The Rose
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs to the Tolkien Estate and New Line Cinemas. I also lay no claim to the lyrics of The Rose. It was written by Bette Midler.
A/N: This fic was inspired by the lyrics from The Rose. Each chapter will be based on a line or two from the song. The scenes will fill in gaps in the stories from Tolkien's mythology, not necessarily in chronological order.
Some say love, it is a river that drowns the tender reeds.
Gladden Fields, 2 TA:
Isildur ran from the battlefield, invisible to friend and foe alike, knowing that he left his guard to their deaths. Two of his sons were already dead, and his eldest would join them soon. He loved the Ring he had taken from Sauron. Did he love it more than his sons? More than life itself? What was happening to him?
When he took the Ring, his many times great-uncle, Elrond, warned him not to keep it. The half-elf told him it must be destroyed to break Sauron's power forever. He refused to listen. And for what? To keep a powerful weapon of the Enemy as a trophy, a weregild for his father and brother! What was he thinking?
Now, he must escape to Rivendell and tell Lord Elrond he was right. Get men together to return to Mordor. Only in Mount Doom could he end this. But in leaving, he left his three eldest sons to their inevitable deaths. But Elendur was right: if he stayed, he would also be killed. At least his youngest son had been left in Rivendell, too young to join battle. Now, he would have to teach Valandil what the boy needed to know to succeed him on the throne. He did not have much time left to do that.
He pulled his cloak tighter about him as he ran. The hood must be kept up to conceal the light of the Elendilmir. The jewel that served as crown for the High King when he held court in Arnor shone so powerfully, that not even the Ring could conceal the light it gave off. It was an heirloom of his House since the first centuries of the kingdom of Númenor. After the death of Elendil in the final battle, it had fallen to Isildur, as eldest son of the great king. Was this family treasure not enough for him, that he must claim another? Family should have been the most important thing at such a time. Now, what did he have left?
He had reached the river, now. Still invisible, he stripped himself of anything that could weigh him down and dove into the water, swimming towards the opposite shore. It was cold, but at least the Great River flowed more sluggishly here. It was easier to cross than at other points on the River.
He struggled through the stream, finding it harder to swim across than he had thought it would be. Despite every effort, the current dragged him downstream until he found himself tangled in the reeds of the Gladden Fields. He fought off the reeds as best he could, halting in his struggles upon realizing that he was no longer wearing the Ring.
At first, Isildur despaired at the loss. What could he do, now? He would never find it in the mass of plants here! As quickly as he despaired, though, he recovered. The pain he had felt since he'd claimed the Ring was gone. He was free! He gathered himself, and carefully sought for firm footing on the riverbed. As he climbed out on the other side, arrows struck, and he knew no more. The body of the King of Arnor slid back into the river.