It was at once gutting and freeing to learn one was worth so little in the grand scheme of things. He'd gone his whole life thinking himself a fairly valuable commodity, only to be slapped in the face with the realisation that within the frame of the war and what the Dark Lord was planning to do, what he'd already done, he was naught but a pawn - easily sacrificed and with just as little thought. A mindless little insect to be quashed and scraped off along the pavement. And who would mourn said insect? said sad soldier? There weren't many left that might care about his demise. He had just wanted to be remembered for something he'd done, but it appeared as though such a legacy wasn't in the cards for him.
He woke and wrapped himself in a blanket of righteousness and duty and obligation, safe in the knowledge that soon he'd be leaving this place, and the only thing he was planning to take with him ought never have existed in the first place, and though no one might ever discover what he did to atone for his mistakes, he contented himself with the fact that what he was doing was so unmistakably right that he doubted anyone would riot for less.