Blood
pounds in his head like wine drunk too fast.
He reaches for the ring lying in the snow.
“It
is a strange fate we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a
thing... such a little thing.”
Aragorn’s
hard voice cuts into his reverie.
“Give
the ring to Frodo.”
He
hesitates a moment, dizzy at the power that dangles so casually over his hand.
“As
you wish. I care not.”
It
is a lie. He cares.
The Ring is handed back in awkward silence. The Fellowship moves on,
but the Ring’s shadow has already been cast.