Tuesday, October 05, 2010


At certain times in one's life, one feels a sense of certainty — whether certain resolve, certain satisfaction, or certain rejection. Whatever it is, it is the rock-solid sense of being present at the inception of a new time, a better time.

I was chatting with Gnomus (and also, it seems, half the world) over the last few days. The image that arises most frequently in these conversations is that of the Fall of Barad-Dûr. Sauron's collapse undermined the foundations of that dark tower, and his hosts scattered in the wind. The eagles are coming, and the Marshals of the West are gathering at Minas Tirith to determine the fate of men.

All those who allied with Sauron are tainted. Those who pled innocent dealings will still have to pay reparations for war-crimes. And from the depths of the dungeons have been salvaged many things.

But some things cannot be repaired. Like Frodo, some wounds cannot be healed, and the Elves must pass into the West, taking ship at the Grey Havens.

All that awaits, really, is the Scouring of the Shire.

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