I threw down my enemy, and he fell from the high place and broke the mountain-side where he smote it in his ruin.

A sudden understanding, a pity mixed with horror, welled up in Bilbo's heart: a glimpse of endless unmarked days without light or hope of betterment, hard stone, cold fish, sneaking and whispering. All these thoughts passed in a flash of a second. He trembled. And then quite suddenly in another flash, as if lifted by a new strength and resolve, he leaped.

Green are the leaves I leave in Mirkwood.

Many are the strange chances of the world, and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.

All shall love me and despair.

When he heard there was nothing to eat, he sat down and wept… “Why did I ever wake up!” he cried.

The Sword of Elendil was forged anew by Elvish smiths, and on its blade was traced a device of seven stars set between the crescent Moon and rayed Sun, and about them was written many runes; for Aragorn son of Arathorn was going to war upon the marches of Mordor. Very bright was that sword when it was made whole again; the light of the sun shone redly in it, and the light of the moon shone cold, its edge was hard and keen. And Aragorn gave it a new name and called it Andúril, Flame of the West.