I heard a whisper of the words drifting in the wind, floating and teetering precariously. Swirling and rocking, awaiting the elements which would inevitably- and sooner rather than later destroy them.
"One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie."
The number one was something that I foolishly began to fear, when Gandalf said those words they were haunting. Each booming "one" was like a poison laced dart being forced through my heart, slow reacting- deadly. They had me sweating, curled into a ball on the ground. Too scared to move, stupid enough to fall.
Would I still have gone, if at the time I had understood the full gravity of the situation? Almost definitely. My best friend would be there risking his foolish life, and at the time I was stupid enough to feel responsible for that. Stupid and correct.
To me the next step was only natural, I would leave and I would love.
I would love my best friend because he needed it- not because of some silly romantic idea, or because I felt something more for him. How could I? He was like a brother to me. People always questioned our relationship, always said there was something abnormal going on, but to hug him and to comfort him was always second nature to me. With him, with everybody.
Each step of the way I stuck with him, I cared so much. Too much in retrospect. I always end up caring too much, but I had to or I would never have survived.
When people ask me if i regret it, there is only one truthful answer: "Yes with all my heart, but would I change it? Never."
I realised a long time ago that within the Shire there lays a certain sort of innocence- the grass is greener, the food fresher, the flowers always seemingly in bloom. Leaving that for the real world was hard, when I was out there fighting I saw things that still haunt me into a cold sweat every night.
When you're out there, away from home there's a certain gritty wisdom you begin to develop; a truly saddening cynicism that never leaves. It's always there, even after one hundred summers.