The figure of Isildur disappeared through the entrance of Sammath Naur, leaving the Lord of Imladris in the Chambers of Fire. The mountain was disturbed, constantly shaking violently. With Hadhafang in hand, Elrond struggled to stand erect as the ground beneath him shook. His cloak streamed off to the side, and strands of his hair whipped his face.
No, his thoughts were about to explode. It was the single word Isildur had said to him, denying Elrond's plea to finally destroy evil. The will of men had failed, and whatever fate there was to come to the world, it was not going to be good.
"Your father died for this moment," he muttered to himself. The bewildered look on Isildur's face completely shocked the Lord of Imladris when he demanded the ring to be thrown into the fire. Then, a fire of betrayal and pure madness had shown in the King's eyes, and Isildur had stalked away with nothing more to say.
The sulfur in the Chambers of Fire nauseated the Lord of Imladris, and slowly he stumbled to the entrance of Sammath Naur. His elven eyes peered through the thick pillars of smoke that wafted over the land of Mordor. The brilliant colors of the armored soldiers of the Alliance pierced the darkness. There were so little Elves comparing to the number of Men who had survived. How many of those Elves were Noldor? How many of them were kingless once they returned to their homes.
Ereinion. Elrond cried in anguish and sank to his knees. Hadhafang clattered on the rock in front of him, but he ignored it. The memory seared his thoughts. The High King, a brave creature and tremendous leader, had been at the mercy of the Dark Lord. The unworldly screams that had emitted from the High King's mouth had stopped Elrond's heart. The flames that engulfed the Elf-Lord's body seared Elrond's skin, and when there was nothing left save Aiglos, a renewed fury burned in Elrond's veins when the Dark Lord had fallen, and the hunt of the surviving Orcs began. He truly felt pleasure driving Hadhafang into the hearts of Orcs.
Elrond washed away the tears that had streaked his ash-covered face. Never before had he mourned a death like this. Ereinion had been a father to the Lord of Imladris, and a hero. Now, with him gone, Elrond was to face his kin alone. He was brave enough to do such a thing, however Ereinion supplied the Lord of Imladris with an extra strength, although it was somewhat unexplainable.
What now? He thought. On his right hand was the ring Vilya, a gift from Ereinion before the battle. Questions raced through Elrond's mind. Did the High King foresee his own death, or was it just a coincidence of some sort? With this ring, he could protect his home and people, but from what, he was not sure.
He rose, and recovered Hadhafang and used the hem of his cloak to clean the blade. He read the elvish inscription that lay within the blade's fuller. It was going to be an heirloom of his family. He scabbarded the weapon at his side. Now, he would have to settle things with the rulers of his race.
The descent from Sammath Naur had nearly been an hour. The surviving Elves and Men were recovering the dead and wounded. Well beyond the Black Gate, both races performed their funeral rites. Elrond wondered what losses were worse: hundreds of mere elven and human soldiers, or the loss of three Elven kings and the High King of Men. Ereinion, Amdír and Oropher had perished in the battle, but they all had been valiant rulers, though Oropher was a bit hotheaded at times.
The sentinels recognized the Lord of Imladris. The Elven camp was bustling with action as the surviving soldiers set up medical tents and temporary barracks. At the center of the camp was the main pavilion, and his keen eyesight spotted the figures of the kings. Elrond's chest clenched when he realized that he was the only one who knew of Isildur's betrayal.
*****
"Ah, Lord Elrond," Amroth, son of Amdír of Lothlórien hailed the Lord of Imladris as he spotted him entering the pavilion. He turned from his companion and clasped the forearm of Elrond. "I pray that the news you bring us will lighten our moods.
Elrond fell silent. He met the eyes of the now-Lord of Lothlórien. His father had suffered from the Mordor forces, as did half of the Galadhrim that had marched with him. Sorrow filled the King's eyes as he looked at Elrond.
He turned to the other Elf-lord. Thranduil was the son of Oropher, who had led the premature charge that had ended up being the death of the King of Greenwood. Thranduil's eyes were red-brimmed; he could feel the sorrow that the young prince had.
"Well?" Amroth was growing impatient.
Elrond sighed heavily. "I led Isildur to Sammath Naur, and into the Chambers of Fire. There, in the heart of the mountain, I bid him to throw the ring into the fire that had created it," he paused. "He told me no, and he walked away with the ring in his hand. The will of Men had been weak before this battle, and now, it has completely failed."
"He did not do it?" It was somewhat a question and an exclamation from Thranduil. "The fool! Why did you not do anything? My lord, my father fell, Amroth's father fell, and Ereinion fell. And what of Elendil? Are you to tell me that they have died in vain? If I was there, I would have drawn steel against the fool!"
"How do we know that our will is stronger?"Amroth said quietly. "How do we know that we would have cast the ring into the fire? We might have been tempted to take it, ourselves. To draw steel against Men might have ended the Alliance as well. There would be bloodshed between both races if Elrond would have done that. I think he made a wise decision."
"You think it was a wise choice?" Thranduil stuttered from loss of words. "With evil still arise, thousands of lives will be brutally slaughtered, and to what gain? Do they slaughter for the sport of the Dark Lord, at our fault of being defiant against him?"
"Are you questioning our decision? Do you think if we sat back and let things unfold, that we would be unhindered? He would have hunted us down to the last survivor," Elrond rubbed his temples as a headache formed. "We have made a right choice."
Amroth and Elrond approached the table where Thranduil was standing over. The table was littered with maps and warfare documents. There were accounts of the dead for each elven kingdom, and the maps revealed different routes for the returning armies.
"So what do we do now?" Thranduil asked.
"We all return to our homelands, and we wait in peace," Amroth said. "I will take what is left of the Galadhrim, and return to our homeland. What of you, Thranduil?"
"I am the king of Greenwood, now, I guess," Thranduil rubbed his eyes. "I will leave with what is left of my kin, and will pray I can lead the kingdom like my father had. I am afraid, though; the people will grieve for some time with the death of my father."
The two turned towards Elrond, who was nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He looked suddenly weary, and he longed for the privacy of his own tent.
"I will take the surviving Noldor, and offer my protection within Imladris. I will not hinder the decision if they wish to cross the sea. I can promise that my realm will be safe, for it is hidden in a valley. The servants of the Dark Lord will not know where to look for it. I am now the keeper of one of the Three Rings. I will take Aiglos, Ereinion's crown and shield with me, along with the shards of Elendil's sword. I will keep them within the vaults of my House."
"Then," Amroth sighed. "I guess we split ways then, and rely on the protection of our own kin. It is a shame, that we must still live in fear, all because of one mistake. Perhaps, our fathers and Ereinion had died in vain, Thranduil. However, we must not live in the past now. Let us prepare for the future. May the Valar protect us from the struggles that lay ahead of us."
Thranduil and Elrond nodded and in unison said, "May the Valar protect us."