Chapter 9: Between Weathertop and the Ettenmoors
"Where are the others?" Frodo whispered after a few moments, opening his eyes again.
"They're here, except for Mr. Strider. He went off somewhere. He'll be back." I turned to Merry and Pippin, who were building up the fire.
"Mr. Pippin, Mr. Merry, come talk to Mr. Frodo."
They came over and knelt beside Frodo.
"Hullo, Frodo." Merry said softly. "How are you feeling?"
Frodo managed the ghost of a smile. "All right."
"Can we get you anything?"
Frodo shook his head. Merry reached over and tucked Frodo's blankets closer around him. "We'll keep the fire going for you."
Frodo nodded again. "Thank you, Merry. Where's Pippin?" he whispered.
"I'm here, Frodo." Pippin moved closer and took Frodo's left hand. In the firelight I could see that his eyes were full of tears.
Frodo tried valiantly to smile. "Pippin—it's all right—I'll be all right."
I could see his chest heaving beneath the blankets.
Pippin nodded, his face working. "I—I know. We'll look after you."
Merry got up and went away into the darkness. Pippin looked at me. I could see the fear in his eyes, and I knew that my face looked the same. Frodo kept his eyes open, staring beyond us into the night. I patted his hand.
"What can we do for you, Mr. Frodo? You want some water or somethin'?"
Frodo shook his head. He was beginning to hold my hand tightly, and suddenly he winced and bit his lips. I stroked his hand as gently as I could.
"You in pain, Mr. Frodo dear?"
He nodded and closed his eyes tightly, but not before I could see the tears welling in his blue eyes. I rubbed his hand softly and held it in my own.
"He's so cold." Pippin murmured. I reached out and took Frodo's other hand in mine. It was cold as ice. Pippin got up and hurried to the fire.
"I can't feel anything with my left hand." Frodo whispered. His breathing quickened. I remembered Strider's charge to keep him calm and quiet, and I kissed his hands softly, one at a time. "It's all right, dear. It's all right."
Frodo nodded, holding onto me tightly and keeping his eyes shut. Suddenly love flamed up in my heart. I had always loved my master, ever since I could remember. And there had been several times on our journey that I had watched him eating or walking or singing to himself, and I had realized plainly that I loved him. But I had never held Frodo's hand or had to comfort him like this, and I was beginning to realize that I loved Frodo dearly. He has his own very special place in my heart. I hated the Black Riders that had hurt him. Mr. Frodo was so good and so brave—couldn't they see that? He deserved so much better than campfires and sleeping on the ground and half rations. And I could do nothing for him but suffer with him.
"Frodo, me dear." I murmured, my voice trembling. "It'll be all right. You hold onto my hand. I won't let go. You're doin' fine. Can I help you with anything?"
Frodo shook his head. "I'm so—frightened—Sam." he breathed. "Just—stay here—please."
"I will, dear. I promise I will."
That seemed to reassure Frodo a little. He kept a tight hold on my hand and took deep gasping breaths. I caressed his hand and spread another blanket over him. Somehow I felt it an honor to be taking care of my master, even if all I could do was to hold his trembling hand in my sturdy little one.
Merry came over with a little kettle of water and knelt at Frodo's side.
"Is he awake?" he whispered.
I nodded.
"Frodo," Merry said softly, "Strider says that we must bathe your wound. I'll be as gentle as I can be, and Sam will keep ahold of your hand."
Frodo nodded. "Do what you must." he said in a raspy whisper. "I will be quiet."
"All right, Frodo. Be brave. You'll be all right." Merry said.
I brushed Frodo's hair back from his forehead. He was beginning to sweat, but he was so cold. I stroked his brow with one hand, trying to comfort him. Frodo's eyes were tightly shut.
"I'm with you, master. I'll be right here." I whispered. He nodded. I stroked his hair softly.
Merry pulled back Frodo's shirt and very gently began to wash the wound on his shoulder with warm water. Frodo winced at the first touch and stayed tense until Merry stopped to wet the cloth again. I kept holding his hand, speaking quietly to him in an effort to distract him a little from the pain.
Frodo grew worse and worse. His face was a bloodless white. His hair grew damp with sweat. Merry bit his lips as he washed Frodo's wound over and over again with the hot water that Pippin brought. We all hated to see Frodo in such pain. I noticed, too, that he was growing slowly weaker. Though he was in agony, his grip on my hand loosened. I kept holding his hand and caressing his brow.
"It'll be all right, master. You're bein' so brave. Just hold on." I whispered.
At last Frodo began to sob, dry, silent sobs that shook his whole body. I could not bear that.
"Come here, Mr Frodo. I'm going to sit you up. That's right. You lean on me now." I laid Frodo's head on my shoulder and held him to my breast. Frodo clutched me and buried his face against my shoulder. I rubbed his back softly.
"Shh, shh. You hold onto me. I won't let you go. Your Sam won't leave you. You doin' all right?"
Frodo tried to nod. His eyes were tightly closed, and he was trembling. I kept rubbing his back.
Merry continued to bathe the wound on Frodo's shoulder. At last he stopped for a while and went to help Pippin build up the fire. Frodo relaxed a little.
"Can I get you anything, Mr Frodo?" I whispered, rocking him slowly back and forth.
"I'm—thirsty."
"All right, master. Hold up now." I beckoned Pippin over to me. "Could you get me my water bottle, Mr Pippin? Strider brought my bag up."
He ran off, and returned momentarily with the bottle. I unscrewed the lid and, supporting Frodo's head with one hand, held the water bottle to his lips with the other. He sucked and swallowed a few times, then turned his head away. Putting the bottle down, I began to stroke his curly hair. His chest heaved with each breath he took.
"You can do it, master. Just hold on. I know it's hurting you. You just lean on me." I whispered, trying to encourage him.
"I'm—all right—Sam." he panted.
I patted him on the back gently. "I know you are. It'll all be all right. You get some sleep now. Shh."
"I—I can't—I'm—afraid—Sam."
"I'll look after you, master. I'll hold you just like this. No one will come near you. Trust your Sam, Mr Frodo."
He moved closer to me, wrapping his fingers around my hand. I kept stroking his hair and whispering softly to him.
"Shh, it's all right. You just relax. Don't be scared, dear. Trust your Sam. I won't leave you, ever. You just hold tight to my hand and put your head on my shoulder and have a rest. There, you're doin' fine." I bent my head protectively over his, stroking his back. At last his head grew heavy against my shoulder and he slept. I held my master gently. I didn't want to wake or startle him. When I was sure that he was really asleep, I carefully arranged his blankets and tucked him in bed. Frodo's hand was so firmly clasped around mine that I couldn't extract my hand. I petted his hand gently and kissed it, and at last he relaxed.
"There." I whispered, smoothing his blankets. "You have a good long sleep. Maybe tomorrow you'll feel better."
Merry and Pippin were taking turns sleeping and watching the fire. I could hear Pippin's soft, even breathing from where he lay, but I fought my own exhaustion. What if Frodo woke suddenly—had a bad dream—or his pain mounted and there was no one there to help him? I opened my eyes wide.
I was glad I hadn't gone to sleep when Frodo took a panting breath and suddenly jerked awake. He wrenched his hand out of my grasp and looked wildly around, struggling to sit up. Impulsively, I gathered him in my arms.
"Mr. Frodo, Mr. Frodo, it's all right."
Realizing who I was, he let out his breath like a sob and clutched me.
"Sam—Sam—I—the Black Riders are here—they—"
"Shh, shh. It's all right. It's all right, dear. Your Sam's got you. You're safe." I put a hand gently on his head. He hid his face against my shoulder, and I stroked his curls.
"It was only a dream, dear. I know you're frightened. Calm down, it's all right. You don't have to worry."
"It hurts, Sam." he whimpered.
"I know. Your Sam knows. You're doin' so good. I'm proud of you, dear. Just breathe deep, that's it. You want to hold my hand?"
I offered my little brown hand, and he took it gladly, holding it close to his heart.
"I—I'm all right, Sam." he gasped after a moment.
"I know you are. You're bein' so brave. It's all right." I rubbed his back as he tried to take deep breaths to calm himself.
"Where's Strider?" he whispered after a while.
"He's not back yet." I didn't tell him that I wondered if Strider was going to return at all. I felt so alone in this big, dark, strange world. I shook my head and took a deep breath.
"That's it, master. Just lean on me. Am I helping you a bit, Mr. Frodo?"
Frodo nodded against my chest. "Please don't stop, Sam."
I squeezed his hand and held him close. "Tell me how you're feelin', dear. Anything I can do for you?"
"Hold me tight, Sam." Frodo whispered.
"I will." I soothed. "I promise, I'll stay right here. Your Sam won't leave you. Shh. You're bein' real brave." I took his hand and kissed it softly, then again affectionately and more passionately. Frodo cuddled against my chest, and I smoothed his curls and rubbed his shoulders and his back.
"There." I murmured. "There, there. Sam's got you, dear. You still in pain?"
Frodo nodded his head, snuggling closer. I kept rubbing his back.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, dear. Tell Sam if there's anything he can do for you. I'm here to help you–I'll do all I can."
Frodo had his eyes closed. He was resting peacefully, and his face was calm and quiet. Only the iron grasp of his fingers around mine told me how much agony he was in. I held my master in my arms and tried to comfort him, doing my best to keep my voice soft and low and to touch Frodo with gentleness and respect. I knew that he deserved all the tenderness and consideration and care I could give him, and more. Once again, I felt honored that Frodo trusted me—that he would hold my hands and let me kiss him and that he would actually cuddle against me when he was sad and hurt and afraid and needed help. I wanted with all my heart to live up to that trust.
Frodo hadn't cried a single tear since he had woken from his faint. I was sure he was exhausted and in pain, and he was obviously fighting the urge to panic. I held him in my arms for hours, hoping that he would be able to fall asleep. At last his eyes closed and his head began to nod against my shoulder, but then he jerked and sat up with a gasp.
"Don't let me fall asleep, Sam." he gasped out.
I put my arms around him and pulled him against me again. "Come here, Mr. Frodo. You can go to sleep. It's all right."
He looked up at me. Then he went pale, and his hand wrapped around my sleeve. He closed his eyes wearily and just held on to my arm.
"It hurting you again, master?" I asked softly.
"I'm all right, Sam. Just tired."
I helped him sit up a little and lay his head on my shoulder. Then I tucked his blankets around him again and began to rub his arm and shoulder.
"It's all right, master. It's all right. I know you're all tired out. Don't worry about a thing. Just get some sleep. Shh, shh."
Slowly Frodo began to relax. "You'll stay with me, Sam?" he murmured sleepily.
"Course I will. If you wake again, I'll be right here."
That seemed to dispel the last of Frodo's worries. He was still pale, and I knew he must be in significant pain, but he was so exhausted that he began to doze anyway. At last Frodo sighed and began to snore gently. I cradled him against my shoulder until I was sure he wouldn't wake again, then laid him in bed and kissed his cold hands.
In the dark just before dawn, Frodo woke again. He was so tired that he lay quietly on his back and simply let me hold his hand. I had long ago run out of things to say, and I sat beside him in silence. Suddenly Strider appeared again. My head snapped up, but he knelt at Frodo's side with a smile and a "It's all right, Sam." for me. Relief flooded over me. I tried to smile back at him.
"How is he?" Strider asked quietly.
"I'm—fine." Frodo whispered.
Strider's eyes met mine. Silently I shook my head, then lifted Frodo's hand and kissed it.
Strider drew a handful of leaves from a pouch on his belt. "These I have searched long to find." he said. "I found it in the dark by the scent of its leaves. It is the athelas plant."
He crushed the leaves into a pot of boiling water.
"Can you help him sit up, Sam?" he asked. "I wish to see the wound better."
I bent and spoke to Frodo. "Come on, Mr. Frodo. I'm going to sit you up now. It's all right."
Carefully I lifted Frodo to a sitting position. He gasped as I moved him, and opened his eyes, which I saw were filled with tears. I pulled him against me.
"It's all right. Mr. Strider has something here to help you. Smell it? Isn't it nice?"
Frodo tried to nod. I stroked his hair. "Look at you, Mr. Frodo. You're doin' just fine! We're all proud of you, bein' so brave. You rest now and don't worry. We'll look after you."
Strider began to carefully wash Frodo's wound with a cloth soaked in the athelas water. At his first touch Frodo winced and his hand closed over mine, but he soon relaxed. The plant seemed to ease the pain, and just the smell of it cleared my mind and comforted me a little. Within moments, Frodo laid his head against my shoulder and fell into an exhausted sleep. I kept holding him, humming a tuneless little song that I made up as I went.
Frodo slept soundly for about twenty minutes. Then, as the sun rose with a pink and golden light, he woke and moved closer to me. I put my arms around him.
"Shh, you just rest, master. Don't worry."
He wrapped his hand around mine and held on, burying his face in my chest.
I couldn't leave Frodo's side. Pippin and Merry made breakfast, though none of us felt much like eating. Then I began the task of trying to get Frodo to eat.
"Come on, master. Just a little. I know you don't feel well, but you've got to eat. Come on. I'll help you."
Frodo tried valiantly. At last he was too exhausted to do anything except lie in my arms and swallow as I tenderly fed him with a spoon. I could tell that he felt a little ashamed of himself, and I tried to bolster his spirits.
"It's all right, Mr. Frodo." I said cheerfully. "Everyone needs help when they're sick. You let me take care of you. It makes me happy, you know. I like to be useful to you. You don't need a gardener out here in the wild, so let me do something else 'till we get back home."
Frodo tried to smile.
As the sun rose, I began to worry. How would we continue our journey if I couldn't walk?
"Sam?" I whispered.
He bent close to me. "Yes, Mr. Frodo?"
"How are we going to go on?" I bit my lip. "I can't walk, Sam." I admitted quietly.
He patted my hand reassuringly. "That's all right. Don't you worry about it. Look, Strider's telling me to come over. I bet you that's what we're going to talk about." He tucked my blankets snugly around me. "Now, I'll be back soon. You lie quiet and don't worry. We'll take good care of you. You'll be all right while I'm gone?"
I didn't want to be left alone, but I nodded. Sam kissed my hand softly and released it, but then he just sat looking at me as if he couldn't tear himself away. Then suddenly he bent and kissed me on the forehead. Blushing bright red, he got up and hurried away. I lay back and closed my eyes. For the first time that night, the shadow of a smile crossed my face. Emotions roiled in my chest. I was ashamed of myself–angry at myself–frustrated at being so helpless–and yet Sam was still patient with me. His words and actions were far beyond what would be required of any servant in the Shire. Was it possible that he truly wanted to be friends–that he was just too afraid to step over the invisible line between gentry and workers? If that was true (and right now it seemed very likely), getting stabbed would be worth it. If I lived.
Sam and the others talked for a few minutes. Then Sam came back.
"We're going to put you on the pony and you can ride. We're heading to Rivendell, fast as we can make it."
I nodded silently. Sam took my hand and caressed it gently.
"You're just not yourself, are you, Mr. Frodo. It'll be all right."
I squeezed Sam's hand, drawing comfort from his gentle touch and voice. He stroked my hair.
"There, it's all right. Lie quiet. I'll stay with you 'till it's time to go."
I felt so strange—anxious and sick and confused and so tired. My only comfort was that Sam seemed to understand, and he did not hold it against me. Because of my foolishness, everyone had lost a night of sleep; they had now to hurry along while carrying the luggage that had used to be the pony's lot. But it was the Ring that had brought me to this fate, through no choice of my own.
"Sam?" I murmured. "I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put it on."
"Mr. Frodo, you couldn't help it. It's magic. You couldn't help it, dear. Now don't you worry anymore. We understand, and we'll help you right to the end."
I pressed Sam's hand gratefully.
I was so tired all day that sometimes I felt that I was going to fall off the pony's back. But when at last we stopped and Strider lifted me off and laid me in bed, I couldn't sleep. I could hear the other hobbits cooking supper. The wind blew cold, but Strider had laid me near the fire and covered me with warm blankets, and he held my hands in his big ones.
"Tell me how you are feeling, Frodo." he said. "Tell me truthfully, and don't be afraid."
"I'm so tired." I murmured. "My shoulder aches awfully. And I'm so cold—" I tried to smile. "And a bit nervous."
"You didn't eat much at dinner. Do you feel hungry?"
I shook my head.
"Can you move your arm at all?"
I tried and shook my head again.
Strider sighed and caressed my hands. "Frodo, I wish to examine the wound again. I am afraid it will be painful, especially if the wound is aching already, but I will have one of the hobbits come and help you. Who would you like to have?"
"Sam, please." I said weakly.
Strider smiled down at me. "Sam is a great comfort to you, is he not."
"Yes, he is." I said. "Sam is a good friend. Do you know, he was the first person to discover that I was leaving the Shire? And he insisted on coming along."
Strider looked over at Sam, who was dishing up sausages for everyone. "He is a worthy servant, and a friend."
A moment later, Sam came over with a plate of food for me.
"You want somethin' to eat, Mr. Frodo?"
I didn't, but I did want to make Sam happy, so I said "Yes, please."
"Sam, I want to examine his shoulder again," the ranger said. "Let him eat first. Then will you help me?"
Sam nodded. Strider lifted me into a sitting position, and he held me upright while Sam cut my food into bite-sized pieces and I clumsily fed myself one-handed. At last I touched Sam's hand.
"I can't eat any more, Sam."
"All right, master. You did just splendid—look at all that!" Sam showed me the half-empty plate. He patted my shoulder and went to put the plate and fork away. When he came back, he knelt at my side and looked seriously at Strider.
"Take him and help him sit upright, Sam." Strider said. I felt Sam's gentle arms around my shoulders, and I leaned a little against his chest.
"Now, Frodo, I am not going to do much except look at the wound, but I may touch the skin around it or move your arm. I will try not to hurt you." Strider said. I looked up into his eyes and saw that his own face was drawn with pain.
"If you cry out, I will understand." he said gently. "No one will blame you."
I nodded and set my teeth, putting my head on Sam's breast. Sam stroked my hair.
Strider unlaced the top of my nightshirt and I felt the wind on my exposed shoulder. His large, gentle fingers probed around the wound, and I winced. That hurt so badly—much worse than I had thought it would. I felt Sam's fingers on my hand, and quickly took his hand and held onto it. Strider moved my arm a little, then felt my shoulder again. A wrenching pain shot through my shoulder and into my chest. I made a soft sound, and Strider looked quickly at me.
"Does it hurt when I move your arm that way?"
I nodded yes, and his face grew very serious.
"Is it a shooting pain?"
"Yes."
"In which direction does it run?"
"Down my arm and through my chest." I let go of Sam's hand and drew a line across my body with my finger to demonstrate.
Strider was trying not to show his anxiety, but both Sam and I caught on. Something was wrong.
"What is it?" I asked weakly. "I would rather know."
Sam nodded his head in agreement, looking appealingly at the ranger.
Strider sighed. "I shall not speak until I am sure. I am sorry, but I shall have to move your arm again. I must examine it closely."
"Do what you need to." I said faintly. Sam took my hand again.
Strider looked respectfully at me and carefully moved my arm back and forth, then up and down. It hurt just as much as it had the first time. I clutched Sam's sturdy little hand, taking a little comfort in the love I knew he felt for me. He touched my cheek and timidly stroked it, holding me tight against him. After moving my arm a few times, Strider said "Frodo, I want to bandage the wound and put a salve on it. It may sting a little. I will make you a sling that you can wear during the day so your arm does not move as much."
I tried to smile bravely at him, and Sam bent and whispered in my ear.
"You're doin' just fine, Mr. Frodo. Does it hurt too much?"
I shook my head, but whispered back "Hold onto me, Sam."
He kept his arm around me.
Strider took a salve from a tiny wooden box and plastered the wound with it. His touch made me wince, and the salve did sting, but I sat quietly. Then Strider wrapped bandages around my chest and shoulder, and fashioned a soft cloth sling that he laid my left arm in.
"That may help a little." he said, taking it off again. "You do not need to wear it when you are lying down, but on the pony's back it may make you more comfortable."
"Thank you, Strider." I said wearily. He smiled at me.
"You may get some rest now." he said, helping me lay down again and putting a pillow under my head. "May you sleep peacefully and wake with new strength."
"I'll stay with him, Strider." Sam said. Aragorn patted Sam's shoulder and stood up and walked away.
Sam made himself comfortable beside me.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Frodo?"
"I feel a bit restless." I said, shifting my weight and pulling my blankets up. "Would you just talk with me for a bit, Sam?"
"'Bout what?"
"Anything."
"All right, Mr. Frodo." Sam groped in his memory for a moment. "Do you remember my cousin Hal?"
I nodded.
"Well, did I ever tell you about that elm tree he saw on the north moors?"
"Elm tree? On the north moors?"
"Just as I said, Mr. Frodo. Cousin Hal saw an elm tree where there ain't no elm trees. And it was walkin'! Six feet to a stride if it was an inch."
I smiled faintly. Then I tensed, and Sam took my hand.
"It hurting you again?"
"I'm all right." I said.
Sam patted my hand. "I know you are. You should get some sleep, Mr Frodo."
I looked wearily up at him, then tried to close my eyes and relax like he wanted me to. But trying hard to relax is rather counterproductive, and the pain was growing so much worse that I kept opening my eyes again to make sure that Sam was still there and that the world was as it should be. At last Sam let go of my hand.
"Put your head in my lap, Mr Frodo. Come on, I'll help you."
He lifted my head, laid it gently in his lap and began to caress my brow. That made me feel a little better. Sam kept stroking my hair and whispering softly to me.
"There. Shh, that's right. You're doin' fine. Let's just relax now, and you can get some sleep and you'll wake up feelin' better. Hush now."
I began to doze. Hazily through my dreams still came the sound of Sam's voice and the feel of his gentle little hand caressing my forehead. My right hand twitched nervously, and Sam took it in his own hand, squeezing my fingers gently.
"It's all right, dear. Shh, shh. I'll hold your hand. Get some sleep."
When I woke again, the moon was setting, but the night was still black and chilly. Sam was gone. I could see three blanket-wrapped lumps on the ground at the other side of the fire, and the figure of Strider sitting up beside them. A puff of pale smoke came from his pipe.
"Strider?" I whispered.
He got up and came to sit next to me.
"What time is it?" I asked.
"Almost dawn. The night is passing."
I swallowed hard and nodded. Strider put a hand on my shoulder in silent reassurance, then helped me tuck a blanket around myself. Suddenly his grave face broke into a slow smile.
"You will forgive me if I still marvel at your size."
I smiled up at him. "I suppose we take getting used to."
"You are as small as a child," Strider said, "And yet you are grown men."
"Pippin isn't." I said in a confidential whisper. "He is just coming out of his tweens. But he wouldn't like you to know that."
Strider laughed and put an arm around my shoulders. "How old is he?"
"Twenty-nine."
"Ah, that explains it."
"What?"
"His unusual—antics."
I laughed softly. "Yes, I suppose so."
"One can pardon many faults in the young." Strider said. "I can see that more clearly, now that I have passed that stage in life."
I put up my hand and began to rub my aching shoulder, trying to ease the pain a little. Strider pulled me against him.
"I hope you do not mind my saying it, but I greatly admire you, Frodo. I know men who would have been almost unable to travel by this time. I am afraid that the poison is redoubled in such a small body as that of a hobbit, and I marvel at your hardihood."
I leaned against him for a moment, grateful for his kind words and his strong arm around me. Then I sighed.
"I shouldn't keep you up, Strider."
"I was already awake." Strider said, helping me ease my aching body back into bed. He covered me with a blanket and laid a hand briefly on my head. "I will keep watch." he said softly. "Sleep well, and without fear."
The moment I woke up the next morning, I scrambled out of bed and went over to Frodo. He lay still, well wrapped in blankets. So Strider had been taking good care of him, then. Good. Trying to be very gentle, I reached out and stroked his cheek.
Frodo opened his eyes and looked sleepily at me. He was pale and wan, with dark circles under his eyes, but he smiled softly.
"Did I wake you up?" I whispered.
"No. I was just resting."
I could tell that he was in pain, but he lay quietly and his eyes were calm. His patience and willingness to suffer touched my heart. I kept stroking his cheek softly.
"How's your shoulder?" I asked after a moment.
Frodo smiled wryly. "Not too bad, Sam." He made an effort to sit up. I put my hands under his arms and helped him up, then sat beside him. Frodo looked at me, and I couldn't resist giving him a little hug and shyly kissing his forehead. Frodo put his head on my shoulder and smiled up at me.
"So, Sam, what now? Still making for Rivendell?"
"Yes sir, just as fast as we can."
Frodo nodded and moved a little closer to me. I took his hand. We sat together for a while. Pippin and Merry and Strider made breakfast, and they brought two plates over for us. Everyone seemed to have reached a silent agreement that looking after Frodo was mainly my responsibility, and they did my share of the manual work so I could stay with my master.
I helped Frodo eat his breakfast one-handed. It had been a day and two nights since he had been stabbed. That day we reached the moors.
A. N.
Thank you so much to everyone who has read this story! You have no idea how much that means to me, literally this is a dream come true. You should have seen me ranting on my blogs about it, I am so excited. And special thanks to iHateFridays for my very first review on this story! I love you forever ❤ everyone enjoy, and if you'd like to review I would LOVE to hear your thoughts! Also, I was listening to Into the West as I edited this chapter, and I was in tears. Stupid Ringwraiths.
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