( he hears the sentiment before he realises
quite what has happened; orcs have dragged
him to the pinnacle of the tower, his chest bare
and heaving with the effort of being separated
from the ring. it aches in his heart, yearns to be
reunited with him the way lungs with to unite with
the fresh wild air.
and then a voice, preceding a rush of —
dwarves. )
"Careful, Kíli..!" called the blond-haired, who bore upon his face such a gash that the younger had feared for a moment his brother would no longer have an eye to look from. However, luck seemed to have been with him, for that one time. Both had been advised against going here. And with good reason. They should have listened perhaps to their kin, but listened they had not. For Frodo they had known since he was but a wee lad, small enough to ride on their shoulders with joyful laughter.
They could not forsake him on this quest and they would most certainly not do so either. They had heard but little, all they knew was that it was dangerous. That it led to Mordor. For what reason, they knew not. "Look at what they've done to ye..!" uttered Kíli, giving his older brother a look. "Bare like a wee baby! Ripped of anything he had on him!" he spoke, a heated glare on his face as Fíli came with armour.
"It isn''t much, but you must wear it Frodo. We cannot simply waltz out without bringing attention upon ourselves.."
