There are none who can.
You did not seriously think that a hobbit could contend with the will of Sauron.
And kill the one who carries it.
They will find the Ring.
They’ve reached the Shire?
They crossed the River Isen on Midsummer’s Eve, disguised as riders in black.
The Nine have left Minas Morgul.
Sauron’s forces are already moving.
The hour is later than you think.
We do not know who else may be watching.
They are not all accounted for, the lost Seeing Stones.
Why should we fear to use it?
A palantír is a dangerous tool, Saruman.
I have seen it.
You know this?
Very soon, he will have summoned an army great enough to launch an assault upon Middle-earth.
He is gathering all evil to him.
The Eye of Sauron.
A great eye — lidless, wreathed in flame.
You know of what I speak, Gandalf.
His gaze pierces cloud, shadow, earth, and flesh.
Concealed within his fortress, the Lord of Mordor sees all.
He cannot yet take physical form, but his spirit has lost none of its potency.
Sauron has regained much of his former strength.
Time? What time do you think we have?
But we still have time — time enough to counter Sauron, if we act quickly.
Your love of the Halflings’ leaf has clearly slowed your mind.
Yet you did not have the wit to see it.
All these long years, it was in the Shire — under my very nose.
So the Ring of Power has been found.
Beyond any doubt.
You are sure of this?
My old friend.
For that is why you have come, is it not?
The hour grows late, and Gandalf the Grey rides to Isengard, seeking my counsel.
Smoke rises from the Mountain of Doom.
Me neither, Sam.
I’m never going to be able to sleep out here.
It’s not working, Mr. Frodo.
Just shut your eyes and imagine you’re back in your own bed with a soft mattress and a lovely feather pillow.
Everywhere I lie, there’s a dirty great root sticking into my back.
I don’t know why; it makes me sad.
Never to return.
They’re leaving Middle-earth.
They’re going to the harbor beyond the White Towers, to the Grey Havens.