"I should like to save the Shire, if I could - though there have been times when I thought the inhabitants too stupid and dull for words, and have felt that an earthquake or an invasion of dragons might be good for them. But I don't feel like that now. I feel that as long as the Shire lies behind, safe and comfortable, I shall find wandering more bearable: I shall know that somewhere there is a firm foothold, even if my feet cannot stand there again."
He has grown thin.Thinner than he had ever been when he was here last, and the lines in his cheeks speak of a hobbit who has lost all weight he had gained during his last stay in the City. Shoulders hunched through the now tattered green cloak he wore constantly, the rest of what can be seen of his skin is caked in dust, bruises and scrapes.
Perhaps what is worst is his eyes, purple, bruise-like lines beneath a gaze haunted, heavier than last before, almost disoriented – confused. Last he was past Minas Morgul, where the Shadow had nearly tempted him to walk towards the bridge, the force so painful it yanked his entire neck. His empty stomach had growled yet his body did not recognize the hunger. His throat was dry, lips caked in dust.
“……Here – again. ” It seems almost forced out of the Hobbit’s lips, before he takes a few stumbling steps –
– and falls down. As sure as the weight of the Ring would make him crumple, so too does the sudden absence of it yet again make him lose his footing. The ugly, red, welt-like indentions from the chain are afresh, as if he had never been here at all.
For a moment he lies there, blinking back dust and darkness, not used to seeing the light of the sun once again.
“….a dream…” It’s mumbled into the stone, the Ringbearer struggling to even grapple the street with cut little fingers. “Or rather it feels as if I am sleeping again….”
A strained series of breaths, a sagging of the shoulders as he feels the weight of it pressing down –
..and he quickly goes to whatever bush he can find at the coming intruder. All the while his fingers tremble towards the golden band, on his finger by now if not for an iron will.
As the shadows grew long, and darkness enveloped the forested slopes of the Carpathians, Vlad went out to hunt. The terrible necessity of this had increased since he had drunk of Mirena’s blood and changed forever.
He was sunk still in his feelings of guilt and despair over the loss of Mirena, and baulked at taking another innocent human life, but would seek out the wicked, or the enemies of his people, for it assuaged his own guilt in the act somewhat. His vampiric vision picked up the heat of living creatures, and in a subtle way, the quality of their life force, carried in the blood, which pulsed with light. He flew, shape-shifting into a cascade of small batlike forms down over the mountainside and towards the lights of villages below. On the lower slopes his attention was caught by the sight of a single very strong red - glowing aura, close to but not on the main road. Someone alone in the forest after dark was most unusual, especially since news of vampires being abroad had spread. Dracula descended almost silently through the canopy of the trees and alighted on the forest floor. A darker shadow in the gloom, he approached the lone traveller. As he got closer, he was astounded to see this person crouched over a campfire upon which a small kettle steamed. At the same time, Vlad became aware of a strange phenomena, which emanated from this small male, who was perhaps only a head taller than his son, and yet had a sturdy adult body. It was a thrum, not the heartbeat of this strange personage, but something more, a pulse that called to him, that caused the demon inside to uncoil in recognition of it.. it was power, and darkness.
Vlad was instantly wary, but he would find out what this thing was, and who it was that had brought it into his domain. He stepped out of the lee of a tree and moving towards the traveller, said casually.
“ It is not wise, my friend, to be abroad after dark in these parts, these forests are full of dangers.”
He was either going mad or he had somehow been taken from the road to Cirith Ungol by a magic — or power — that he knew too well. That was destroying him slowly but surely. Gone was the innocence of the middle-aged hobbit who sought only adventure and tales worthy of being told. Like Uncle like Nephew —…but he reminded himself bitterly at times that he was nothing like Uncle, could not be, the burden he chose to bear had been in part out of his wish to protect him from the Ring’s stain. IT had already done so much by their parting.
Our last parting, no..I do not feel I shall return again. But Samwise..I have cursed him to think it the wise choice to follow me into darkness and death, and now I have left him by no choice of my own from heaven’s know what. Alone with Smeagol they are bound to quarrel — even..
A shaking breath escaped him, shoulders far too thin beneath his elven cloak shaking with the weight of his burden. Since coming to wherever these woods were, he had little option but to find a camp, make the smallest fire possible, (for it was too cold and if he were to die —) and try to warm bones that would never strengthen as they had.
Even so, even feeling in his heart, a spirit near shattered, a body breaking from the weight — Frodo knew he had to continue. Even if caught in a detour. It was his immeasurable strength of will that kept the hobbit even conscious. Or else the pain would have swept him away long ago.
And that’s when he felt it.
Without much of an option, Frodo had noticed that when darkness and danger grew near that the Ring gleefully clamored towards it, pressing down on his shoulders, around a neck already carved with welts and it’s indention on the chain. He felt it keenly now, enough that his grip on his tea trembled, sucking in a breath.
It is getting..so heavy..—-
With a sip that felt useless granted the pain, the Hobbit set it down, hands fumbling for Sting, wondering if it would shine for him and tell him if orcs were near. Or…if it were a far greater thing to fear.
By the time the voice was heard he’d already turned his head in that direction, meeting the gaze of a pale man who seemed to come as if from nowhere.
The Race of Man, glorious but of Isildur..who was taken by the Ring.. He could almost feel Gandalf’s cautionary words wash over him, and his own body was rigid with pain — and that caution.
Lifting his gaze, the visitor might have been startled to see eyes that did not belong on such a small body, let alone any’s. They were old, near see-through as if something was tearing the little man apart..but in them was also wisdom, a strength that had yet to be strangled. Those eyes watched, hand removing itself from Sting.
“No, but I find few places that are.” A man’s voice came from a small body, wary and cautious — Frodo had a feeling he was right to be so. “But I am lost — cold. There is little option left to me then making what provisions I may and hoping I survive the night before seeking out the familiar.” For a moment his renewed grip on the cup seemed to shake, not out of fear but pain. A part of him was numb to fear — just as it was aware of it.
“….Who are you, sir? Have I disrupted you in some way?” Please, leave me in peace. What I carry could mean your doom, and many others. I will not risk that and so I will risk the wood.
He saw small fingers go to the hilt of a sword, whose metal glowed in his sight, blue as fox-fire. Some unknown metal, or magical protection mayhap? Vlad did not react, knowing he would be faster by far than any blade, should he have reason to strike. The traveller was merely excercising caution at his approach, as any but a fool would.
As the eyes of the stranger met his, Vlad was struck by their pain-washed lightness and within the gaze the weight of sorrow, which he felt as a palpable thing, heavier even than the grief filled organ in his own chest.
They were the eyes of one who had seen too much, made wise through trials that had pared away the innocence his frame spoke of still, for he was no ancient, nor by his looks a seasoned warrior.
The man was indeed strange, small of frame but yet not like those made so by accident of birth that he had seen as novelties in the courts of Hungary and Adrianople. Closer now, Vlad could see that he was thin in the cheek and his shoulders hunched, his body curving protectively around whatever it was he carried. Vlad’s senses sought answer to the riddle of this being, whose scent was like a human’s but somehow sweeter, as if fresh earth or flowers clung about him. The blood that ran fast below the pale skin, was rich he would guess, but it’s life force was being drained all the while by the thing upon his chest.
That..what in hell’s name was it? He had never felt the like, though he knew that it was something born of evil. Not even the presence of his dread sire held such a dark power. His vision could not aprise it, other than as a burning coal wreathed in shadow above the other’s breast, in the same approximate place as his own silver wedding ring lay, upon it’s cord, a reminder always of the love he had lost, and when he touched it, of what he would not allow himself to become. The object seemed to extend shadowy tendrils towards him, and thoughts of seeing it, no.. of taking it came unbidden into his mind.
NO! The part of him that still held onto his humanity cried out. However sunk in darkness he was, he would not become as the one that made him. He gritted his teeth against it and drove the desire out of his mind.
The voice, when it came, was certainly a man’s, and it made Vlad focus. With an effort of will he pushed the clinging draw of the darkness back. He had so far resisted becoming nothing more than the ravening thirst that clawed within, he would resist this also. Vlad nodded at the other’s reply.
“ You are right, even among friends, one may not be safe in this world.”
The vampire did not yet know the reasons, but he felt a sort of empathy with this man. He was curious also, and though the thirst nagged at him, he could summon the will to push it away. This one was not the sort he would unthinking take from the world in any case.
“Who am I ?” His dark green eyes glanced away under furrowed brow, as he summoned an answer. Bringing them back to bear on the small man, his mouth twisted a little as he spoke, with self disgust, and the creases around it deepened
“ One who is also lost in many ways. I am a Prince without a throne, one who should be dead, yet walks still. I am Vlad Dracula, once ruler of this land, and now his shadow only. Still, I guard it for my son, who wears the circlet after me, and so I cannot leave you be, if what you say, and what I perceive is true. “
He looked the hobbit straight in the eyes.
“It is hell’s fire and darkness that you carry, and I am one already doomed to damnation, so fear not for me. I will not let this thing bring harm to my people, for dark as I am, I yet have care for them. Let me propose to you something better than camping here.”
Dracula pointed up above the canopy of trees.
“Upon the crag above stands a fortress, now half in ruins, where none will come for fear of me. There you may have a dry bed, the heat of a proper fire, and my word that I will not harm you this night. You may be very sure that nothing else will do so. In return, I would know the story of how you came by such a thing and why you carry it, when it grieves you all the while. Now, since you have my name, I would also know yours, bearer of sorrows.”
He was half-tempted for his hand to stray to the blade again, but only a fool would do so. This was…a Man and yet he was not. By appearances he seemed fairly young, around Boromir’s age, while the Hobbit boasted of fifty years of age. He did himself little credit by appearing out of the shadows. Not to a tired wanderer who had seen more than enough horrors for a lifetime’s worth. Every sense in him told him that this was danger, this was wrongness, but something in those dark eyes moved him to something akin to pity – compassion.
Do not be so quick to deal out death and judgement. Can you give it to them, Frodo..?
( No, Gandalf, I cannot. I cannot judge anyone –I..no longer have the heart or the soul to. )
It was almost like an exchange of stories then, in that moment they locked eyes. A silent question passing between each other.
‘What happened to you?' Was the thing they asked, from Hobbit to Vampire.
Quietly, he listened to his words. "Then am I to call you Lord? I am unfamiliar at times, with the titles of Man. But you claim you no longer are one – you are one of the very things that would suffer most from me, from what I know you see….or why else would you be here?” Worn eyes closed briefly, lifting again to lock with his.
“I will fear for you. Just because you are in darkness does not mean it could not cause you further suffering – and you would be the most susceptible to it, with respect – and I fear that greatly.The fact that you know does not give me anything by which I can trust. It is with grave discretion that I bear this burden – and of which I will continue to bear it.” His voice is impossibly heavy, the ghost of a white smile on his lips.
“You describe only a fraction of what it is, what it can do. You…you cannot fathom it. No one can – no one should…I would not risk it. Forgive me, for I do not think you cruel, nor so dark that you would not offer shelter to a weary traveler far from his road. But I am separated from dearest companion and a lone guide, and until I meet with them I cannot accept. I will keep it beneath my cloak, and I will remain here. For the sake of home and kin, I beg you not to impede me, lord. I swear on what little I own that I have no intention of wandering from this camp until my path is clear, far, far from here.”
A sigh seemed to rattle his very shoulders, listening to that description of his title.
“Yes…I suppose I am. And of great evil, though I have no intention of bestowing it. But yes…I..my name is Frodo Baggins, of the Shire. I am a Hobbit who is far, far from home – and the road which he has chosen to walk. There is one of my height like me, Samwise Gamgee – golden-haired, round of face. A small creature who keeps to the darkness as you do, coughing out the name 'Gollum’. He goes by Smeagol. They are my companions – and I take responsibilty for them. I cannot go without them, for Samwise has followed me of his own will into death and danger, and I will not abandon him by wandering where he cannot find me clearly."
The wariness never left his eyes.
"But mostly…I am called only the 'Ringbearer’ – and my tale is grave and unfinished…why further darken your heart? I must destroy it from where it was forged, and after that..I cannot say.” It was an unspoken sentence of 'I will not likely return from it’.
By the time he finished speaking, he sounded drained, voice worn and fragile, setting the empty cup down and staring blankly at the fire.
“I am no fool. I cannot overpower you in any form, much likely a lesser Man. If you wished you could kill me, but you have been courteous. I thank you, for your offer..but I cannot leave. I can only promise that I am skilled in hiding, and will pose no danger to this son of yours."
He looked up at him again.
”…I fear you, yes, as I must all. But I do not think you will harm me. I take you at your word. To distrust…would only further darken my shoulders. I will not be a person who has forgotten what it means to trust another – it will do nothing, and make nothing.“
”…I am sorry to have brought this to your home – and I am sorry I cannot give you what you ask in full..there is no safe place to share anymore, not for me. I fear I’ll have no choice but to ask you if you are familiar with where I am to go.“
As the shadows grew long, and darkness enveloped the forested slopes of the Carpathians, Vlad went out to hunt. The terrible necessity of this had increased since he had drunk of Mirena’s blood and changed forever.
He was sunk still in his feelings of guilt and despair over the loss of Mirena, and baulked at taking another innocent human life, but would seek out the wicked, or the enemies of his people, for it assuaged his own guilt in the act somewhat. His vampiric vision picked up the heat of living creatures, and in a subtle way, the quality of their life force, carried in the blood, which pulsed with light. He flew, shape-shifting into a cascade of small batlike forms down over the mountainside and towards the lights of villages below. On the lower slopes his attention was caught by the sight of a single very strong red - glowing aura, close to but not on the main road. Someone alone in the forest after dark was most unusual, especially since news of vampires being abroad had spread. Dracula descended almost silently through the canopy of the trees and alighted on the forest floor. A darker shadow in the gloom, he approached the lone traveller. As he got closer, he was astounded to see this person crouched over a campfire upon which a small kettle steamed. At the same time, Vlad became aware of a strange phenomena, which emanated from this small male, who was perhaps only a head taller than his son, and yet had a sturdy adult body. It was a thrum, not the heartbeat of this strange personage, but something more, a pulse that called to him, that caused the demon inside to uncoil in recognition of it.. it was power, and darkness.
Vlad was instantly wary, but he would find out what this thing was, and who it was that had brought it into his domain. He stepped out of the lee of a tree and moving towards the traveller, said casually.
“ It is not wise, my friend, to be abroad after dark in these parts, these forests are full of dangers.”
He was either going mad or he had somehow been taken from the road to Cirith Ungol by a magic – or power – that he knew too well. That was destroying him slowly but surely. Gone was the innocence of the middle-aged hobbit who sought only adventure and tales worthy of being told. Like Uncle like Nephew –…but he reminded himself bitterly at times that he was nothing like Uncle, could not be, the burden he chose to bear had been in part out of his wish to protect him from the Ring’s stain. IT had already done so much by their parting.
Our last parting, no..I do not feel I shall return again. But Samwise..I have cursed him to think it the wise choice to follow me into darkness and death, and now I have left him by no choice of my own from heaven’s know what. Alone with Smeagol they are bound to quarrel – even..
A shaking breath escaped him, shoulders far too thin beneath his elven cloak shaking with the weight of his burden. Since coming to wherever these woods were, he had little option but to find a camp, make the smallest fire possible, (for it was too cold and if he were to die –) and try to warm bones that would never strengthen as they had.
Even so, even feeling in his heart, a spirit near shattered, a body breaking from the weight – Frodo knew he had to continue. Even if caught in a detour. It was his immeasurable strength of will that kept the hobbit even conscious. Or else the pain would have swept him away long ago.
And that’s when he felt it.
Without much of an option, Frodo had noticed that when darkness and danger grew near that the Ring gleefully clamored towards it, pressing down on his shoulders, around a neck already carved with welts and it’s indention on the chain. He felt it keenly now, enough that his grip on his tea trembled, sucking in a breath.
It is getting..so heavy..—
With a sip that felt useless granted the pain, the Hobbit set it down, hands fumbling for Sting, wondering if it would shine for him and tell him if orcs were near. Or…if it were a far greater thing to fear.
By the time the voice was heard he’d already turned his head in that direction, meeting the gaze of a pale man who seemed to come as if from nowhere.
The Race of Man, glorious but of Isildur..who was taken by the Ring.. He could almost feel Gandalf’s cautionary words wash over him, and his own body was rigid with pain – and that caution.
Lifting his gaze, the visitor might have been startled to see eyes that did not belong on such a small body, let alone any’s. They were old, near see-through as if something was tearing the little man apart..but in them was also wisdom, a strength that had yet to be strangled. Those eyes watched, hand removing itself from Sting.
“No, but I find few places that are.” A man’s voice came from a small body, wary and cautious – Frodo had a feeling he was right to be so. “But I am lost – cold. There is little option left to me then making what provisions I may and hoping I survive the night before seeking out the familiar.” For a moment his renewed grip on the cup seemed to shake, not out of fear but pain. A part of him was numb to fear – just as it was aware of it.
“….Who are you, sir? Have I disrupted you in some way?” Please, leave me in peace. What I carry could mean your doom, and many others. I will not risk that and so I will risk the wood.
His eyes look to the east. But more appropriately towards something that approaches. Their most logical solution has ever been to hide. They are small, and not strong of arm, what option do they have. Glancing over to the face looking as keenly as he, the Ringbearer queries in a whisper,
He imagined the reaction his Uncle might have made in such a situation. A giant horse munching on his carrots in plain sight within his garden. Frodo might have never known such a thing if not for Lady Goldberry, his large and astute golden retriever, barking at the window, urgently returning to him with a gentle paw and a wagging tail.
Both residents exited the home and began their way outside, the smallest of them peering up at the horse who all but had the carrots still clinging to his mouth. The Ringbearer knew little of whether to laugh or berate him, but it seemed his guilt was written in his large brown eyes.
“Goodness. Did you have a fine lunch? I’ll admit I was saving those for a stew…are you quite full now?“
Bare feet found their home in the grass again; taking note of what could be salvaged. It seemed some carrots were left and all other crops were untouched. However, for all purposes the Hobbit wasn’t angry, rather amused, and the gentle, old blue eyes that met his held no traces of malice.
Maximus held his breath and tiptoed out of the garden, he turned towards the curly haired stranger. The White Stallion trotted over to the short man, bending his head to look at what he was doing. The tiny two legged creature was surveying the damage he’s created. At least the stranger wasn’t angry at his foul mistake, how was he to know that midgets planted gardens?
Ok, ok, so maybe this man wasn’t that short, but compared to the soldiers he’s held on his back during combat, he was tiny. Almost boy size, Maximus was tempted to carry him to see how heavy he was, would the tiny man be as light as air? He shook his head, disregarding his preposterous thoughts.
Max looked down, bewildered.
☀ - Hairy feet? Maximus thought, noting how large and incredibly furry they are.. He bent over, touching the stranger’s foot with his muzzle. Max sneezed and jumped back, startled.
The horse seemed highly intelligent. Gandalf had once told him for a Brown Wizard of his Order that could speak to creatures as surely as Frodo might converse with Hobbit, Man, Elf or Dwarf. He had the same smarts of Lady Goldberry, who sat, in his opinion, very politely, observing the horse with her thick eyelashes and her ever-present smile.
His face turned wry. The dog was often a far better hostess than he was, even when the visitors were running a muck.
"Dear….fellow, ” Frodo managed, voice slightly fumbling on the words. How did one address a horse. “Sir Horse, I believe the matter at hand is that you have done me a slight by eating my carrots, not the subject of my feet.” His lips twitched. Crops could be regrown, and he was no Gamgee, but still, there lingered some disappointment. He wasn’t a spring chicken no matter how young (and that was questionable) he looked.
When he nosed his foot he instinctively flinched back as well, breathing a bit harder than a normal person should. He laughed off his inbred tenseness, offering a weak smile.
“I am a Hobbit. Not a Man, or as you place it here, a Human. It’s only natural I look different. Does not my height and ears show as much?" Gently his hand went to pull back a sable curl; revealing a slightly pointed tip of an ear.
“They like to think they’re a lot of things, miss. And none of them are particularly true, save that they’re nasty folk, really. But over time, you can ‘upgrade’ it That’s the word people use, I think.”
"Th-There are people like that in the world… I guess it would make sense that our captors are nasty people…”
"Oh, really? That’s good to hear! I’ll have to work hard to get my stuff back, then. Oh, my name’s Olivia, by the way!”
"Yes, I don’t think they’d be good and captors all at once, though I’ve met a rare sort who have captured and released. I don’t think we’ll escape that way, though.”
“I’m certain you can find them again. Be careful to pace yourself, you’ve only just arrived after all. It’s all a bit..much, to take in. Still is, at times! But it’s a pleasure, Miss Olivia. My name is Frodo, Frodo Baggins.”
“..This might come as a strange question, but does anyone in particular have books they no longer care if they’re in their possession? Personally I don’t think I’m allowed to borrow any more books presently from the library, lest I’m seen as a thief.”
The pastry was light, not covered in excess, save for some sugar. It was brown and coated in a light glaze, nothing that would warrant too much of a stomach ache, although Frodo had the hardy stomach of his race, when he was faring well. He had half the appetite he once had, but it was more than he could ask, granted all that had been wrought in him.
Large blue eyes took in her gesture and bark as a blessing for him to do so, and the little man broke apart the donut in halves; offering the larger piece to the wolf without thinking on it.
“I’ve yet to try it myself.” He confessed in a hushed tone, a bit eager as it were, in a way he rarely ever was anymore. “Will you be brave and try the first bite?”
[ Hesitant, the creature’s quivering nose would again sniff at the delicacy cradled within the hobbit’s palms. It smelt quite luscious, as if the cuisine’s sweet odor was prying the goddess to test her stomach’s luck. Were she a common mongrel, she would have been drooling by this point. ]
[ She scrutinized the object for a moment longer, as if suspecting it would turn and bite her nose. Once satisfied, the wolf would tickle the hobbit’s palm with a pink tongue, plucking the portion gently from his hands. ]
[ She devoured it in mere seconds. It had quite a sweet, delicate taste, even causing the god to lick her lips several times to pick up any stray crumbs. The taste had certainly lived up to its striking appearance. She gave a single bark in approval, her tail swishing wildly at her rear. ]
“Arf!”
“My friend, I would hardly poison you.” Frodo laughed, a bright sound once more as he watched the goddess take to his gift. The tongue tickling his palm did little to quell the giggles that hobbits were wont to make; himself in particular. Somehow Amaterasu brought out something as close to innocent as he would ever have now, and he could not thank her enough for it.
Reaching for her head with his palm when she finished, the Ringbearer lightly stroked behind her ears.
“I trust it was delicious then? If it has your approval, Aure?”
Perhaps what baffles him most is the massive shadow that towered over him. Was it a man, or a bear? The hobbit knew of Bilbo’s adventures, of the man who could shift into a beast but…heavens, even his voice caused the ground to be a bit unsteady!
“Y-Yes, ” Frodo manages. “I can see that. I’m glad, of course — but, yes, it’s a good thing — I’d hope many would survive. ” Trying avidly not to stare too much at what obviously was a soldier or warrior of some type.
“I take it you are ..quite used to fighting, lord.”
He knew little else to call him, the man exuded kingliness. —And the record for the tallest person Frodo had ever seen.
〘ϟ〙It was a common occurence for others to marvel at the sight of Thor. After all, his entire form looked as though it had been carved out of stone and sculpted to absolute perfection. He was imposing, awe inspiring and more than a little intimidating. The same could be said for many denizens of Asgard, but Thor was a special case, even among the rest of the gods.
Despite this, his response to being referred to as a lord was hardly befitting of someone of his stature. A heart laugh passed through his lips, it’s volume on par with the roar of a dragon or the bellow of an ogre. And the hand that found it’s way upon the smaller individual’s shoulder could crush both of those with ease.
“Hahahaha! Such formality for someone you’ve only just met! Do not be so tense, my friend. Though I am a god, we are all captives in this world, are we not? As far as I am concerned, we stand on even ground!”
Even if they had not been confined to this place, Thor would have urged him to be more casual. He had never been one for formality to begin with, unless he was forced to do so before the elder gods during his youth. But that simply wasn’t who Thor was. He could have been the god of the universe for all he cared. That did not stop him from wanting to befriends others, just as any ordinary individual would.
Then again, one might argue that a man who juggles mountains is the farthest thing from normal.
“You may call me Thor. And what is it that I should call you, my friend?”
To say the man was overpowering was an understatement. He easily dwarfed Aragorn in size and any other great Man of old in the annuals of history. So when those hands came down, Frodo, for he was no youngling of any sort, did his best not to flinch as the small mountains he called hands clasped shoulders that had all but worn away by suffering.
Yet regardless, he smiled, and it was not a forced one, though perhaps a little amused, and honored all at once. Awe-stricken was not to be excluded from his feelings on the matter.
“One of the Great Ones, but from another land? Realm? So I see. Well met then, Thor, if that is what you wish of me to call you. Frodo Baggins, is my name, and Frodo is more than well on it’s own.” He returned, gently offering a hand to..lightly pat the top of one of those, knowing it would be as little as a dandelion in the breeze.
