[Alatáriël Lossëhelin]

Nothing I have ever read—nothing I have ever heard—nothing I have ever imagined in my darkest hours—nothing—prepared me for the evil of this place…or this journey. The very air we breathe is bitter, and the growing malevolence of our Enemy as we approach his stronghold casts an ever-darkening shadow upon my heart. My spirit falters as my body stumbles… Did Lúthien feel this blackness of despair as she approached the presence of Morgoth? I have no Húan or Beren to aid me, but as I follow my companions on this cruel trek, I would not exchange these precious halflings for Húrin, or Finrod or even for Oromë himself. I do not know how they find the strength to endure, but each day we draw nearer to the Mountain.

We traveled much of the way on the orc road from Cirith Ungol towards Barad-Dûr, trying to conserve Frodo’s strength. The road also had a few cisterns which contain the only water available in this wasteland. Several nights ago we were almost captured when a troop of orcs came suddenly upon us. In the darkness, wearing our orc disguises, we were not revealed to them, but we were forced to travel with them for several miles. The pace was hard enough for me…but for the hobbits, it was torture. When we were finally able to slip away, Frodo was so exhausted that I feared for his life.

We must soon turn from this road and head towards the Mountain. Our supply of lembas runs low and our water is all but gone. I watch Sam watching Frodo and see that he now realizes what I have known for many days. We must reach the Mountain and destroy the Ring, but there will be no return to the living lands for us. His face is determined as he raises his eyes to meet mine…without a word being spoken a covenant is forged between us. We will do what we have to do to ensure that Frodo reaches Mt. Doom and the One Ring is cast into the Fire, no matter what the cost…the Quest must not fail!

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…as he worked things out, slowly a new dark thought grew in his mind. Never for long had hope died in his staunch heart, and always until now he had taken some thought for their return. But the bitter truth came home to him at last: at best their provision would take them to their goal; and when the task was done, there they would come to an end, alone, houseless, foodless in the midst of a terrible desert. There could be no return.

“So that was the job I felt I had to do when I started,” thought Sam: “to help Mr. Frodo to the last step and then die with him? Well, if that is the job then I must do it...”

But even as hope died in Sam, or seemed to die, it was turned to a new strength. Sam’s plain hobbit-face grew stern, almost grim, as the will hardened in him, and he felt through all his limbs a thrill, as if he was turning into some creature of stone and steel that neither despair nor weariness nor endless barren miles could subdue.

…“Well, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam, “I’ve been having a look round and thinking a bit. There’s nothing on the roads, and we’d best be getting away while there’s a chance. Can you manage it?”

“I can manage it,” said Frodo. “I must.”