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mount doom 1227<br />

a sword to it. His hands are bad enough when empty. And<br />

he isn’t going to mess with my pans!’ With that he carried all<br />

the gear away to one of the many gaping fissures that scored<br />

the land and threw them in. The clatter of his precious pans<br />

as they fell down into the dark was like a death-knell to his<br />

heart.<br />

He came back to Frodo, and then of his elven-rope he cut<br />

a short piece to serve his master as a girdle and bind the grey<br />

cloak close about his waist. The rest he carefully coiled and<br />

put back in his pack. Beside that he kept only the remnants<br />

of their waybread and the water-bottle, and Sting still hanging<br />

by his belt; and hidden away in a pocket of his tunic next his<br />

breast the phial of Galadriel and the little box that she gave<br />

him for his own.<br />

Now at last they turned their faces to the Mountain and<br />

set out, thinking no more of concealment, bending their<br />

weariness and failing wills only to the one task of going on.<br />

In the dimness of its dreary day few things even in that land<br />

of vigilance could have espied them, save from close at hand.<br />

Of all the slaves of the Dark Lord, only the Nazgûl could have<br />

warned him of the peril that crept, small but indomitable, into<br />

the very heart of his guarded realm. But the Nazgûl and their<br />

black wings were abroad on other errand: they were gathered<br />

far away, shadowing the march of the Captains of the West,<br />

and thither the thought of the Dark Tower was turned.<br />

That day it seemed to Sam that his master had found some<br />

new strength, more than could be explained by the small<br />

lightening of the load that he had to carry. In the first marches<br />

they went further and faster than he had hoped. The land<br />

was rough and hostile, and yet they made much progress,<br />

and ever the Mountain drew nearer. But as the day wore on<br />

and all too soon the dim light began to fail, Frodo stooped<br />

again, and began to stagger, as if the renewed effort had<br />

squandered his remaining strength.<br />

At their last halt he sank down and said: ‘I’m thirsty, Sam,’<br />

and did not speak again. Sam gave him a mouthful of water;

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