[Lalwendë]

I've been looking for some more of "the old bogey-stories Fatty's nurses used to tell him, about goblins and wolves and things of that sort".

How is this for a dream worthy of the fevered imaginings of Mary Shelley:

In the dead night, Frodo lay in a dream without light. Then he saw the young moon rising; under its thin light there loomed before him a black wall of rock, pierced by a dark arch like a great gate. It seemed to Frodo that he was lifted up, and passing over he saw that the rock-wall was a circle of hills, and that within it was a plain, and in the midst of the plain stood a pinnacle of stone, like a vast tower but not made by hands. On its top stood the figure of a man. The moon as it rose seemed to hang for a moment above his head and glistened in his white hair as the wind stirred it. Up from the dark plain below came the crying of fell voices, and the howling of many wolves. Suddenly a shadow, like the shape of great wings, passed across the moon. The figure lifted his arms and a light flashed from the staff that he wielded. A mighty eagle swept down and bore him away. The voices wailed and the wolves yammered. There was a noise like a strong wind blowing, and on it was borne the sound of hoofs, galloping, galloping, galloping from the East.

And not without some good alliteration, even rhythm. There's a high Gothic tower. A mysterious man, his physical being somehow tangled up with the elements themselves. Eerie sounds. Darkness and pale, glacially cool moonlight. And not just an eagle but a mighty eagle.

Another favourite incident that I've remembered was the attack by the wolves on the Fellowship, and I'm sure that must loom large in a fair few minds, judging by the Werewolf craze on the Downs.

It builds up with unseen fears surrounding them, Bill the pony betraying his animal sixth sense. Like a pack of Black Shucks creeping up on the Fellowship.

Poor Bill the pony trembled and sweated where he stood. The howling of the wolves was now all round them, sometimes nearer and sometimes further off. In the dead of night many shining eyes were seen peering over the brow of the hill. Some advanced almost to the ring of stones. At a gap in the circle a great dark wolf-shape could be seen halted, gazing at them. A shuddering howl broke from him, as if he were a captain summoning his pack to the assault

Some brave deeds worthy of an episode of Sharpe.

In the leaping light, as the fresh wood blazed up, Frodo saw many grey shapes spring over the ring of stones. More and more followed. Through the throat of one huge leader Aragorn passed his sword with a thrust; with a great sweep Boromir hewed the head off another. Beside them Gimli stood with his stout legs apart, wielding his dwarf-axe. The bow of Legolas was singing.

The image of an ancient, powerful wizard.

In the wavering firelight Gandalf seemed suddenly to grow: he rose up, a great menacing shape like the monument of some ancient king of stone set upon a hill. Stooping like a cloud, he lifted a burning branch and strode to meet the wolves.

Marvellous stuff!