Dying thoughts
The traveler lay against the tree waiting for sleep to take him once more. Anguish welled-up from within like water boiling over in a pot left on the fire too long. He had failed. As a soldier, as a man, as a son of Gondor. Never in his life had he such little control of himself. Never had he laid a hand on someone in anger. Even on an enemy. He had always taken special pride in his observance of the rules of war. All the battles he had waged, whether ambitious or prudent, were careful not to step outside the boundaries of their purpose; careful with their treatment of the enemy soldiers. And now he had found himself unfairly attacking the young Halfling, innocent and unarmed.
What had come over him? What had happened to him? "True-hearted men will not be corrupted," he told Frodo. As far as he knew he had always been considered incorruptible. He was a soldier, not a thief. But just then he had served up any lie he could think of to get what he wanted. Like Saruman the traitor, or even worse; the Enemy. Ever since the woods of Lothlorien the Ring had lain upon his mind; haunting his dreams and taunting every waking thought. What had she done to him? The Golden Wood, in all its beauty, unnerved him from the moment he set foot in it. And the Lady! Commanding her little realm of hidden Elves, loathe to do anything but wait for an end. Good end or bad end; whatever end might come, she cared little, he thought.
All the way down the Great River, the scope of his thoughts ever dwindled down to one thing. His people, his family, his honor, had one by one faded into the distance and were eventually shadowed from sight entirely. It consumed his thoughts and his heart until he felt he was watching himself helplessly from without. Until at last he betrayed everyone, including himself.
Perhaps the Wise were right; that Isildur should have destroyed the Ring when he had the chance. But what chance was there for that now? How calm they always were! he thought. And what vain faith they had! That this ludicrous quest would succeed. But what chance had he now? As little as the lost King's words may have seemed, they still brought him great comfort; for the King there was still hope left and destiny unfulfilled. No longer could he as he lay dying help his father and his brother, his soldiers and their families. Perhaps this was his lot. Even if his life were spared, he had been reduced to a crooked peddler, a desperate liar; no better than the Enemy he hated. At last he began to see the true power of the Ring. Shame slowly draped down over traveler, as the shades of night fall over the sun, and sleep took him for the last time.
