The following is copyrighted to Prince Janus / Fenrir, and may not be copied or reproduced without my express permission. I decided to write a story from Isildur's perspective, but note that this is based off the Silmarillion, not the events portrayed in the movies. Thus, the dialog doesn't follow that of the movie in places.
Isilidur and the Ring of Power
By Fenrir
Seven years. That is how long we have been in this accursed land of Mordor, battling the hordes of the Enemy. We laid siege to his fortress, and have been slowly tightening our grip all these years. But it has not been without cost, countless Men, Elves, and Dwarves have perished at the hands of the Orcs and other servants of the Enemy, among them my very flesh, my brother, Anárion.
"The Last Alliance" they call it, and with good reason, if we fail, there shall be no more alliances, for all shall come under the rule of the Enemy. And, if we triumph, then there shall be no more need for alliances.
But I must push these thoughts from my mind and concentrate on what is at hand, for one thing is abundantly clear to every being present on the battle field: the war ends today. He comes. The Enemy himself marches forth to meet us in combat. I see them now, my father, Elendil, the final Lord of Andúnië, and the only reason any of the people of Númenor yet live. Beside him stands Gil-galad, the High King of the Noldor, three and a half millennia in age, an elf-lord without equal in Middle-Earth.
I feel fear begin to stir in my heart as I behold him. Here is a being that has existed for tens of thousands of years, longer than any of the Elves. Before the creation of the world, he lived. The Orcs part like waves before him, as afraid as any of his enemies. And yet, two stand firm, showing no fear. Gil-galad raises his spear, the mighty Aiglos, in challenge, and likewise my father raises his sword, Narsil. It shines forth with the light of the sun and the moon, striking fear into the heart of every evil being present, save one, Sauron.
It begins in an instant, the battle which will decide the fate of us all. Men, Elves, Dwarves, Orcs, and beings of every sort back away. The attention of everyone is glued to the three warriors now engaging in combat. Gil-galad is the first to attack, striking forward, intending to end the combat as quickly as possible. Sauron strikes faster though, easily intercepting Gil-galad's thrust and turning it aside. He lashes out with his fist, knocking the Elf to the ground. Sauron's attention is diverted for a second, and Narsil nearly pierces his heart for this. He strikes once more with his fist, knocking my father to the ground and causing blood to gush from his lips. Gil-galad is back on his feet, and is rushing to intercept Sauron.
I stare in shock as Sauron's blade sinks into Gil-galad. Screams of horror erupt from the Elves as the last High King of the Noldor slowly slides down the blade of the Dark Lord. A scream also erupts from my father as he sees his friend perish. He struggles to reach Narsil, but before he can, Sauron spins, stamping his foot down on the blade. And then, the blade which was nearly as old as Gil-galad shatters into pieces. It is at this moment that I realize we are all doomed. Sauron will slay my father, and then every other being that refuses to submit to his will. He stabs downward, catching my father in the chest as he struggles to rise. My father falls, his eyes resting on his friend Gil-galad as he joins the Elf in death.
Everything is still for a moment. It takes several seconds to realize what has just happened. The Last Alliance has failed. This is Eru's punishment for our sin of arrogance, to fall to the Dark Lord. It takes but one more second for me to make my decision. I shall die beside my father today. I fling myself at Sauron, swinging wildly, rage against my father and brother's murderer driving me. I know I have no hope, if Gil-galad and Elendil have fallen. I stab at the Enemy, but he easily knocks my sword from my hands. I hit the ground hard, not far from the body of my father. Sauron moves toward me, intent on thrusting his blood-stained sword into me. My hands flail wildly, and suddenly come to rest on something. I glance over, realizing that it is the grip of Narsil, the blade broken in a jagged line. As Sauron looms over me, I swing the broken blade at him, determined to die with a sword in my hands.
To the amazement of Sauron and everyone else gathered, and even more to myself, the blade strikes the Dark Lord. It slices clean through his finger, severing the digit. I catch a glint of gold as the finger falls to the ground. What have I done? Could I have really severed the finger that held the Ring on? Sauron's roar, a mixture of rage and horror, confirm that this is just what has happened. He stumbles back as I force myself to sit up. The Dark Lord, the mighty being who sought to control all of existence falls to his knees and stretches out his arms, desperately trying to grasp the Ring that was on his finger. But it is to no avail, and with a final grunt, he falls forward, his armor ringing hollowly as it hits the ground.
For another long moment, everything was still. The silence is finally broken by a series of shrieks in the distance, the Nine know of their master's fate. A cheer goes up from every Elf, Man, and Dwarf present. The Orcs, seeing the fate of their master, turn and began to flee, but are sharply pursued by the alliance. I slowly make my way to my feet, breathing hard. I look down at the bodies of Gil-galad and my father. I have avenged you, rest well. I also see Sauron's severed finger, the Ring still glinting on it.
I reach down and scoop it up, the finger turning to dust in my hands. It feels cool against my skin. The sounds of battle seems to fade away as I stare at its perfect, unmarred surface. It seems almost absurd that something so small could be the cause of so much strife. I turn it over in my hand, it sparkles and I am drawn to wear it, thoughts of my father's death are pushed from my mind as I examine the Ring. I can feel them, some close, some far, nineteen in total. Nine for the Nazgûl, even now fleeing into the shadows. Seven for the Dwarves, some near, some far. And finally, three for the Elves, one in the distance, and two very close to me.
After what seems like an eternity, I hear a voice calling my name. "Isildur! Isildur!," the voice calls. "Quickly to Orodruin, we must destroy the Ring now!"
I slowly look up, drawing my attention away from the Ring for a moment. The voice belongs to Elrond, and beside him stands Círdan. Destroy it? Why would we wish to do that? Sauron is dead. They must want it, for themselves. They each have a ring of power, and now they want mine. Sauron is gone, the ring is mine. They wish to use their rings to bring Elves to dominance, to subjugate the world of Men. I must keep the Ring from them, protect it, protect my people. It is mine now, my own. After several moments, I finally reply. "This I will have as weregild for my father's death, and my brother's. Was it not I that dealt the Enemy his death-blow?"
"No, Isildur, you must listen, the Ring must be destroyed now," Círdan states. "It is the only way to guarantee the final downfall of the Enemy."
I shake my head slowly, they want it, I must protect it. "The Ring is mine. You shall not have it." I see my eldest son approach, he looks with great sadness upon the body of his grandfather. "Weep not Elendur, for through his death the great Ring-Maker has fallen. Come, gather the men to move his body, we leave this accursed land at once."
Elrond dips his head sadly and turns to Círdan. "Let us hope this madness does not lead to greater suffering."
I ride from Mordor as quickly as my horse can carry me, leaving the bulk of my army behind. I have the ring on a chain around my neck, I cannot bear the thought of not feeling its touch against my skin. I will ride first to Minas Anor, and then away, far from this vile land of shadows.