My following words of yore and spite may shock you to the very core. They acknowledge a fact known to few, and even less, known to heart. But please, by the whim of mind and patience of soul, I beseech you to listen all the clear. Tolkien's tale of Middle Earth has fallen from its original translation. His story of...
A knock. A gentle rapping on the door. A simple gesture of indirect propriety. And yet, so powerful as it has the ability to change all that we know. First Bilbo, now I. This gesture, if you will, holds power in the timely inconsequential, yet divinely consequential, unleashing of events...fate, in simpler words. ...
"Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the lords my soul to keep See me safely through the night And wake me with the morning light" ...and though that morning light is but a ghost on the Eastern horizon, it is one onto which we cling. In this dark age of begotten Ringwraiths, rogue orcs, and Sauron's rise, it is a hope...