[Alatáriël Lossëhelin]

Yesterday, we journeyed from the Cross-roads into Morgul Vale, where Gollum led us to his 'secret' path over the Mountains of Shadow. While we watched from across the Valley, the Witch King led his army westward for the attack on Minas Tirith. I fear for the city, for the army was huge. I hope Faramir and his men were able to cross the Anduin in time.

We climbed up two sets of stairs: the Straight Stair was the most difficult for the halflings, although the Winding Stair was longer. I followed behind (and below) them so that I would be able to catch them if they slipped or fell. When we reached the top, we ate a little and then rested for a few hours before venturing into the lightless tunnel. As we travelled through the passages, we realized that Gollum had betrayed us and we were lost in the darkness and the stench. When it seemed that we were trapped by the horror of Shelob, the Ringbearer drew his sword and with the light of the star-glass we were able to make our escape.

After Frodo cut the web that covered the entrance of the tunnel, he suddenly ran shouting out into the open, heading for the pass. I heard a hiss behind me, and something hard hit my head. When I awoke, I saw the figure of Sam standing in the cleft of the pass, but there was no sign of Frodo. Suddenly, before my eyes, Sam vanished. When I reached the cleft myself, he reappeared just ahead of me. There was no time for us to exchange tales, as the knowledge that Frodo was a prisoner of the orcs spurred us into action.

When we entered the Tower, we found no live orcs and the place stank of death. We feared that Frodo had also been slain, but we found him in the highest chamber--alive, but naked. Since he had no other clothes, we dressed him in orc gear, and Sam and I wore helms with the sign of the red eye and cloaks to hide our clothes, so that we would match.

We have escaped from the Enemy, and must now make our way across Gorgoroth towards Mt. Doom. May Elbereth protect us!

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Sam gave no more thought to it. He ran to the figure huddled on the floor. It was Frodo.

He was naked, lying as if in a swoon on a heap of filthy rags: his arm was flung up, shielding his head, and across his side there ran an ugly whip-weal.

"Frodo! Mr. Frodo, my dear!" cried Sam, tears almost blinding him. "It's Sam, I've come!" He half lifted his master and hugged him to his breast. Frodo opened his eyes.

"Am I still dreaming?" he muttered. "But the other dreams were horrible."

"You're not dreaming at all, Master," said Sam. "It's real. It's me. I've come."

"I can hardly believe it," said Frodo, clutching him. "There was an orc with a whip, and then it turns into Sam! Then I wasn't dreaming after all when I heard that singing down below, and I tried to answer? Was it you?"

"It was indeed, Mr. Frodo. I'd given up hope, almost. I couldn't find you."

"Well, you have now, Sam, dear Sam," said Frodo, and he lay back in Sam's gentle arms, closing his eyes, like a child at rest when night-fears are driven away by some loved voice or hand.

Sam felt that he could sit like that in endless happiness; but it was not allowed. It was not enough for him to find his master, he had still to try and save him.