Властелин колец: Две башни
The Black Gate is Closed
AndherehewasalittlehalflingfromtheShire,asimplehobbitofthequietcountrysideexpectedtofindawaywherethegreatonescouldnotgo,ordarednotgo.Itwasanevilfate.Buthehadtakenitonhimselfinhisownsitting-roominthefar-offspringofanotheryear,soremotenowthatitwaslikeachapterinastoryoftheworld’syouth,whentheTreesofSilverandGoldwerestillinbloom.Thiswasanevilchoice.Whichwayshouldhechoose?Andifbothledtoterroranddeath,whatgoodlayinchoice?
Thedaydrewon.Adeepsilencefelluponthelittlegreyhollowwheretheylay,soneartothebordersofthelandoffear:asilencethatcouldbefelt,asifitwereathickveilthatcutthemofffromalltheworldaboutthem.Abovethemwasadomeofpaleskybarredwithfleetingsmoke,butitseemedhighandfaraway.asifseenthroughgreatdeepsofairheavywithbroodingthought.
Notevenaneaglepoisedagainstthesunwouldhavemarkedthehobbitssittingthere,undertheweightofdoom,silent,µnotmoving,shroudedintheirthingreycloaks.ForamomenthemighthavepausedtoconsiderGollum,atinyfiguresprawlingontheground:thereperhapslaythefamishedskeletonofsomechildofMen,itsraggedgarmentstillclingingtoit,itslongarmsandlegsalmostbone-whiteandbone-thin:nofleshworthapeck.
Frodo’sheadwasbowedoverhisknees,butSamleanedback,withhandsbehindhishead,staringoutofhishoodattheemptysky.Atleastforalongwhileitwasempty.
