AN: This is an idea I had thought up about a year or two ago, and I am just now getting around to writing it. I hope you enjoy this.
I would like to thank my best friend, Eldhoron for helping me to outline the story and to my other close friends, MistressOfImladris for helping me open the story up and to LadyPorpoise for assisting me with getting some of the other bits sorted out and for putting up with my endless questions. Finally, a huge thank you to Aria Breuer for creating the cover art for this story!
All day they had been fighting. The sounds of battle rang continuously in Gil-galad's ears, slowly making him feel as if he were going deaf. A mad fury overtook the High King, and he wielded Aiglos with renewed vigor and savageness. Like wheat before a scythe, the Orcs fell beneath the king's spear, paying with their lives for presuming to challenge Ereinion Gil-galad.
Currently, the Alliance had the upper hand, but the high king had his doubts as to how long it would last. He could easily see that both Men and Elves were tiring under the endless assault of the creatures of Sauron, and it was only sheer will and determination that kept them going at this point. "Stand fast!" he shouted in encouragement, hoping his voice would be heard above the din.
Evidently, some did understand his words, for they continued the cry, spreading the king's message through to their fellow warriors too far away to hear Gil-galad's voice. Heartened yet again, the Noldor returned to the battle with greater purpose, and the Orcs continued to fall back before their wrath.
All at once, a lull fell over the battlefield. Men, Elves, and Orcs alike turned to behold the one whose presence merited such a reaction. Towering between two immense boulders on the slopes of Orodruin, stood the Dark Lord himself. Garbed in crude, black armor and bearing a spiked, iron mace, Sauron slowly descended the mountain towards the swarming plains.
Orcs, trolls, and wargs shrieked before his approach, cowering away from the cruelty of their master. The forces of the Last Alliance quailed, terror and despair overwhelming even the most strong-minded of the men. Without warning, Sauron began swinging his mace around flinging members of the Alliance about like rag dolls. Within moments, the Elves and Men's numbers began to dwindle, and the enemy quickly began to grow bolder swiftly overwhelming their adversary, pushing them back further, and soon Gil-galad and Elendil's people became disheartened.
During that time, Gil-galad became separated from Elrond. Sauron the Deceiver noticing the High King's situation, approached him. "So, you think you can defeat me?" the Dark Lord asked his voice sending chills down Gil-galad's spine. "You are no match for me. Soon I will stamp every last one of you into non-existence."
The High King knew Sauron was challenging him, but that did not matter. He was a Scion of Kings, the son of Fingon the Valiant. Like his fathers before him, he would not flee in the face of danger or death. Knowing he was no match for him, Gil-galad's mind urged him to flee, or he would undoubtedly face certain death. But instead, the Noldo took the bait and lifting his spear and shield, he squared his shoulders and stepping forward the two were soon locked into a one on one battle—Maia and Elf.
With a mighty roar, Gil-galad raised his spear high above his head and brought it crashing down only to be blocked by Sauron. Nearly losing his balance from the impact of Saron's block, the High King regained his balance just in time to dodge the mighty mace of his opponent. Three times Gil-galad attempted to strike Sauron and three times it had been blocked, until the fourth attempt.
Finding a weak spot on the Dark Lord, Gil-galad, parried another attack and found his mark on the side of Sauron's armor. The Maia cried out in pain and pulled back. Gil-galad pulled his mighty spear, and he could feel the rage radiating off his opponent.
They were just getting started.
Elrond dodged, slashed, blocked, and ducked in his own fight. Surrounded by foes, it seemed endless, and only a few Elves were with him. Given enough time, Elrond looked around quickly, cursing himself for letting himself be separated. He was the Herald: it was his job to be at the king's side! "Where is the king?" he shouted above the sounds of the battle, decapitating another Orc.
"On the slopes of the mountain!" another cried out in response. "The Dark Lord has come forth in battle against him!"
Elrond paled. "No," he whispered. The Half-Elf turned to Mount Doom and with renewed vigor began fighting his way over.
The Half-Elf fought—but he was not close enough, as he had to watch the exchange between Gil-galad and Sauron. What followed next, horrified him.
Sauron feinted the king's attack, and swinging his great mace smashed it against the king's ribcage. It sent Gil-galad flying into the rock, stunning him.
"NO!" Elrond cried, and desperation fueled him, giving him the strength he had not had before as he tried to break through the Orc line to reach the king.
The fallen Maia stepped to the king and as the king tried to clear his mind, slashed a part of his mace against Gil-galad's face before picking him up by the throat. Panic and fear were in the king's face as he tried to break free.
The cold satisfaction radiated off of Sauron, and tightening his hold: red and orange started to glow from his hand.
The others watched on in complete horror and disbelief as their king and friend began to burst into flames before being dropped on the ground motionless. Before Sauron could make sure his opponent was dead, the High King of Arnor and Gondor charged forward to avenge his close friend and ally.
While Elendil was fighting Sauron, Elrond rushed to his king's side. Reaching him, Elrond could tell that though Gil-galad was still alive, he would not be for long. Kneeling and cradling his fallen friend's head in his arms, Elrond could not help but weep.
If only I had got to him in time! he cursed to himself.
Gil-galad opened his eyes which were quickly draining of life and weakly took one of Elrond's hands in his. Elrond felt him place something in his hand and looking he noticed it was one of the Three Elven Rings of Power—Vilya.
"No, you cannot give me this," Elrond said, realizing what was happening. "You will survive this, I know it."
Gil-galad shook his head coughing up blood his breaths now coming in short gasps. "Elrond…not even your skills in healing can save me now. You are now the keeper of Vilya. Use it to keep Imladris safe. Do not let it get into the wrong hands." He stopped talking and began to cough violently before continuing. "I leave you now. Do not weep for we will see each other again. Farewell, my friend...my brother." With his last dying words, Gil-galad fell silent, and his spirit fled to the Halls of Mandos.
Looking at his now dead king, Elrond could not move nor did he even realize what was going on around him. The only thing that he knew was his king was dead, and he was the keeper of Vilya. The Half-Elf was suddenly brought out of his daze by a mighty explosion which threw him back winding him. His ears ringing from the mighty blast, Elrond shook his head to clear it. As he looked around, he noticed that the enemies were now retreating and most of his people were either cheering or knocked down.
Trying to figure out what had happened, it suddenly occurred to him that Sauron was nowhere to be seen—the Enemy of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth had been destroyed.
Still in shock over his friend's death, Elrond managed to get his wits about him enough to order the rest of the Elves to stand guard over Gil-galad's body. "Do not let anyone remove him until I return," he ordered a nearby Elf.
The Elf only nodded and watched in confusion as Elrond rushed to Isildur who was now holding the One Ring. "Isildur, hurry, we must destroy the Ring or Sauron will return. Follow me!"
With Sauron vanquished, the Orcs and other creatures had fled allowing Isildur, who was now High King of his father's kingdoms, and Elrond to reach the summit of Mount Doom. Elrond led Isildur to the very edge to where the Ring would be destroyed. "Throw it in!" he commanded. But Isildur refused.
"No."
Elrond commanded him once more, but the king only walked away. Knowing that there was nothing he could do without killing Isildur, Elrond remained for a few moments before returning to his fallen king.
As he descended the slopes, a massive wave of emotions and doubt plagued his mind: Guilt for not reaching his king in time, anger that Gil-galad had died leaving him a the new ring bearer, and most importantly, doubt. Doubt that maybe he did not try hard enough to make Isildur throw in the One Ring.
When he returned to Gil-galad's body, no one dared to ask the former herald what had happened. Instead, they helped him pick up the lifeless body of their fallen king to lay him to rest in a nearby field. Elrond stared at the face of the one who had been like a brother to him one last time ere they would cover him completely with the earth, but the Half-Elf found it hard to let go. It could not have ended this way.
Círdan walked up from behind, deep sadness also in his face. Elrond remained stoic, but when the shipwright offered comfort by placing his hand on his shoulder, the healer found himself unable to hold back anymore, and he wept not caring who saw him.
Then, a lament slowly filled the air, and they then buried the last king of the Noldor: a fallen star, never to see the light again on this side of the sea. Blessing the ground before Elrond took his leave, carrying with him to Imladris the spear Aiglos, Gil-galad's crown and the shards of Narsil.