The Road Goes Ever On and On

I remember it like it was yesterday.

I had sat next to my dad, off to the right in the back of the theater. Tears streamed down my face. I had been crying since Samwise Gamgee had said he would have married Rosie Cotton. Since then, emotions had continuously crashed over me like waves at each ending until now the credits rolled on the screen. It was over, The Lord of the Rings: the Return of the King, and it was perfect.

Peter Jackson had cut the "Scouring of the Shire" section, but I was okay with that. It finished with the same line the book had, the same way the book had, and so I was completely fine with that. Joy overflowed in the form of tears and smiles that they had gotten it right.

But then something dawned upon me, a terrible thought that brought fresh tears, these not of joy:

There would never be another Lord of the Rings film.

At eleven years of age, it was a crushing realization. I had been living with this story for going on three years since my dad had given me the books a year or so before The Fellowship of the Ring came out. I had spent many hours alone and with friends on adventures through Middle Earth, hunting down orcs, dealing with elves; many hours talking about it; watching and rewatching the films; going frame by frame through Biblo's transformation in Rivendale to see what the effects crew had done. It was a significant portion of my life and would continue to be as I would dress up, get more Tolkien to read, join online forums, form friendships around it.

But for this to be the end of Middle Earth--for me it was a very unhappy realization. It meant I would never again go on another adventure like that again. Never see a new part of Middle Earth again. Or meet new character. That was it. It was over.

Years passed and to some extent, I lost interest. I fell out of love with the Shire. Lothlorien did not enchant me as it once had. Minas Tirith stopped calling me home. It was still something I enjoyed, marathoned, discussed, loved, but not as I once had.

Until they announced The Hobbit.

We were going back to Middle Earth once more. At first for two and the for three more, glorious films directed by the one and only Peter Jackson. I dusted off my copy of "The Hobbit" and re-read it. Re-watched the original films. Struck up conversations once more about Tolkien with people.

But still--it was not the same. Pop culture didn't take to it as it had taken to the original trilogy and neither did I. I still went to the opening nights. Saw them in theaters multiple times. Had long conversations with friends. Sacrificed precious sleep before a Spanish final to see Desolation of Smaug. Re-read the book again. Got some merchandise. Delved back into the online community some. But it was not the same.

--

The months leading up to this, the final Hobbit film, came swiftly and unexpectedly. One day I found myself with a dear friend, Sarah, at Disneyland. Both of us being annual passholders, we felt little need to hit every ride and so took our time at lunch to just chat about things. With the final film nearly upon us, The Hobbit came up. We talked about the movies, the changes Jackson had made, what we liked, what we didn't, and the in-universe history behind everything that was going on, namely with the Necromancer.

Having never finished neither the Appendices at the end of Return of the King nor The "Silmarillion," I had little knowledge about the significance of all of it. I understood that the Necromancer was Sauron and that we were leading into The Lord of the Rings, but the bigger picture of the history of the elves, Thranduil's history, the Maiar, the Valar, Illuvitar--all of the was lost on me. So Sarah explained it to me as best she could.

We barely got past the creation story before the genius of Tolkien started to dawn upon me. Suddenly, my prior conceptions about Middle Earth were blown away and I started to see the bigger picture. It was so much bigger than Lord of the Rings. So much bigger than The Hobbit, than what Jackson was doing. It had biblical proportions to it.

I remained in shock and awe for the remainder of the day. Even when I had to go back to school the next week and school consumed me, I couldn't quite shake it all. I picked up "The Hobbit" once more and read through it. I delved further into the online community. Sarah and I resolved to dress as Legolas and Thranduil for the final premier. Once more, Middle Earth captivated me.

The hype built up and up; "#OneLastTime" was everywhere; my Facebook wall and conversations were filled with Hobbit references; gifs flowed in abundance between friends; Peter Jackson got his star in Hollywood; it was distracting me during finals once more. And then, all too quickly and not quickly enough, it was here.

11:00 AM Wednesday the 17th my friends and I began the Extended Editions of the first two installments of The Hobbit in preparation for the final film. Those hours moved slowly, as I glanced at the time waiting to go one last time to Middle Earth, but it finally came. Sarah and I got into costume, drove with the others to the theater, and took our seats. We were ready, or as ready as we could be for this.

The film began and one last time, Peter Jackson plunged us into Middle Earth.

One last time.

--

We laughed, cried, crushed each others fingers as we locked hands feeling each emotional blow the film delivered until we got to the end of it and Bilbo answered the door for a very old friend as he had many years ago. Then we truly wept.

I would wager that I cried more this time than I did at the end of Return of the King, but once more it was not the same.

But it wasn't the same not because of a lack of love as it had been the past three years. It wasn't the same not because of the difference in scale of the films. Not because of the qualitative difference of the films or my age or cultural significance or actors or people I was with or even because I was a different person.

It was because I understood something that I had not understood last time.

Last time, my view of Middle Earth, of Tolkien, had been limited to the films. Though I owned "The Silmarillion," I had not taken the time to go through it properly. It had no bearing on how I saw Middle Earth, only the films did. Those, not the books, were where Middle Earth was and so when they ended, it ended.

But this time--this time I knew better. I know better. I know that Middle Earth exists far beyond what Peter Jackson has graciously put on screen; that there is much more to read, more to explore, more journeys to go on in this wonderful universe that Professor Tolkien has given to us. I know that Middle Earth exists in the films and books, and in the hearts and minds of those who choose to go there.

My realization this time around is very different.

I will go on another adventure, see a new part of Middle Earth, meet a new character, and become familiar with all of them. It doesn't matter as much that this is the last Jackson film, for Middle Earth will always be there for us to return to whenever we wish. It always has. And until the Lord comes, it always will.

There is no "One Last Time" for the road goes ever on and on as we look at last on meadows green and hills and trees we have long known.

The road goes ever on and on.