Gandalf The Grey is dead.
I, of course, knew that it would end this way. However, the fellowship needed to see the positivity, that indominable sense that good will prevail, but good doesn’t always win the battle. Good doesn’t always ride off into the sunset on a dashing, brilliant white stallion. Everything that is bad about this godforsaken earth injects its poison and spreads its plague as far as the eye can see. The shadows and the light. Nothing is safe from the rottenness that evil has permeated. The one ring to rule them all is no different. Power corrupts, and the ring maintains it.
The fellowship is in chaos. The ring is excreting its power upon us all. It burns holes in our pockets. It’s a burning presence on our person. It calls for its master, it aches for its return to Mordor. It will destroy all of us in order to fulfil its purpose. It must be destroyed. It just must. I absolutely refuse to allow it to claim more deaths. The. Ring. Will. Die.
The journey until this point has been perilous. Mordor is a place that the light doesn’t touch. There is a reason for that. Sauron has created the worst of our world. The Orcs. The guards. Nothing that is good should step one foot into Mordor. But, here we are, sacrificing it all to prove that humanity can win.
So here we are – The Battle of The Peak. We are at the summit of Zirakzigill at Durin’s Tower. This is where Gandalf The Grey’s journey ends. I have sacrificed myself to ensure the completion of the mission. It was an easy choice. Gandalf The Grey has had a good innings. He’s had his fair share of adventures, chance encounters and made exceptional friendships but some things are just more important. We talk about the greater good and this is one of those moments.
I am one of the most powerful wizards of my time. That being said it will take every ounce of power to take down the beast that is facing me now. I am the necessary distraction to allow the fellowship to carry on. The Balrog has been feared for thousands of years. Truth be told I was scared. The heat was claustrophobic. The tower felt like the eye of a storm. Lightening cracking, thunder splitting hearing, the fire from the depths licking at my heels threatening to consume me. Making my existence a thing of the past. Smoke and steam burned at my vision. It was an assault and that was before the Balrog could lay his demon claws upon me.
The battle was the toughest in all my years. No opponent has ever pushed me to the seams of my power and unfortunately no-one ever will again. It created wounds upon wounds and the tower bared an unrelenting pressure and began to crumple. The endless stair fell away, I wouldn’t be getting out and Balrog sealed my fate. We continued to buck horns. Good Vs Evil and we both fell to the fiery depths. All went black, the darkness consumed me. The Grey was dead.