(on a selectively indefinite semi-hiatus)
in which sam’s tater stew goes terribly wrong (of course in front of the elves)
Simbelmyne. Ever has it grown on the tombs of my forebears. Now it shall cover the grave of my son. Alas, that these evil days should be mine. The young perish and the old linger. That I should live to see that last days of my house.
Theoden: I know your face… Eowyn. My eyes darken.
Eowyn: No. No. I’m going to save you.
Theoden: You already did… Eowyn. My body is broken. . You have to let me go. I go to my fathers, in whose mighty company I shall not now feel ashamed.
The Deewarves- how to ruin an entire group of people in one fell swoop with a tiny little vine by Stephen Hunter (x)
