A Hobbits Journal…

Early morning, I was awakened out of sound sleep after a restless night by a flock of crows cawing their way westward from the east. Always a bad sign for crops, but especially ominous on this day, considering the alliance was planning its march on Sauron in Mordor.

Reluctant but resolved to join the alliance in this effort, I gathered my quiver, my arrows, my bow and as much courage as I could find, to make my way to where the alliance was gathering… Hoping upon hope I would arrive too late, and with a casual shrug, thank fate for making the decision for me and leaving me satisfied I had done my duty in trying.

But this was not to be, as Sir Isildur greeted me, as a large army was camped on the plains outside Rivendell making battle preparations,

“Greetings halfing!”

“I may be only half your size sir but I will try to be a whole!” I responded, to which he kindly replied,

“You are whole in heart and courage, Friend.”

This is the hard thing; I cannot recall these words for comment now without bitter sadness, nor fear of falling tears diluting the ink on this paper. It is a story that must come to pass in the telling of that fateful day. But at the time, when my knees were quivering more than my arrows, he helped me stand tall.

THE HORN SOUNDS

The Alliance forces had gathered outside the gates of Rivendell, with a great deal of bravado, that soon froze the blood in my veins when the Horn sounded for us to begin the long journey to Mordor. I distributed the map I had sketched while spying for the alliance, even though it stopped at the locked gate at Dol Guldur.

To be in the company of men, and elves and dwarfs, towering over me with great bearing and weapons is a wonderful feeling of security, so let me recount their names, as they shall live on in poem and song.

Principal in the alliance (And if I do not pen their names correctly, I pray they will forgive me) were the elves of Rivendell. First among them was Lord Elrond, and two of his finest archers, Ophiel Er’el and Nathanael. Next were the Dwarven kings standing stout and brave, Master Borelek and Kavarek. They were followed by the legions of men lead by Sir Isildur, such as famed archer Lady Teela and Legendary swordsman Sir Trey. Following in the rear guard was meself, ready to stop an arrow if I must.

But some had other plans for us hobbits, as talk among the group suggested distracting attackers long enough for the smallest among us to slip undetected to find a key to the first gate. All eyes turned my way, and my eyes turned to find another. Failing to do so, the warm security I had felt cooled quickly to cold fear.

MILKWOOD WHERE THE SPIDERS BE

As we entered those dark and forbidding woods, I tried to

orient myself using the map I had reconnoitered of the dreadful area. When I looked up, the party had moved on and I stood alone in the woods. This was a fortunate stroke of luck, as I was to learn later, the advance guard was attacked by a giant spider named ‘SHELOB’ almost immediately, spitting venom until it was chased away by enough arrows to make it a large pincushion. It was said to be a child of the great spider UNGILIANT. If so, I can only imagine how big the father might be, and kept close to the group after that.

Soon all were in a pitched battle with ‘SHELOB’s’ children, attacking on all sides and blocking the pathway ahead. I bypassed the path for the high ground I had noted on the map, and snuck around the spiders to the gate, and hugged the hills to the barrels, which might contain a key. (See earlier post) I went straight to the one with the clinking sound when jostled, and shot arrows into the side until I could slip my hand through. Pulling out a key, I immediately shouted out to others, and unlocked the gate calling for all to follow me to safety in Dol Guldur

GOBLINS GOBLINS EVERYWHERE AND NOT A DROP OF ANTIDOTE

The green bridge provided a clear and open road, free of attackers, so I ran ahead. Soon it came alive with green goblins hurling their poison spears and arrows. And it was only my small size that saved me in this maze of green death, running in and between the legs of the advancing creatures, whose attention was now fully on the elves, dwarves and men flowing onto the bridge through the open gate.

I flew up the stairs at the end of the bridge, without a mark (so I thought) and turned to take a position of firing on the foul creatures in pursuit of others. Dropping some, and wounding others, I was soon joined by the rest of the party who advanced to fight hordes of goblins that were blocking our escape from the accursed area.

I tried to follow, but felt like a stone falling from the parapet had hit me hard. But it wasn’t that. Looking down, I noticed a hairline scrape along my leg, festering from being grazed by a poisonous blade or arrow. I could no longer keep up with the others, falling behind with a fire burning in my leg and a hammer pounding in my head. I only came to a stop because I ran out of land, facing an open expanse of flowing river as wide as a sea, that I could not cross.

THE PILLARS OF ARGONATH

I faintly heard the words of Sir Ilsidur urging me into his boat, and I remember climbing into something made of wood at the end of the dock, before rolling into the cold water, which acted like a tonic to sooth my leg and clear my head. But it wasn’t the boat, but a barrel I was floating in along with the current.

It pushed me behind the boats ferrying the rest in the party, who once ashore, fished me out of the water and emptied me on to land like the day’s catch. I wish now they had just let me float away, for what came next is the heart of the darkness of this tale, which I do not relish reliving by re-telling.

IN MINAS MORGUL WHERE THE ORCS DWELL

Passing onto the bridge of Minas Morgul, once again the road ahead looked open and free of danger to entrance of the imposing fortress of Minas Morgul. By now, I knew better than to run blindly ahead, and held back as others braver than I made the approach to the gate barring us from entrance.

They had gone less than a hundred yards, when true to the form; an army of Orcs ambushed them. Earlier experience in Mirkwood had taught us to look for a key to the gate hidden on the grounds, so a search began in earnest, despite the onslaught of Orcs. Lady Teela discovered its hiding place, and the alliance used it to access the great hall; locking the pursuing Orcs out, only to face a much larger force of sword, and axe wielding Orcs charging towards us.

The battle at that point

became an unrelenting and chaotic look for keys while trying to fend off attacking Orcs spilling out of every crack and crevice in that dark fortress. I looked for a key and found nothing but more Orcs falling about me from the arrows and swords of Lord Elrond, Ophiel Er’el and Nathanael. Dwarves Borelek and Kavarek and Sir Isildur, Lady Teela and Sir Trey.

It was not just one key that needed finding, but several to unlock multiple gates to find yet another key to unlock the main gate! Ophiel found a key, followed by Lord Elrond and Teela until the gate to Mordor was unlocked.

I must take pause here to question why anyone would fight so hard to find a key to a place that is worse then the one they are leaving?

I decided to stay put for a while, not of my own volition, but due to falling in battle. Literally speaking, I was on the stairs, backing away from an Orc swinging an axe large enough to pop off my head and slice it like cheese on its way to the floor, when I fell and found myself later in a medic station set up by the alliance to care for the wounded. My head was bandaged but still connected to my shoulders.

Recovering in bed, I discovered there was something worse than moving forward into the unknown. Staying behind in the unknown. I jumped to the floor onto a bumpy carpet of dead Orcs, leaping from one to another to get to the open gate to join the others.

IN MORDOR WHERE THE SHADOWS LIE

I was not prepared for the dead and dying from our party laying on the plains of that dark land leading to a towering black gate and tower beyond. Surveying the carnage were signs of a great battle where each inch of ground cost someone dearly, searching for another key, no doubt, to open the great black gates of Barad-dûr.

The gates towered before me slightly cracked open with a trail of mud soaked blood leading in and out. Venturing inside with bow drawn, I could see fierce fighting raging ahead as alliance forces gained more ground against Sauron’s forces.

Sauron himself, stood above all like the great black tower of that place, calmly slicing off a rows of heads at a time, as casually as a farmer swings his scythe to cut a field of barley grains.

What came next was nothing I am proud of. But I became so enraged, I lost all composure, and shot my bow wildly, drawing screams from a Nazgul, doubling over a black-hearted easterling and watching the last toxic breath of a goblin.

While my brave compatriots did the heavy fighting, the circle around Sauron grew ever smaller until, like a speck of dust illuminated by a single ray of light, I saw the glint of Sir Isildur’s sword come down upon Sauron’s outstretched hand, severing it along with the ring from where his power flowed.

In that terrible moment, time stood still, as the plains were swept by a deafening wave, laying all bodies low. As all began to rise slowly, Sauron was gone, and those of his forces who didn’t lay dead and dying were in full retreat.

WHY THE SONGS ARE SUNG

Sir Isildur stood tall in the center, holding the severed hand of Sauron high for all to see while he pulled the ring from its lifeless finger. The cheer that went up, swept over the field like the shock wave before, only to lift all up rather than lay them low.

Such a glorious feeling, mere words would dilute, so I leave it to bards better than I to describe. But after so many dark days, the storm had passed, leaving a brighter future to follow. Unfortunately, the peace, liberation and celebration of that moment did not last long.

THE HARD THING

Here’s the hard thing I could not write of earlier. Sir Isildur, was not the same after cutting the ring free of Sauron’s hand. The battle he had started was far from over once the ring was in the hands of another.

Rather than be done with the cursed thing once and for all by throwing the ring into the fires of Mount Doom from whence it was forged, he refused to do so despite the urgent warnings of all.

“I have cut this from Sauron. It is MINE to keep!” was his response as his head began swimming with visions of greatness.

Lord Elrond implored him to destroy it, lest its dark magic bring him to ruin, warning not put the ring on his finger, and resist its power. The Elven archer Orphiel warned Lord Elrond that "men cannot be trusted with such power".

Master Kavelek the Dwarf, called him a ‘fool’ warning that "No gold can come from mining slag. And that is what Sauron was, and what this ring truly is!" He predicted if the ring survived, suffering in Middle Earth would continue because of the Dark Lord.

Even the humans of Gondor under Isildur’s charge tried to persuade him to give up the ring.

“Do not make me draw my sword" cried out Sir Trey. "You are my captain, but it will betray you and cost your death!”

But Sir Isildur remained fixated on placing the ring on his finger, calling it the ‘One Ring’ and ‘his precious’ defiantly refusing to destroy it by casting it into the fires of Mount Doom. Elrond felt the power of the ring griping him hard; knowing even the best of men can fall to its power.

"If it's that powerful”. responded Isildur, “we should use it to defend Middle Earth, kept by ME for all the free peoples!”

Narrowing his glance, Elrond responded in graver tones, "The ring serves only one. He may be cast out but is still bound to it. You will be connecting his life force to Middle Earth unless it is destroyed!”

"It calls out. I can hear it", claimed Master Kavarek as Master Boreleck eyes began to flow in rivers of tears watching Isildur loose to the rings power. He likened it to ‘a beautiful poison’ and confirmed “If the ring survives, suffering in Middle Earth would continue because of the Dark Lord’s will.”

‘I do not want to force it from you”, said Lord Elrond, “but if we must to destroy it, then we must." as Ophiel added, "The ring will destroy you Isildur, it is not meant for anyone else than Sauron."

But Isildur’s gazes remained transfixed on the ring as it worked its treacherous magic on his mind and would only say "It is precious to me, I buy it a great cost", becoming deaf to the concerns of others such as the dwarven King Master Borelek, He felt numb, wondering how it could come to this and reminded all had made a great sacrifice to see the ring destroyed.

"We bought this victory too and you don't see any of us happy about this.” he said “We paid in blood to end this shadow of Morgoth!”

"Do not place it on your finger!” shouted Lord Elrond, “It will corrupt you beyond repair. It is pure corruption and malice of Sauron. It clouds you because you were pure of heart. The kindness it uses to turn you"

But the ring had already taken hold of Sir Isildur’s heart and mind, who heard their words, but not their meaning. Elrond could feel the ring using all its power to survive through Sir Isildur.

"IT MUST BE DESTROYED. TAKE HIM INTO CUSTODY BEFORE WE LOOSE HIM TO THAT VILE CREATION!"

ISILDURE’S BANE

But it was too late, and Sir Isildur departed in haste, pursued by the leaders of the Alliance determined to stop him.

They caught up with him in the Gladden Fields on the edge of the river Anduin where he had retreated into the water to cross to a boat. Unknown to the others, was the ring had slipped from his hand while doing so, and into the fast flowing current of the river Anduin.

As he looked back at his friends it was almost with a look of relief. But then the final blow came.

Not from Elrond, or any of those in the alliance, but from an arrow let loose by a swarthy Easterling hiding in the shadows. One of the last remnants of Sauron’s fading army who slipped back into the shadows as quickly as he had appeared.

In horror all watched as Isildur looked down at the arrow in his chest, before falling face down into the river. Lord Elrond rushed to his friend, the King of men, hoisting him in his arms and carrying him to shore where he died. Only then was it discovered the ring was no longer on his hand. A desperate search ensued to find it, but it had vanished in the current of that great river.

The dwarven king Borelek muttered a prayer to Osse, lord of rivers and streams, that it may never be found. "Osse, may the Anduin flow fast and hard and wash this abomination into the seas of Ulmo."

Lord Elrond, deeply saddened by his loss, ordered his elves to retrieve the shards of Isildur’s sword to be placed in Rivendell with a statue to his name.

“We need to now move his body to Minas Tirith, and in 3 days we shall meet to honor him in a Funeral of Numenorean tradition. May the Kings memories live long! ALL HALL THE KING"

I still hear those words ringing in my ears just as it came to pass.

FINAL WORDS

How quickly the Alliance to save Middle Earth was broken by the Power of that Ring, and how quickly the events of that day turned from celebration of a great victory to the outrage over the disposition of the cursed ring and then to the lamentation of grief for the fallen Isildur, beloved of men, and a hero to all.

So let me say what happened couldn’t be blamed on him, unless we condemn every heart that has been tempted by greed. Nor can I say for certain the same wouldn’t have befallen any who held the ring. Perhaps the outrage felt by the dwarves was of selfless concern, or perhaps it was envy produced by the ring. Maybe Sir Isildur removed the ring from his finger in his final moments after realizing the wisdom of the others. Or perhaps it was fate sparing him the corruption of that cursed object. I do not know the answer to such questions, but I shall mourn his loss to the ends of my days.

Such a man, such a hero, had never walked middle earth. In battle, when all seemed lost, it was his sword that ended Sauron’s reign of terror. In friendship, when the elves could not include me in their group, he invited me into his. In compasion, he saw me stranded on shore, he encouraged me to get into his boat. Such a friend to hobbits he was, that I will always think kindly of the race of men.

A few days later, his funeral was held in Minas Tirith, with all the fitting tributes he deserved from Lord Elrond and those who knew him. Then the Lady Galadriel blessed his departure from this Realm.

"His spirit has returned to Eru. Take Rejoice"

- Mr. Beedle of the Vale, keeper of Bees, orc stinger, spy sneeker, map maker and barrel rider