Found:
We’re nearing the end of the Trollshaws now. I can see the bridge in the distance. It presents itself almost as a promise for something better once you reach the other side, but what it actually offers is dust and decay.
Of course, behind me isn’t much different either. Not for me, anyway.
This place holds memories. Bittersweet ones at that. Of searching. Of finding. Of being found. Of simpler times, and companionship. But even they lead to something much darker. A grave to the south-west.
I’ve not thought of him in a long time, not consciously anyway. Another man who died. For me.
Why do they keep doing this? What is it about Men that they are apparently compelled to sacrifice themselves for the most spurious of reasons?
If it’s not the fallacy that is the “Glory of War,” then it’s for the "virtue" of self-sacrifice. What good is there in that? Especially when the one they commit suicide for is perfectly capable of taking care of themselves!
It’s an arrogance. A vanity. It feeds into the self-serving notion that they are strong and powerful, and those they love are weak and helpless.
Insulting bullshit.
Why do they get to decide that their lives are worth less than anyone else's? Why do they get to choose the easy way out, leaving behind those they supposedly cared for to suffer their loss endlessly?
Why, by Morgoth’s crusty loincloth, why do I have to spend the rest of my life mourning them?
I can’t go on this way.
I despise myself today. I abhor that my existence has led to the deaths of two good men. I hate that they felt it necessary, that they believed it right to do that! How dare they?
Never again.
