Title: Never More to Wake on Stony Bed
Warning: contemplating character death/suicide
Disclaimer: Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien and his heirs: I wander there for fun, not profit
Author's note: This drabble should be read bearing in mind the medieval understanding of the Seventh Deadly Sin, acedia or spiritual discouragement, also linked to Tristitia or sorrow/despair, as well as the modern meaning of "sloth".
Can't go on. Weary, weary to the bone, so cold, so tired. No thought, no will, nothing but a shell. You are nothing. The relentless voice which once whispered now hammers in his head. Nothing, a speck, a maggot crawling over the surface of a dead land. Give up your pathetic shred of a life and die now. Why prolong the pain, the senseless effort, only to perish later? When you could sleep now... sleep forever?
Stop. No more. So tired.
Yet in the night's darkest depths he dreams... of the Shire in springtime.
I can manage it. I must.
"With a last despairing effort Frodo raised himself on his hands, and struggled on for maybe twenty yards. Then he pitched down into a shallow pit that opened unexpectedly before them, and there he lay like a dead thing.” RoTK, The Land of Shadow.
Frodo's final words are the first he speaks to Sam after awakening the following morning in the next chapter, Mount Doom.