He polished the edges of the sword to a mirror-like finish and laid it across his knees. It is a terror, thought Parnard, an awful glittering thing against those whom it is drawn. My hand will grasp it, and with this, I will run mine enemies through, and take vengeance and repay those who hate us. Many will die by this sword, and their bodies lie in mountainous heaps in a great disgrace, unburied and unmourned - at least I do not think anyone will mourn them.
His thoughts had grown gloomy and confused from privation and the poisonous air of the land of the Witch-King. He looked anxiously at the sword. It seems a very bitter and desperate thing that I do, but it is my Lordship’s will, and I must do it, else my enemies take me for sport, and put me to a lingering and torturous death. At least I am not as cruel as that! I bring them comfort with a quick death, and they would die soon enough anyway if I did not slay them: their lives are short, and hastened to their calamitous end by their infinite ways to destroy one another over their wicked pursuits. And what objects do they pursue? Fame, power and wealth, or perhaps they kill solely for the pleasure of killing. It is all the same, for the end is no different: death. And terror and death is my gift to them. Parnard bowed his head and sighed.
Suddenly he raised his head again. That is not all I give them! I give deliverance, and it is not terror, but proper fear. If I did not do it, the evil-doers would rise up, and lay waste to the land, and drive us out. Yet, where are the others? I have looked hither and thither, but there is none of my people in this barren, miserable land. I have wandered too far. Why have I come to this wretched place? This land has no starlight, or trees or grass or grapevines, and there is no water to drink!
He thought about returning to Imladris. No, no, I cannot fly back to that refuge, and shrink from my duty, and the promise I made to my Lordship, as much as I wish for peace and rest. Who else will stand against it, if not myself? It is my fate to walk alone in the world, as it always has been, and always will be. This is a bitter trial, but it must have some purpose, and if I could find friends everywhere, then I would have no enemies, and there would be no need for bloodshed, or my errand. Alas, the world is not as I wish it to be! But I am bold enough to stand up and defy it, by myself, if I must. His face was pale, but the wild look had returned to his eyes, and the borrowed, steely resolve that was not truly his also glittered there.
“I have tarried overlong here, and I see that we have our work cut out for us,” he said to his sword, and laughed a little too hard. Parnard put the sword back in its scabbard and made ready to leave his camp.
