Summary: This is what should have happened 3,000 years ago.
Disclaimer: Nope, I still do not own the Hobbit. Though... I do now own... the Key to Erebor (replica)!
Notes: Sorry it's short, but I just had to make this happen one way or another.
The Last Alliance of Elves and Men. It was nothing like the songs of the minstrels. Each party suffered great loss, some personal. Elrond lost his closest friend. Thranduil lost his father, and Isildur his.
"Cast it into the fire!" Elrond yelled. He thought it should have gone without saying, but Isildur seemed a little... off. This was perfectly understandable, having just witnessed the death of his father, but it was also rather frightening, as he had just retrieved the ring. The one ring to rule them all.
And he wanted it.
Isildur glared at the elf for a moment, until replying simply. "No."
He turned to leave but Elrond blocked his passage. "Isildur. You must."
"Must I? Imagine what I can do with this ring. All the good I can do-"
"You say that now." The elf interrupted, reaching slowly for his sword as he spoke. "But you cannot possibly-"
"Nothing you say will change my mind, elf." The man spoke with such hatred in his voice; hatred Elrond had never heard from Isildur before. He was positively scared now. Not that he'd ever show it.
"I cannot allow you to leave with the ring!" The elf yelled defensively, having no intentions of stepping aside.
"Oh? How do you think you're going to stop me?" Isildur approached the elf, but Elrond still did not step aside. "What could you possibly do?"
Elrond took one look at the man in front of him. His gaze travelled to the ring. And then to the fire. Then back to Isildur. He stepped forward, hand out in front of him, and...
The ring was never seen again.
And neither was the previously brief High King of Gondor.
That's what I would have done... if I was Elrond...