It’s dark. There’s ash and smoke heavy in the air. My eyes are burning. Lifting my head from the hard, rocky ground and squinting, I see them in the distance.  The pivotal battle, the long-awaited conclusion; the destiny of Middle Earth in the literal balance. I see the hobbit, the battle with darkness consuming him, internally and externally. Inside, the voices say, “Keep me and never be rid of me.” Outwardly, the physical cries to give him his “precious.”

I see the heroic hobbit down, crying and trying to make it all right.  Why here? Of all of Middle-earth, in all of time, why this moment? Why Mount Doom in the middle of darkened Mordor? I look down at the rocky cliff I lay on. Glancing up to see the battle rage on between what is left of two souls for their prized possession.

Why here? I smirk. This is it; this is where it all ends. This is where it all begins again. I gaze on as I see the shine of the ring and the darkened figure fall. Out of my sight, I can only hear the struggle, then the silence. The explosions. “Run!” The small figures depart. The heroes. It is over. Light has won.