He stands before me, hands wringing nervously. His wounded Master sleeps and somehow he’s found the courage to make his approach.
“Ai, Master Gamgee.”
He trembles in fear – or perhaps excitement – I cannot tell which, but presses on. “I’ve a question, if I’d not be too bold?”
“Please.”
“‘Tis ‘bout your name. I remember hearing Mister Bilbo tell of an elf warrior by that name. One who died. Fighting a…um…”
“Balrog.”
“Balrog. Were you named for him, sir?”
I laugh gently and embarrassment takes him. “Come…since Frodo sleeps, I will tell you my story.”