The Final Battle of LotR was Cut from the Movies! — Transcript

After the One Ring was cast into the fires of Mount Doom, and Aragorn was crowned as King of Gondor, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin turned their gaze homeward.

And in Peter Jackson's trilogy, the Hobbits returned to the Shire to find that it had been untouched by the shadow.

But Tolkien tells a much darker tale.

For in the books, the Hobbits return to find that the horrifying visions that Sam had glimpsed in Galadriel's mirror had come to fruition, and the Shire had been defiled by evil men.

Thus the four Hobbits who had fought so bravely to save Middle-earth were forced to fight once more, and so it was in the Shire that the final battle of the War of the Ring was fought.

This tragic set of events is known as the Scouring of the Shire.

And in today's video, we will bring this thrilling and heart-wrenching part of the tale to life, more vividly than ever before.

With animated battle maps and previously unseen artwork, so join me as we unravel the events of the Battle for the Shire.

The first clue that Tolkien provides us with regarding the troubles which stirred in the Shire came as the members of the Fellowship were being selected in Rivendell.

For Elrond originally counseled that Merry and Pippin should not be among the members of the Fellowship, instead advising them to return to the Shire and to warn their countrymen of their peril.

For the Lord of Rivendell, in his wisdom, had sensed that the gathering darkness would not halt at the borders of the Shire.

You speak gravely," said Elrond, "but I am in doubt. The Shire, I forebode, is not free now from peril; and these two I had thought to send back there as messengers, to do what they could, according to the fashion of their country, to warn the people of their danger. In any case, I judge that the younger of these two, Peregrin Took, should remain. My heart is against his going.

Then, Master Elrond, you will have to lock me in prison, or send me home tied in a sack," said Pippin. "For otherwise I shall follow the company.

In defiance of Elrond's counsel, Merry and Pippin chose not to return to the Shire, and instead, bound their fates to that of the Fellowship.

And so, Elrond's warning for the Hobbits of the Shire was left undelivered.

Elrond's hint of trouble was subtle, yet the next sign of the danger that the Shire faced was much more tangible.

As the Fellowship lingered in Lothlórien, recuperating after the long darkness of Moria, Galadriel invited Sam to experience Elf magic firsthand. She led him to her mirror, and there offered him a glimpse of things that were, things that are, and things that yet may be. And in the vision that Sam beheld, there was trouble in the Shire, and the danger that Elrond had warned of now seemed all too real and urgent.

'There's only stars, as I thought,' he said. Then he gave a low gasp, for the stars went out, as if a dark veil had been withdrawn, the mirror grew grey, and then clear. There was sun shining, and the branches of trees [...] they were falling, crashing to the ground. 'Hi!' cried Sam in an outraged voice. 'There's that Ted Sandyman a-cutting down trees as he shouldn't. They didn't ought to be felled: it's that avenue beyond the Mill that shades the road to Bywater. I wish I could get at Ted, and I'd fell him!' But now Sam noticed that the old mill had vanished, and a large red-brick building was being put up where it had stood. Lots of folk were busily at work. There was a tall red chimney nearby. Black smoke seemed to cloud the surface of the mirror. 'There's some devilry at work in the Shire,' he said.

After glimpsing the haunting vision in the mirror, Sam's first instinct was to return home, his resolve to follow Frodo nearly breaking. Yet Galadriel dissuaded him from that path, urging him not to forsake the Ring-bearer. Thus, the evil which had begun to take root in the Shire went unchecked and unchallenged.

And as the four companions pressed forward into darkness, the Shire too fell deeper into shadow, left to suffer silently in the North as the War of the Ring raged on in the South.

Soon after Aragorn and Arwen were wed, the Hobbits began their long-awaited return journey to the Shire.

The King himself rode with them northward, sharing one last journey together before parting ways.

At the Gap of Rohan, they took their leave of King Elessar and continued their journey in the company of Gandalf and a host of Elves, including Celeborn, Galadriel, and Elrond. And as this noble company journeyed northward through Dunland, they overtook two familiar faces who were also venturing northwards.

As they came out again into the open country at sundown they overtook an old man leaning on a staff, and he was clothed in rags of grey or dirty white, and at his heels went another beggar, slouching and whining. 'Well, Saruman!' said Gandalf. 'Where are you going?' 'What is that to you?' he answered. 'Will you still order my goings, and are you not content with my ruin?'

Saruman informed the company that he sought only to slip away from the lands now ruled by the newly crowned King. There was no true power left in him. What remained was but a shadow of the mighty wizard that he had once been. And in that broken figure, they saw no threat. Thus they let him continue on his way, a fallen shadow retreating into exile, with his twisted servant Gríma Wormtongue trailing reluctantly at his side.

Yet, before their paths diverged, Merry first reached into his pack and offered Saruman the last of his pipe-weed, which he had salvaged from the flotsam of Isengard.

'Mine, mine, yes and dearly bought!' cried Saruman, clutching at the pouch. 'This is only a repayment in token; for you took more, I'll be bound. Still, a beggar must be grateful, if a thief returns him even a morsel of his own. Well, it will serve you right when you come home, if you find things less good in the Southfarthing than you would like. Long may your Land be short of Leaf!'

Saruman's parting words stirred the unease of the Hobbits, deepening the quiet concerns that they carried regarding the fate of the Shire.

As their journey continued, winding steadily homeward, they passed into the ancient Elven land of Eregion. From there, Celeborn and Galadriel led the Galadhrim away to the East, taking the mountain pass, which led them back to the land of Lothlórien. Gandalf and the Hobbits continued on with Elrond, returning to Rivendell, where Frodo was once again reunited with Bilbo.

Yet, even in the company of Bilbo and the Elves, Frodo could not find peace. After just a fortnight, he grew restless, and a quiet urgency stirred within him.

The Shire called him home, and Sam too was burdened with the growing worry for his Gaffer.

Much to the delight of the Hobbits, Gandalf offered to accompany them a little further, and so the five companions took their leave, parting with Bilbo and Elrond.

Their path then led them past Weathertop and the Marshes, which they had passed through on their journey eastward, and past Chetwood before reaching Bree.

Although the war in the South was over, it seemed as though the folk of the North were still wary, for the gatekeeper greeted them with much suspicion.

However, once within the walls, they were warmly greeted by Barliman Butterbur at the Prancing Pony.

Also, Sam was reunited with his beloved Bill, the pony that had been set free long ago, before the Fellowship entered Moria, and seeing him again filled Sam with joy.

But that happiness was dimmed as they made ready to depart, for Barliman spoke of unrest in the Shire, confirming their fears.

'I should have warned you before that all's not well in the Shire neither, if what we hear is true. Funny goings on, they say, but one thing drives out another, and I was full of my own troubles. But if I may be so bold, you've come back changed from your travels, and you look now like folk as can deal with troubles out of hand. I don't doubt you'll soon set all to rights. Good luck to you! And the oftener you come back the better I'll be pleased.'

The four Hobbits, Gandalf, and Bill the pony, departed Bree and pressed on westward, towards the Shire.

As they journeyed, talk turned to the troubles that Barliman had hinted at, and Sam spoke of the vision he had glimpsed in Galadriel's mirror, an image that refused to fade from his mind.

The Hobbits theorized that Lotho Sackville-Baggins was likely to be at the heart of the unrest, but Gandalf urged them not to forget about Saruman.

For Saruman, he said, had cast his eye on the Shire long before Mordor ever learned of it. This was Gandalf's last word of caution, as he would only ride with the Hobbits a little further.

Just until they reached the spot where they had once taken their leave of Tom Bombadil, after their terrifying ordeal with the Barrow-wights.

From there, Gandalf guided Shadowfax into the mist that drifted over the Barrow-downs as he made for the house of Bombadil. And so the four companions, who had first set out together, were alone once more.

Side by side, they journeyed on, ready at last to face the truth of what had become of their beloved Shire.

As the Hobbits approached the Brandywine Bridge, they found that the path was blocked. For at each end of the bridge, cruel gates had been raised, grim and unwelcoming.

They struck the outer gate and cried out for passage, but the group of wary Hobbits who emerged refused them entry.

These guards spoke of a new authority from whom they took their orders, a mysterious figure that they called the Chief.

And so, Merry and Pippin took matters into their own hands, deciding to scale the gate. The guards did not put up a fight against these two particularly large and dangerous-looking Hobbits.

And soon enough, all four companions had crossed the Brandywine, and at long last, returned to the Shire.

The guards, although they were clearly very concerned about all this rule-breaking, were friendly enough and offered the four companions shelter for the night in a house by the bridge.

However, they were unable to offer any form of Hobbit-worthy hospitality, for all food supplies had been seized by the Chief's men, who called themselves Gatherers and Sharers. In reality, they did little sharing, preferring to hoard the harvest in distant warehouses.

And the guards informed the four friends that even firewood was now being rationed. But worst of all, as Saruman had grimly foretold, there was not a leaf of pipe-weed to be found in the Shire.

At first light, they pressed onward towards Hobbiton. As they followed the familiar road, they noticed that columns of smoke twisted into the sky in all directions, and a thick, dark cloud rose in the direction of the Woody End. By evening, they neared the village of Frogmorton. There, they had hoped to rest at the Floating Log Inn. But as they reached the eastern edge of the village, they were halted again, this time by a crude barricade, guarded by a troop of Hobbit Shirriffs.

And it seemed that they had been sent by the Chief, Lotho Sackville-Baggins himself. The Shirriffs informed the four companions that Frodo was to be arrested for the so-called crimes committed the night before.

'What's all this?' said Frodo, feeling inclined to laugh. 'This is what it is, Mr. Baggins,' said the Leader of the Shirriffs, a two-feather Hobbit: 'You're arrested for gate-breaking, and tearing up of rules, and assaulting gate-keepers, and trespassing, and sleeping in Shire-buildings without leave, and bribing guards with food.' [...] to the discomfiture of the Shirriffs Frodo and his companions all roared with laughter. 'Don't be absurd!' said Frodo. 'I am going where I please, and in my own time. I happen to be going to Bag End on business, but if you insist on going too, well that is your affair.' 'Very well, Mr. Baggins,' said the Leader, pushing the barrier aside. 'But don't forget I've arrested you.' 'I won't,' said Frodo. 'Never. But I may forgive you...'

Clearly, the Shirriffs did not have a great deal of conviction in their duties, and they offered the four Hobbits shelter at their Shirriff-house, on account of the fact that the Floating Log Inn was shut.

And it was not just the Floating Log that was closed for business, all inns within the Shire were closed by order of the Chief. And in this way, the Hobbits learned that it was not only the pipe-weed that had been confiscated, but with the closure of the inns, beer was now also absent from the Shire.

As they made their slow passage through the village of Frogmorton, Sam struck up a conversation with Robin Smallburrow, a Hobbit that he knew from back in Hobbiton. From Robin Smallburrow, Sam began to understand the true weight of what they now faced.

The Chief, it seemed, had established a web of spies across the Shire. That was how he had known so quickly what had transpired the night before, and how he had managed to dispatch the Shirriffs to deal with Frodo with such haste.

More disturbing still, Sam learned that the Shirriffs themselves were caught in a cruel bind. They did not serve the Chief willingly. Rather, they only carried out the Chief's orders because refusal to obey would result in a swift arrest and a grim imprisonment in the dreaded Lockholes.

That night, the Hobbits slept beneath the roof of the Shirriff-house in Frogmorton. The food was meager and tasteless, and the rooms were stained with filth and neglect, and it was altogether very un-Hobbit-like. When at last the sun rose, they left that place behind without a backward glance, and their path now turned toward Bywater.

Mounted on their ponies, the four Hobbits pushed ahead at a determined pace, whilst the Shirriffs, who were on foot, tried their best to keep up.

For fourteen long miles, they struggled along, until at last, they halted and stopped to rest at the Three Farthing Stone. But the four mounted companions pressed onward as the Shirriff-leader watched on in quiet fury.

By the end of the day, they had reached the wide pool at Bywater.

It was in this region of the Shire that Frodo and Sam had both spent most of their lives, and upon seeing what had become of the village that they were so fond of, they were struck by grief.

'Many of the houses that they had known were missing; some seemed to have been burned down. The pleasant row of old Hobbit-holes in the bank on the north side of the pool were deserted, and their little gardens that used to run down bright to the water's edge were rank with weeds. Worse, there was a whole line of the ugly new houses all along pool side, where the Hobbiton road ran close to the bank. An avenue of trees had stood there. They were all gone. And looking with dismay up the road towards Bag End they saw a tall chimney of brick in the distance. It was pouring out black smoke into the evening air. Sam was beside himself. 'I'm going right on, Mr. Frodo!' he cried. 'I'm going to see what's up. I want to find my Gaffer.'

When they reached the Green Dragon, they noticed six large, ill-favored men loitering in the shadows beside the inn. These men had sallow faces, their eyes were twisted in a permanent squint, and each carried a club.

Merry looked at them and felt a shiver of recognition. He knew their kind. These were the same manner of men who he had seen in Isengard.

Men of low purpose and grim allegiance. As the Hobbits approached, the ruffians stepped forward, blocking their path. The men began to question the Hobbits with a sneer, and one let slip that they took no commands from Lotho, the so-called Chief, for their true orders came from another master, whom they called Sharkey, a figure that they claimed would soon set the country to rights.

Frodo stood firm and informed them that there was a new King in Gondor, and that their master, in comparison, was akin to a beggar in the wild, with neither crown nor true power. But his words were met with nothing but scorn. They laughed at the name of the King and mocked Frodo.

This caused something in Pippin to snap. His mind went back to the field of Cormallen, and now, before him, a low-life thug dared heap insults upon the Ring-bearer. He cast back his cloak, his sword flashed in the gray light, and the silver and sable of Gondor shimmered on his breast.

'I am a messenger of the King,' he said. 'You are speaking to the King's friend, and one of the most renowned in all the Lands of the West. You are a ruffian and a fool. Down on your knees and ask pardon, or I will set this troll's bane in you!' The sword glinted in the westering sun. Merry and Sam drew their swords also and rode up to support Pippin; but Frodo did not move. The ruffians gave back. Scaring Bree-land peasants, and bullying bewildered Hobbits, had been their work. Fearless Hobbits with bright swords and grim faces were a great surprise, and there was a note in the voices of these newcomers that they had not heard before. It chilled them with fear.

The ruffians wheeled about and fled, their boots pounding up the road toward Hobbiton. But as they ran, they raised a horn and let loose a piercing blast, a call to rally the rest of their band.

And with that sound, the Hobbits knew that they must answer. The hour for action had come.

Sam rode for the home of Tom Cotton, a stout-hearted farmer with many strong sons, whom Sam knew would be dependable and ready to stand beside them in their hour of need.

Meanwhile, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin made their way to the center of the village. And it was there that Merry sounded the Horn of Rohan. The blast rang out amongst the rolling hills, rousing the Shire, calling all to join them, to defend hearth and home.

[Sam] had not gone far when he heard a sudden clear horn-call go up ringing into the sky. Far over hill and field it echoed; and so compelling was that call that Sam himself almost turned and dashed back. His pony reared and neighed. 'On, Lad! On!' he cried. 'We'll be going back soon.' Then he heard Merry change the note, and up went the horn-cry of Buckland, shaking the air. 'Awake! Awake! Fear, Fire, Foes! Awake! Fire, Foes! Awake!'

The voices of Hobbits rose swiftly into the dusk in answer, echoing through the lanes as doors opened and lanterns flared to life. And before Sam had even reached the end of the lane, Farmer Cotton appeared with three of his sons beside him, each gripping an axe.

And by the time Sam returned to his friends, the village had fully awakened, and Bywater was up.

More than a hundred Hobbits had gathered, bearing axes, heavy hammers, long knives, strong staffs, and hunting bows.

More still were coming in from the outlying farms, with fire in their hearts and purpose in their stride. Merry directed the swift raising of barricades across both ends of the road, sealing the village in readiness. Scouts were dispatched, and a fire of defiance was kindled at the heart of the village, its flames dancing high into the night sky.

Beside the fire, Frodo conferred with Sam, Merry, Pippin, and Tom Cotton. From Tom, he learned what he could of Sharkey's strength.

Around fifty of the ruffians were garrisoned in Hobbiton, while others were stationed farther south in Longbottom, and more still waited at Sarn Ford, the Woody End, Waymeet, and the Lockholes in Michel Delving.

They calculated that Sharkey must have around 300 men at his command. But Tom Cotton also spoke of more heartening news.

For not all of the Hobbits had bent the knee to the Chief, and a strong pocket of resistance yet held firm within the borders of the Shire. When Lotho had sent his men to threaten the Tooks, they had found them harder to intimidate. And Pippin's father, Paladin Took the Second, the rightful Thain of the Shire, had refused to yield Tookland. As Thain, Paladin had the command of the Shire Muster and of the Hobbitry in Arms. Therefore, when Sharkey's men crossed into Tookland, they had been met with a hail of arrows.

This news lifted Pippin's spirits, and vowing to return the next morning, leading an army of Tooks, he mounted and rode cross-country.

Not long after his departure, a band of Hobbit scouts returned from the direction of Hobbiton. They reported that more than twenty of Sharkey's men were advancing, and two others had slipped west toward Waymeet, likely to summon reinforcements.

Sure enough, before long, a squad of ruffians swaggered down the road. When they saw the barricade, they laughed aloud, confident that nothing in this gentle land could withstand twenty hardened men. The Hobbits, at Merry's command, pulled back the barrier and stepped aside, allowing the ruffians to enter the village.

Mocking and fearless, the men strode forth, blind to their peril. And they did not notice the small, silent figures closing in around them.

When the men reached the fire there was Farmer Cotton standing all alone warming his hands. 'Who are you, and what do you think you're doing?' said the ruffian-leader. Farmer Cotton looked at him slowly. 'I was just going to ask you that,' he said. 'This isn't your country, and you're not wanted.' 'Well, you're wanted anyhow,' said the Leader. 'We want you. Take him, lads! Lockholes for him, and give him something to keep him quiet!' The men took one step forward and stopped short. There rose a roar of voices all round them, and suddenly they were aware that Farmer Cotton was not all alone. They were surrounded. In the dark on the edge of the firelight stood a ring of Hobbits that had crept up out of the shadows. There was nearly two hundred of them, all holding some weapon.

Merry stepped forward and offered them a chance to yield. He made it clear that they stood exposed in the light of the fire, and that many bows were trained upon them. But the leader, flush with arrogance and emboldened by the scorn of his fellows behind him, scoffed at the warning. He was unafraid, due to his misguided belief that Halflings posed no true threat.

With a snarl of defiance, he charged into the encircling Hobbits, raising his weapon high to strike Merry down where he stood.

Yet, before his blow could fall, four swift arrows found their mark, and he fell dead at Merry's feet. Seeing their leader struck down so swiftly, his men instantly surrendered. They were bound hand and foot and locked away under watchful guard.

Merry then mounted his steed and rode into the night to scout the surrounding lands. Nothing further occurred that night. But at first light, a rider from Tookland galloped into the village with urgency.

He brought the news that the Thain had put out the call to arms, and that word of their rebellion was spreading like wildfire.

The messenger also brought news of a skirmish that had taken place during the night in Tookland. As soon as Pippin had arrived and roused the Tooks, they had immediately launched an attack on the ruffians, who were skulking on the borders of their lands. Some of these men had escaped with their lives and fled south, likely seeking to rouse the larger gang which was stationed in that direction.

Therefore, the Thain had chosen to give chase in order to hold them off. But before he departed, he had divided his forces and sent Pippin back, leading all the folk he could spare on a long march through the night in order to reach Bywater as soon as possible.

This news gave them hope. But shortly after the messenger had arrived, Merry also returned. His face was grave, and his words graver still. The ruffians had rallied in the night and mustered a large force, around 100 strong.

And they were now only around four miles away, marching from Waymeet and burning as they came, leaving scorched fields and blackened hedgerows in their wake.

Their numbers and the superior stature of the ruffians meant that this fight would be costly indeed, with no guarantee of victory.

But then came the sound of many feet, steady and swift.

A hundred strong they came, the Hobbits of Tuckborough and the Green Hills.

Pippin had returned just in time with the reinforcements he had promised. With numbers now sufficient and his heart steeled, Merry moved fast, and he laid his snare with the cunning of one who knew his land and the strengths of his people.

The ruffians came trudging along the East Road, lacking discipline, without scouts or pause. When they turned onto the Bywater Road, the land rose slightly, and the path narrowed between high earthen banks, topped with hedges.

They rounded a bend, and there their march came to a halt, for a barricade of upturned farm carts blocked the road ahead. And in that moment, they noticed that the hedgerows above them, quiet and unremarkable moments before, were now alive with Hobbits, their bows drawn. And behind them, more carts were rolled out into the lane, sealing off their retreat. And so began the Battle of Bywater.

Realizing their dire predicament, the ruffians panicked and scattered in all directions. More than twenty of them turned and rushed the wagons. Six fell to swift arrows, but the rest broke through, cutting down two Hobbits before fleeing in chaos toward Woody End.

In the narrow lane, the rest of the men clawed at the barrier and the steep banks, desperate to escape. The Hobbits loosed their arrows, and as the invaders clambered to the top of the embankment, the axes of the Hobbits fell upon them. Yet, the fiercest and strongest among the ruffians fought their way to the top of the embankment and unleashed their fury upon their attackers. Thus, on the western bank, the tide of battle began to shift. The Hobbits faltered, shrinking beneath the merciless blows of the big folk. In that pivotal moment, Merry and Pippin clambered up the slope and plunged into the fray. Brandishing their bright swords, they cut into the ruffians from behind with sudden fury.

But now Merry came face to face with their captain, a squat, squint-eyed brute, more Orc than man. But the brave Hobbit did not falter. He outmatched him in both heart and in hand, and threw down his foul foe.

With the fall of their leader, the surviving men found themselves surrounded, and those still breathing, threw down their weapons and were taken captive. When the field fell silent, nearly seventy of the ruffians lay dead, and a dozen more stood bound in defeat.

Nineteen Hobbits had perished, and thirty others were wounded.

So ended the Battle of Bywater, the last battle to ever be fought in the Shire.

In the aftermath, Frodo stepped forward for the first time. Though he had been present during the battle, his sword had remained sheathed. But now, grief and fury had begun to twist the hearts of some of his fellow Hobbits. Blinded by sorrow and a hunger for revenge, they tried to turn on the captives. But Frodo intervened, and the blades of the vengeful were stayed.

Had he not acted, the stain of slaughtering unarmed prisoners would have marked their triumph that day, a shadow upon the honor they had fought to reclaim, a curse upon the soil where their victory was won.

The site of the battle would become a hallowed place of the Shire-folk. And upon the slope of the hill, the fallen Hobbits were laid to rest, side by side in one great grave. In time, a heavy stone was set to mark the place, and around it, a garden was planted, blooming in quiet remembrance.

The Battle of Bywater earned its own chapter in the Red Book. Every name of those who stood in defense of the Shire was recorded in the roll, memorized and passed down by Shire historians.

And at the very head of the list were the names of the captains, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. Yet, the battle's end did not mean their troubles were over. One shadow remained. There was still a Chief in Bag End, and he, whatever his true identity, would have to be dealt with next.

Farmer Cotton, wary that there may still be ruffians lurking about, gathered an escort of two dozen strong Hobbits.

And followed Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin.

As they approached Bag End, what should have been a happy homecoming, became instead a moment of profound sorrow for Frodo.

And as he surveyed his surroundings, his heart sank. The air reeked of rot, and filth clung to every corner.

And as they stood amid the wreckage, a voice rang out behind them. There, standing at the threshold with a cruel glint in his eye, was Saruman.

His face bore a twisted satisfaction, his gaze glittering with bitter amusement.

In that moment, clarity struck Frodo, and he saw the truth.

Saruman and Sharkey were one and the same, and he had come to revel in the suffering he had sown.

Somewhere deep within, he still harbored a flicker of hope that the one who had once been wise might yet find his way back to the light.

Thus, he ordered him to leave the Shire at once and never return.

At this, Saruman summoned Wormtongue, who had been lurking in one of the squalid huts nearby, and began to leave.

But as Saruman passed close to the Hobbits, a blade suddenly flashed in the wizard's hand, and before any could react, he stabbed Frodo.

A dozen Hobbits, with Sam at their head, immediately surged forward with a cry, seizing the traitorous wizard and tackling him to the ground.

Sam's sword was drawn in a heartbeat, ready to strike. But Frodo stood unharmed.

For beneath his clothes, the Mithril coat gifted to him long ago by Bilbo had turned the blade, saving his life once more.

And even after the attempt on his life, Frodo still would not permit them to harm the wizard.

And his mercy did not end there.

As Saruman and Wormtongue turned to leave, Frodo called out to the broken man who trailed behind the wizard.

He told Gríma he need not follow Saruman any longer.

He offered food and rest and a chance to begin anew.

Saruman laughed. 'You do what Sharkey says, always, don't you, Worm? Well, now he says: Follow!' He kicked Wormtongue in the face as he grovelled, and turned and made off. But at that something snapped: suddenly Wormtongue rose up, drawing a hidden knife, and then with a snarl like a dog he sprang on Saruman's back, jerked his head back, cut his throat, and with a yell ran off down the lane. Before Frodo could recover or speak a word, three Hobbit-bows twanged and Wormtongue fell dead. To the dismay of those that stood by, about the body of Saruman a grey mist gathered, and rising slowly to a great height like smoke from a fire, as a pale shrouded figure it loomed over the hill. For a moment it wavered, looking to the West; but out of the West came a cold wind, and it bent away, and with a sigh dissolved into nothing. Frodo looked down at the body with pity and horror, for as he looked it seemed that long years of death were suddenly revealed in it, and it shrank, and the shrivelled face became rags of skin upon a hideous skull. Lifting up the skirt of the dirty cloak that sprawled beside it, he covered it over, and turned away.

With Saruman's death, the long shadow of the War of the Ring was at last lifted from Middle-earth.

Its final blow was not struck upon the blackened plains of Mordor, nor amidst the white walls of Minas Tirith, it was delivered in the green heart of the Shire, at the very same hole in the ground where the tale had begun, many long years ago.

Thank you very much for tuning into Realms Unraveled. I would like to take this opportunity to light the beacons and call for aid.

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And until next time, farewell, fellow explorers of Middle-earth.