That a simple riddle should defeat him was preposterous.
He kicked a pebble towards the shut gates.
As one of the Wise, surely, I . . .
At last, he was tamed by the mountain and he sat, hunched over, the brim of his hat too small to enclose his bristling whiskers, his robes too loose to hide the anxious twitching of the folded hands on his lap.
He reminded himself of the value of hobbits. In all things, he trusts no one fully, including himself.
And he stood up, resolute, curbing his pride as he straightened his back.