This is set just before Isildur defeats Sauron, but for the purposes of this Elendil is already dead. It is told from Glorfindel's POV.

This has been rolling around in my head for ages but I hadn't gotten around to typing it yet. It was originally going to be a flashback scene in Far Longer Than Forever, but I like it better this way. :)

When the King stepped up to challenge Sauron, as his grandfather had done with Morgoth centuries before, everyone stopped. Every being on the battlefield, - members of the Last Alliance and Sauron's army alike - as if sensing that something big was about to happen, stopped fighting their enemy and turned to breathlessly watch this battle of battles, each side silently barracking for their leader. Gil-Galad was the last King still alive; Oropher and Elendil had both perished. In some naïve, foolish way, we took his survival to mean that he would live to go on ruling the elven Kingdoms; that he was the one person Sauron could not take from us.

We were wrong.

The battle began in Gil-Galad's favour. It seemed that he held within him the fury of not only the entire population of Free Peoples, but of the Valar and, indeed, Ilúvatar himself. He was barely visible as he launched attack after attack, never hesitating, never making a mistake. He was magnificent to behold. For a brief moment the sun broke through the perpetually dark sky and glinted off of Gil-Galad's armour, his helmet, his glossy black hair and the tip of his spear. He shone as brightly as his name suggested, and we all thought that, just maybe, he was invincible. But we forgot that Sauron had been Morgoth's protégé, and had not considered that the apprentice could be worse than the master.

The sun disappeared and it became evident that our King was tiring. Everyone could see it, and the anticipation of Sauron's victory was rolling off his army in waves. Sauron had parried all of Gil-Galad's blows, and though he had not been able to land any of his own, he was gaining the upper hand because for all of Gil-Galad's ferocity and speed, Sauron had the strength and longevity of the Maiar. For a moment I idly wondered if Elrond - who had Maian blood in his veins, unlike the King - would have had a better chance at defeating Sauron.

Speak of the devil. As soon as that thought finished drifting across my mind, Elrond came up behind me. He had been fighting further back and had forced his way to the front to see why the fighting had stopped. I turned to him and saw his eyes widen when he caught sight of what was actually happening. He started to run towards the King and I barely caught his arm in time to stop him. It took all I had to prevent him from running out there and getting himself killed. I eventually got him into an arm lock, and spoke quietly into his ear even as he fought against me. "No! No, Elrond. He would not want you to sacrifice yourself needlessly."

Any reply or further struggling that he might have made was forgotten as we saw a bright flash of light from the direction of the duel. I think we were all hoping that the sun had come out again to glint against the gold of Gil-Galad's armour, but it was not: Sauron had unleashed his fire. We watched in horror as Sauron's green fire snaked out of his hand and hurtled through the air to the spot where the King was dragging himself back to his feet after Sauron had finally knocked him down. I did not need to see Elrond's face - or anyone else's, for that matter - to know that it bore an expression of the purest horror as he saw the flames come into contact with Gil-Galad's body.

The King's scream was horrible. Even standing a quarter-league away, we heard it clearly: an awful, indescribable sound that none of us will ever forget.

Elrond had gone absolutely still in my arms, not blinking, barely breathing. He would feel the King's death as keenly as Gil-Galad himself felt it: that was the strength of their bond. After what was both an age and a mere second, the scream stopped. Elrond let out a shuddering breath as the green light and black smoke cleared, revealing what we were all dreading.

Gil-Galad, his body contorted in agony, remained standing for a moment and then crumpled to the ground. The entire left side of his body was horribly burnt: in most places the skin had been charred black, in others, the flesh had burnt away to reveal the bone underneath. His chest rose slightly and then fell, and he somehow managed to twist his face towards us, towards Elrond. Whether or not words were exchanged between their minds I do not know, but in the next second the King had inhaled and exhaled one last time, and his eyes slipped closed forever.

Elrond let out an anguished roar and then went limp in my arms. A moment later he had straightened up, wrenched his arms out of my grip and spun around to face me. He pounded his fist once against my chest - hard enough to make my next breath a little difficult - and then had buried his face in my shoulder, his slight form shaking with unrepressed sobs. I wrapped my arms around him tightly as I felt hot tears run out of my own eyes. Sauron watched what Elrond did, and I would have bet everything I owned that there was a smug grin on his ugly, evil face. Every member of the Alliance was frozen in shock, but Sauron did not take advantage of this perfect opportunity to kill us all. He made a signal with his hand and the orcs retreated, leaving us all standing there, rooted to the spot as we uncomprehendingly stared at the body of our dead King.

I could feel Elrond's pain even as he cried it out onto my shoulder. I knew that no matter what happened next, whether we won or not, it would mean nothing to him, for one simple reason:

We had lost our King.

But Elrond had lost everything.