not follow. Battle-hardened soldiers who didn't dare to go where a woman went? They'd never hear the end of it and so they did the only thing they could do.
They set off after me.
Thank goodness.
Of course this phenomenon could not pass the Fellowship by unnoticed. Hell, I don't think it could pass anyone by unnoticed in a radius of at least a hundred miles. They were closer than we were and so they could see how it all began…
Thráin
The first thing they knew was a low tremor in the ground beneath their feet. Thráin noticed it even before the others did, seemingly even before the elf. Then again, he was a dwarf, by nature attuned to anything that happened in the ground. He paused, waited, but the tremor subsided and the earth was still again.
'You felt it too?' Gimli asked. He was not looking well at all.
Thráin nodded. 'Aye.'
'Felt what, Mr Gimli?' asked Sam from his place on Thráin's back. He had been quiet for the duration of the day's march, so Thráin suspected that the Ring troubled him a great deal, but he had uttered no complaints. He was just uncharacteristically silent.
'Tremors, Sam,' Gimli answered. 'Such as one might feel before a collapse in mines lower down.'
Or an earthquake, Thráin thought. Erebor was not prone to them, but he'd travelled far and wide and had so through coincidence become acquainted with the phenomenon. It had been on his one visit to Harad, decades ago. He had come to a little market town in search of work. He had barely finished setting up shop on his first day there when he felt the tremors. No one else seemed to feel them and they subsided quickly enough.
But not for long.
There had been no warning. One moment it was a busy morning in a small town, with people going about their business like it was any other day. The next moment the ground heaved beneath his feet. Dwarves as a race were sure-footed and slow to stumble, but he had fallen over just like everyone and everything else. There was nothing else for it but to hold on for dear life and pray that he would make it out alive.
He had, but more through sheer luck than anything else. The ground tossed and rolled like a ship in a storm for endless moments. Then it ended just as abruptly as it had begun. Most of the buildings in the town had collapsed and many people didn't get up again. In the absence of something better to blame, folk had been quick to point the finger at the stranger, so he had been run out of town within the hour.
That was a tale he may have neglected to tell on his safe return home. Subsequently the earthquake and the people's response had played a large part in his decision never to return there ever again.
'There aren't any mines here,' Legolas observed. His keen eyes had seen the no doubt troubled expression on Thráin's face. 'What is it you fear?'
He would have answered, but the tremors returned and stronger this time. They all felt them now, so there was no need for him to answer anyway. Once again, they eased off after a few moments, but there was no mistaking the fact that they had been there.
He met Frodo's eyes. 'The Ring,' the hobbit said. 'It likes this.'
Of course it would. Anything that caused uncertainty and misery would get its seal of approval. It might even know what this was. If it did, of course it would not share this with the Fellowship. Rather it would see them linger in doubt and fear.
There was no lingering on the first score, but they were all afraid when the tremors started up a third time and this time they did not stop. It was not like the earthquake, but the ground moved. 'Down!' Thráin commanded. He gave the good example himself even with Sam still clinging to his shoulders like it was the only lifeline he had.
They all did as they were told, but although he feared the shaking would get worse, it didn't. This was not a natural occurrence, Thráin found as he looked in the direction of Barad-dûr. The tower could be seen from a distance, although not clearly. It couldn't be seen now either, but only because it was shrouded in darkness.
Thráin strained his eyes to get a clearer look, but the land must be playing tricks on him again, because try as he might he could not get a clear vision of what was happening. Aye, there was darkness there, but what did it consist of? Not clouds. Clouds had structure to them, an actual physical shape that this did not seem to have. Yet there was substance to this darkness that shadows did not possess, so by necessity he must also rule that out.
'It is only darkness,' said Legolas, who must have guessed his question. 'Pure darkness such as this world has not seen in a long time. Something must have woken Sauron's wrath.'
He wondered if it could have been the Fellowship, but decided against it. If Sauron knew that the Fellowship was here, still carrying his Ring, he would have them dealt with ruthlessly. He would not start this until after the Ring was back in his possession.
Legolas's thoughts ran along the same line. 'This is a show of force,' the elf decided. 'Something has challenged him.'
Thráin thought of all the friends beyond the borders of this land and feared for them.
As the last word left Legolas's mouth the darkness around Barad-dûr intensified and grew even denser. Then, without further warning, it shot up into the air, a column of pure darkness. Once it had reached the height Sauron wished it to, it began to spread out, swiftly and surely, obscuring the dark clouds that already hung over the land. What light there had been vanished with frightening rapidity.
Frodo reached out for Thráin's hand and he gave it without hesitation. There was little enough comfort to be had here and this he had not anticipated. The book never mentioned it and by now he could no longer be sure what was happening in the world beyond. The last he knew was that Sauron launched his great assault upon Gondor, but that was where his knowledge ended. He had lost track of Aragorn, Boromir and Beth even longer ago. Maker only knew where they were and what they were doing. And what of Merry and Pippin? How had they got on? Was the book right about them? Was it anything they had done that had prompted Sauron to take such drastic action?
He didn't know and he wasn't likely to know either. Besides, he had more imminent problems to concern him, because the light they'd had so far was fading fast. The sun had not shone on Mordor for a long while, but there had been some light. Aye, it was twilight, in fiery hues, but they'd been able to see where they were going.
Night had come at last.
He looked up at the darkness above his head, covering ever more of the sky, spreading out like a bottle of ink spilled over empty parchment. It was the same sort of inky blackness. And yet there was a limit to how far it could extend its reach. When it reached the borders it stopped. It simply stopped spreading, as though it had come up against an invisible barrier.
'There is hope in that,' said Legolas, who had observed the same thing.
'His power does not extend beyond the borders of this land,' Gimli agreed, sounding a little pleased. 'That is good. That is very good indeed.'
Not all that long ago it had. They all remembered that. Thráin did not remember when the clouds no longer extended beyond the mountains that formed Mordor's natural boundaries – he had been a little busy with more important matters of late – but just a few days ago he'd happened to glance in that general direction and discovered that they were gone. He knew the battle for Gondor would end in a decisive defeat for Sauron, at least if the book was right, but it was nevertheless good to find that it behaved itself for the time being.
Of course those days were now at an end, because it had utterly failed to foretell this.
He was relieved to find that the darkness stayed up high in the air and did not descend to cover all below in darkness. It was hard enough seeing anything, but it would have been impossible entirely if it had also descended.
'What now?' asked Sam. It wasn't often that he was downcast, but lately it would seem that all was against them. Nothing would go right. The closer they came to their goal, the more obstacles were thrown in their path. It was disheartening. It was utterly disheartening and yet they could not give up.
'We go on.' He was a dwarf and therefore nothing if not stubborn. 'The road behind us is now longer than the one ahead.'
He estimated maybe two more days. Mount Doom was before them, tall and imposing, lighting up from within from time to time. Smoke curled lazily towards the sky from the top, a clear warning not to underestimate what it was capable of. He knew that it had erupted often in the last decades from what Faramir had told him. It had better not do so before the Fellowship got there.
Gimli nodded vigorously. 'Aye, that's right. Don't you worry, Sam, we dwarves can see well under mountains, so our eyes will not abandon us under the Enemy's darkness.'
'No elf has ever been hindered by the dark.' Legolas evidently felt that he too should present his credentials. 'Even if your eyes fail you, ours will not and we will be your guides.'
Frodo nodded. 'I can barely see at all except for the glow of Mount Doom in the distance.'
'It will grow stronger when we are closer,' Thráin said, offering comfort in the only way he could. 'And once we have fulfilled our purpose, this darkness will vanish like clouds after a storm.' And he could only hope he lived long enough afterwards to appreciate it. 'Come, Sam, it is time we were away. Will you climb on my back again?'
He gave the good example himself by rising to his feet again. They had only marched for some hours. He could walk some more before he truly needed the rest. Aye, he would have appreciated to rest now and if not for this darkness, he might have agreed to a short break. This occurrence had restored a sense of urgency. Something in the world beyond had prompted Sauron into making a show of force. He had been challenged, as Legolas had surmised. Sauron was not yet without power. He could yet do so much damage to those Thráin held dear.
Two days, he pleaded, though he could not have said with whom he pleaded in the first place. Two days is all we need. Keep them safe until then.
The Fellowship scrambled to its feet again. No one protested in any way, for which he was grateful. Then again, these were not folk who idled about when there were more important matters to concern them. They were occasionally downcast and all of them had known despair, but when push came to shove their resolve had never truly wavered. These were folk he now trusted with his life.
Sam hopped onto his back and Frodo stood next to Gimli to support him where he could. Legolas hoisted the barrel on his back and secured the straps keeping it in place with only a little help from Thráin. Truly, there was nothing more to say.
'It doesn't like this,' Frodo reported once they were on their way again.
'I did not think that it would,' Gimli agreed.
Even before Frodo said it, Thráin felt it and he had little doubt that the others felt it too. He had observed for some days now that it was working hard to bring them down beyond its more obvious attacks. None of them felt rested after sleep, they tired more easily and they had all experienced a loss of appetite. Their supplies were dwindling, but they were not making much of a dent in them at this moment either. It no longer whispered in their ears – Frodo being the sole exception, so it seemed – in order to focus all its efforts to bring them down before they made it to their goal.
And so we cannot let it.
'We shall walk for another two hours,' he decided, because now that the Fellowship had officially placed him in charge, he could make these decisions for them. 'Then we shall rest for half an hour and all of us shall eat.' This was not a question, but a dire necessity. 'We shall eat and drink well and then be on our way again for another three hours, after which we shall make camp for the night.'
No one uttered any protest.
The plan worked well for about two hours. They walked and no one fell, though Thráin could tell that Gimli was in trouble. If he believed that he could make a difference here, he would have demanded to let him have another look at the wound, but there was nothing he could do but refresh the bandages and they were running out of those as well. Just two more days, he begged again. Grant us that.
'I have no appetite,' Gimli said when they sat down. Even with the little light they had it was plain to see that he was desperately unwell. They were all dusty and sweaty, but Gimli's complexion was ashen.
'You must eat.' He would not budge on this score; it was too important to let slide. 'This is what the Ring wants.' He held the piece of lembas under Gimli's nose.
His kinsman pushed it away, disgust writ large on his face. 'I shall bring it up again if you force me,' he warned and indeed his face began to take on greenish hues. 'I won't be able to keep it down, so don't waste it on me.'
'You are as disgustingly self-sacrificing as your kinsman,' Legolas complained loudly. His composure had been hanging by a thread for some time and now, it seemed, it had been stretched beyond breaking point. 'I have quite against my wishes grown accustomed to the quite frankly ridiculous notions that Thráin will dream up and execute at his own expense, but I did not think to look for it in you as well.'
Thráin hoped that this was part of some scheme and not, as his every instinct told him, an insult to the dwarves in general. Since he had no way to ask, he played along: 'His father accompanied mine on the quest to retake Erebor from a dragon. Why you think to look for good sense in his son is a mystery to me.'
Glóin had often taken great pride in being the most sensible one in all of the company, and truth be told, he probably had been. Gimli bristled at this affront to his family as well he should, glaring at the elf and Thráin in turn. He would apologise later when they both got away alive. If they got away alive.
Legolas was indeed doing what Thráin thought he was doing. 'That clarifies many things that have passed these past months,' he remarked in the most haughty manner he could. He'd best tone it down just a little unless he wanted Gimli to plant a fist in his face, but self-preservation did not feature prominently on an elf's list of priorities either. 'Perhaps it was too much to ask for sense in a dwarf, so I shall once more lower my expectations.'
Gimli's glare could have incinerated a lake of water. 'Pass me the bread, Thráin,' he ordered.
'Did you not say that you would not be able to keep it down?' Thráin asked innocently.
Gimli snatched the bread out of Thráin's hand. 'We shall see about that.' He made it sound like a challenge. He took a bite, chewed and swallowed. His face turned greener, but he did not bring it up again, perhaps through sheer determination. Then he took another bite, and another until the lembas was gone. By then it appeared a struggle not to throw up, but Gimli fought the battle against his body and won. 'Insensible indeed! Pay no heed to the elf, young hobbits.' The tirade ended in general unintelligible grumbling.
Thráin inclined his head to Legolas in thanks when the others were not looking.
He could only hope that next time they'd be as lucky again.
But he did not think so.
Duria
At first Duria believed that she had misheard, but Thoren did not burst into laughter to tell her that it was all some jest at her expense. He looked too serious for that at any rate, so that must mean that he was in earnest.
'Did he ask or did you offer?' she demanded.
'A little of both,' her brother said. Someone swathed in bandages from the neck down had no right to look so calm and serene. He shouldn't have that look in his eyes either, the one that wondered if her somewhat heated response was a sign of madness that he had not seen before. 'Why does this trouble you so?'
Duria crossed her arms over her chest, as only made sense, seeing how she was under attack. From an invalid. 'I worry about him.'
The him in question currently shared Thoren's bed. Harry lay curled up against Thoren, thumb in his mouth and Dari's fluffy toy clenched securely under his arm, sleeping deeply. He looked more peaceful than Duria had seen him of late.
'Because he did not come to you for comfort?'
Duria squirmed and looked at her feet. The honest answer was yes, that was the source of her frustration. Harry had stayed with her before and he had taken a shine to her lads. It stood to reason that now that Jack had… died – even in her mind she still shied away from using the word – he would move back in with her. To that end she had already made up the bed she thought of as his.
And now he didn't want it.
Because he had already chosen Thoren over her.
Attack was often the best form of defence, so off she went. 'Why did he come to you anyway?' she demanded. 'He barely knows you, you've been away so much.'
It was Elvaethor who supplied the answer: 'He already has a mother, Duria,' he said kindly and not without compassion. 'Yet it is a father that he lacks and a father he craves.'
In some way this did sound very logical. Truly, she tried not to feel hurt as being passed over in favour of one of her brothers yet again. It was not as if she begrudged Harry something good. If Thoren was where he found some comfort and consolation, she would not stand in his way of obtaining it.
But it did hurt.
She would however sooner wed an orc than admit to it.
'You'll still see him,' Thoren pointed out. 'I won't hold him as my captive.'
She knew that. But she also knew that she'd see less of him. If she hadn't known that Thoren was to be moved to his own rooms today to recover further – the beds were sorely needed here and he was now out of danger – she would have said that at least for the time being he could remain with her, but that was out of the question.
'I know that,' she snapped at him.
'Then why…?'
She fiddled with the braids in her beard to delay the answer that fortunately she was not called upon to give at all. The door opened to admit Víli, pushing some contraption on wheels into the room. Kíli and Nes trailed in after him, looking rather pleased with themselves, although there was no reason for this that Duria could see.
'What in Durin's name…?' she demanded. From the corner of her eye she could see Thoren's lips twitch, as though he was suppressing a smile. He knew about this?
'Master Elvaethor, good friend, the time has come to release you from captivity,' Víli announced. 'You are to come with us.'
Elvaethor blinked. This was all the visual indication he gave of his surprise. 'I have been given to understand that my injuries require close watching for some time yet, Master Víli.'
'Cousin Víli, if you please.' Víli had the nerve to grin at him. 'And in return I shall from now on refer to you in the same manner.'
'A very acceptable offer,' Elvaethor said, inclining his head. 'Yet I fear the healers will not yet hear of me leaving their care.'
'They won't hear of you walking out of these rooms, it's true,' Kíli nodded. 'Which is why we brought this.' He indicated the contraption with a certain amount of badly disguised pride.
Duria blinked at it.
Then blinked again.
Truth be told, she had no idea what exactly she was looking at, but the first recognisable bit that caught her eye was a chair. It was one of those fairly comfortable yet practical chairs that was used for formal occasions, usually feasts to welcome important folk from abroad. The legs however had been severely shortened in order to attach some wheels at the ends, so that it could be rolled around. A footrest had been made as well so that the occupant may keep the feet off the floor.
'Oh cool,' said Harry, who had woken up when the visitors entered and followed the proceedings with bright-eyed interest. 'A wheelchair.'
'A what?' asked Nes.
'A wheelchair,' Harry repeated. 'Granny had to sit in one for weeks when she'd broken her leg and then Thomas and I pushed her around the house. You have them too! That's so cool!'
No one said that this so-called wheelchair was a somewhat more recent invention here than it was apparently in the world where Harry came from. No one corrected him. They did all however watch as he hopped off the bed to inspect the thing in more detail.
'It looks nicer than the one granny had,' he judged. 'Much nicer. Does it have brakes too? Granny's had brakes.'
'Oh, there's a notion,' Nes said, perking up. 'We'll have to add that to the next one.'
'The next one?' Duria parroted.
Víli nodded. 'I'll reckon there'll be a demand for them once the war's done. Lot of folk have lost their legs or the use of them, so Nes and I put our heads together to see what could be done about it. This way, they'll be able to get around by themselves and they'll still have a life.'
That shut her up for a bit. Of course the dwarves had fought wars before, but she had never seen death and mutilation quite on this scale before. And here was her immeasurably foolish and careless cousin coming up with what amounted to a very thoughtful idea. She had not expected it of him and so she was rendered speechless for a minute.
'So, what'd you think, Cousin Elvaethor?' Kíli asked. 'We've already wheeled Víli around in it, so it's almost definitely safe.'
Duria cast her eyes over the thing again and pointed out the obvious flaw in his reasoning. 'How about the stairs?' Erebor was rich in stairs and this thing was not going to go on a staircase. She knew that much.
'Not a problem,' Víli grinned. 'Young Harry here has told us about lifts, I believe he called them. We've been working something out. True, we'll need to perfect it, but I reckon that we can get Elvaethor to his destination in one piece.'
'It looks quite safe,' Thoren judged from his very safe position on the bed.
It looked sturdy, but that did not make it look safe, as far as Duria was concerned. She, for one, did not count wheeling Víli around in it as enough testing. If something went wrong, Elvaethor would be hurt worse than he already was and why could they not just let him heal in peace is what she wanted to know.
Víli's response indicated that she had said some of this out loud. 'There's a war council he needs to attend,' he said briskly. 'You do remember that he is now in charge of our armies, Duria? He hasn't got the leisure to lie in bed all day and apart from the state of his legs there is nothing much wrong with him, so all we had to do was to make sure that he can get to and fro without using his legs.' He gestured proudly at the contraption again. 'And here's the solution.'
Harry had no reservations about testing it himself. He jumped in the chair with enthusiasm and tested the seat and the footrest, leaning back and forth and pretending that he was a great expert. In this case he was not entirely wrong, because out of all of them he was the only one who had seen anything like this before.
'It's good, Mr Elvaethor,' he announced.
'Sure you don't want to be pushed around the room, lad?' Víli asked, twinkle in his eye. 'You'd want to be really, properly sure, wouldn't you?'
Harry accepted that excuse with a big grin. 'Of course.' He settled himself back in the chair and whooped in delight when Víli whirled him around the room with entirely too much speed for Duria's peace of mind. She did tell them to be careful and was utterly ignored by both.
It shouldn't surprise her; it happened so often.
Eventually Harry declared himself satisfied and vacated the contraption so that Elvaethor may take his place. Kíli and Víli helped him out of bed and guided him to the chair. It did not escape her notice that he leaned heavily on them. He winced too when he thought none was watching him.
Duria was.
Nes held the chair still so that he could lower himself into it. Kíli settled his feet on the footrest and Víli draped a blanket over his legs. They stepped back to admire their handiwork and nodded in satisfaction.
'This will do,' Kíli declared. 'And this way none shall see that you're in a state of undress from the waist down, so that's all for the better.' He had the audacity to grin about it.
Duria would have taken him to task for it if Elvaethor had indicated his displeasure with this. She might have said something about it anyway, had he not beaten her to it: 'I have seldom travelled in such comfort, my friends, dressed or not.' He grinned back in genuine good humour; for a moment the shadow lifted from his eyes.
It remained to be seen if he was still of the same mind after Kíli and Víli had raced him through the streets – before her mind's eye she could so easily picture a scenario where they accidentally crashed him against a wall or off a bridge into the abyss – so she resolved to come with them to keep a weather eye out for potential trouble. Loath as she was to leave Harry with Thoren, she knew he could come to no great harm there.
Kíli took control over the contraption – wheelchair – by virtue of being older than his brother. He was more sensible than Víli too, though not by much. She had worried in vain about his steering though; he manoeuvred Elvaethor through the streets with an ease that betrayed he had indeed practiced this before he risked Elvaethor.
'Where are we going?' she demanded, trotting to keep up.
'Are you coming?' Víli asked. He wrinkled his nose. They'd never got along well.
She ignored that. 'Where are we going? This is not the way to the council chambers.'
He rolled his eyes. 'I never said that's where we went.'
'I distinctly remember you told me that Elvaethor's expected at a war council.' She had not gone forgetful these past minutes. 'Where else would we have them but in the council chambers?'
Privately she wondered how many leaders still remained to attend such a council. Aye, she knew that Thranduil was still standing. So, for that matter, were the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien. Dwalin would be there too, she reckoned, but she didn't recall any of the men still being able to place one foot before the other without aid. Elvaethor was on the whole probably one of the least damaged leaders they could still boast.
At least he could still leave his bed.
'The battlements of course,' Víli said.
'The battlements?' she echoed. 'Will you set him up as bait for the orcs to shoot at? Is that what you're about?'
'Durin's sake, Duria, you don't half shout!' Víli complained, much in the same way as he had always responded to any reasonable point she tried to make. 'He's our leader now, so he needs to see where we all stand. Only then can he be any use in actual battle, can he?'
She meant to demand if they were intending to send Elvaethor into battle in the state that he was in, but by now all this trotting had made her rather short of breath and she could not actually get the question out, which suited Víli well enough.
By now Kíli and Nes were quite a way ahead with Elvaethor. She was not anywhere near enough to get to her brother before they rolled him in another sort of contraption that was pulled up so that he did not have to use the stairs. Shouts of triumph and encouragement rang out when it appeared that this was working as it had been intended.
She doubted it had been properly tested.
Seeing no other solution, she raced up the stairs. She reached the top just as Elvaethor was wheeled out to the hearty congratulations and well-wishes of the bystanders. She noticed Thranduil lurking at the back, inclining his head to Elvaethor when he caught his eye in a mark of respect.
So he should, Duria thought. There aren't many who can claim to have slain a Nazgûl. She tried not to linger too long on the thought that three of those folk were her own brothers.
Oh, Jack.
He should have been here, commanding the armies. He had done so well. He knew what to do. That didn't mean that Elvaethor didn't know and truly, she loved him dearly. But he stood where Jack had stood when they should have stood there together. There was a place that he should have occupied that was now forever empty.
And she kept seeing it everywhere she looked.
She blinked to clear her vision and then stepped out to join the gathering outside. The air was crisp; there'd be frost tonight. The air was clear again after far too long. The Lady Galadriel did not understand it apparently; she'd been convinced that the death of the wraiths could not break Sauron's hold on the weather, but evidently that hold had been broken. She didn't much care why that was.
This left the orcs exposed to daylight and this they did not much care for. She had not thought to look outside for a while and so she had not realised the full extent of what the death of the Nazgûl had wrought.
The bad news was that the orcs were definitely still there and there was no sign of their moving anytime soon. If anything, the light of day allowed her to see just how many of them there were. All they'd had to do was to camp before the gates until the food ran out. Duria was nowhere near as well informed as Cathy, but she did know that their stores were emptier than they ought to have been.
The good news was that it looked like a small war had been waged in the camp itself. A good part had been burned to the ground and bodies were lying everywhere, unburied. Even as she watched a tall orc with a big knife made a start on chopping up one of his erstwhile comrades, presumably for dinner.
She quickly looked away and found that the rest of the camp was in as much of a state as the bits she had already seen. Elvaethor had seen it too. He didn't look exactly pleased. If asked to describe his expression, she would have settled on grim satisfaction.
He turned around in his strange chair and caught Fíli's eyes. 'We may yet break this siege,' he said.
Next time: the Fellowship embarks on its last march. Beth issues a threat. To a horse.
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Until next week!
