Pity

It knows me so well now. At first its promises were laughable – a Hobbit lord of Middle-earth! But soon it offered dearer possibilities – places and people I love preserved undecaying…

But I withstood, and now raise my hand to fling it into the fire. The reflections on the tiny circle catch my eye. So beautiful, so vulnerable. So afraid. I feel its terror pulse like waves of heat from the molten stone below.

It pleads, entreats, begs, only to survive. Failing, it grows desperate, and grovels whimpering before me. Master…

I am no destroyer.

My hand falls.

Forgive me, Gandalf….