Part Twelve

**Dandy’s Note: this is the third page that fell out of Sam’s Journal

Well I tried to take it at a leisurely pace this morning, but I guess I am not use to the idle life. I guess after sleeping for 14 days and nights in a row I have finally caught up. Mr. Frodo is still asleep, I wonder if I can make some tea before the manservant comes in here and starts meddling with our things. I’ll soon set him to rights. I made that decision last night. No one looks after Mr. Frodo but me. Ha. Push me out of my job? No!

Now where was I, oh yes telling about the feast and all. The most the food was travelers fair, but there was so much of it. There were breads and cheeses, venison and boar, small spring carrots, and a very fine wine. There was a quite simple yet rather tasty, fresh mushrooms floating in a venison broth, soup. And winter apples baked in acorn squash. So much of it to enjoy, I had no more corners left to fill up when the music and dancing started. There were tumblers and acrobatics. Legolas and Strider had an archery match, which Legolas won, but not by much. Gimili gave an axe throwing demonstration never have I seen such skill with just a little wood chopping axe. And of course the Minstrel sang again, I really must seek him out. His music seems to call out to me. The men of Rohan are as merry as boys in springtime and they too sing songs, I do not know the words, almost a bit of traveling music, one might say, like rolling drums and thundering hooves it sounds. And their Horsemanship! They spring off and onto the moving animal as easy as stepping over a log. Merry had traveled with them so he understands some of there words now.

How strange that the Fellowship was so scattered one from the other. What strange tales we caught up by the fireside. Orcs and goblins, Oliphants and Ents, trees that walked and talked, a dead people fighting in battle, black riders on the wings of bats, a slimy wormlike creature in an underground world, and a shining rider of white. Don’t know how we will remember half of it. Hope others wrote down their tales in journals too. Now what are we going to do about ours, now that I lost mine, not sure how much of it we will remember when we get back to Rivendell and Mr. Bilbo. Mr. Frodo remembers so little of what happened after we entered the tunnel, except the bitter end. I guess I will have to help him with the missing parts of his story. If I had my journal it would help serve as a reminder.

Hmm, there are voices approaching. Hopefully they will not make enough noise to wake Mr. Frodo. I must go and tell them not to talk so loudly.

Bless my soul, it was Gandalf and the minstrel, Linorian; they were coming to see me. Seems Gandalf lent him my journal to help him write his song. And now they were returning it. And as gift the minstrel not only wrote his song into it he is going to teach me how to play it too. Lor’ me? Play an instrument? Now that would be a funny sight. Still I think I will accept his offer. It will help to pass the time, seems we are going to go to Gondor for Striders Coronation soon, before we head back home to The Shire.

I am so happy! My journal is returned and the song already recorded. Ah me! I could sing right now! Well it is time to go. I must get rid of a manservant.

Part Thirteen

The Minstrel’s Song: Nine Fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom

Hear my song gentle lords and lasses
A tale that’s strange but true
About a halfling, and his squire
With eyes of wondrous blue

A long expected party raised
A shadow from the past
For seventeen years a wizard
Sought to find the truth at last

When a young halfling acquired a ring
From his most ancient kin
A simple ring, a golden band
With markings that lie within

For within this Ring an evil slept
A malice quite renown
As its master sought to reclaim
His Middle Earthen crown

Sending out his emissaries
The evil weaved his spell
A silent call, a tracking ball
A Balrog released from ****

Away the halflings ran in terror
Without a path or track
Into an old forest they fled
Pursued by riders of black

At the sign of the Prancing Pony
A wanderer appears
A dance, a slip, a tumbling fall
And the halfling disappears

Within the circle of Weathertop
A knife wound in the dark
For fourteen days he bore the shard
Which left a permanent mark

Finally arriving at Imladris
A much needed respite
A council met, a halfling spoke
A journey south for the light

Over plain and towards the mountains tall
And to the Mine of Dooms
For one his fate is sealed
To fall where darkness looms

Now eight must go on leaderless
To elven realm they fare
Lothlorien, with its golden sun
Favors of the lady they share

The great river runs past many shores
Effortlessly flowing
The fellowship has broken
Two depart, quietly going

Unmapped hills they cautiously roam
One to guard, one to sleep
A magic rope, slippery knot
A way down a cliff so steep

And eastward towards an evil gate
That way lies the keep
The Gollum creature joins the twain
As into the marsh they creep

A moon shines over the creeping fens
The wanderers tread light
Evil faces, some fair, some foul
Make such a ghastly sight

Free from the marsh, to lands that are dead
No rest for the weary
Orcs roaming the battlements make
The black gates entrance leery

No entrance will they seek here for
The journey proving vain
Then Gollum spoke, was it a joke
What debate was in his brain

So southwards through Gondorian’s Garden
A longer trek they share
The gardens free of evils stain
They wander with little care

Capture by an honorable steward
Provisions for their packs
A walking staff, a healing heart
A guide for Ithilian tracks

One day the dam broke, war came at last
A dark cloud covers all
Almost lost to his companions
Nearly hearing the ring’s call

Up to meet fate at Cirith Ungol
Up the straight stairs they plod
Shoulders aching, muscles quaking
The stairs are not easily trod

The fear of falling ever present
This pass they start to rue
Gollum knows of a secret way
But is this companion true

A still, dark tunnel awaits the three
The halflings are betrayed
Gollum seeks, and a spider creaks
And a costly choice is made

Now through the Tower of C. Ungol
Desperately climbing
The separation of these two friends
Has left both halflings crying

Finally back together at last
Toiling through thirst and pain
The simple sun, a single star
Wishing is all that remains

As the age draws to a final end
My tale is nearly through
The quest stood on the edge of a knife
One direction was true
It seems the pity of each lost soul
Has the equivalent of two.