A Fi-fo Quick-fic
"ASSERTIVENESS"
Elrond ran up the road to the deep furnaces of Mount Doom, his armour clinking, Vilya clasped tightly in his hand- a dying gift- a burden from the mighty Gil-Galhad. He pushed his grief down and away- there was no time for mourning or grief, nor was there time to reflect on the heavy weight this simple ring would have on his life, the impact of the effortless action of taking it from the bloodied, imploring hand as a last wish from the one he had so faithfully served.
Isildur ran ahead of him, the winding path, a burden far heavier, yet, just as seemingly insignificant in his hand. The One Ring. Its presence seemed to burn the air around Elrond Halfelven, the ring in his own hand seemed to react to its presence, repugnance, a resistance- defying and hiding its self vainly, as if the plain band of gold young Isildur treasured and cradled in his warm human hand was a great searching eye.
They vaulted nimbly over rocks and stumbled in the brief tremors the fall of Sauron had caused. The light feet of an elf quickly overtook the heavy tread of a human. And, as armoured as he was, Elrond fast outpaced Isildur.
The cave
was a cooler relief for their heat cracked lips, their scorched skin. But not
for long. As they thundered down the smooth walled passage to the dark forge
where the nightmare that was the One Ring had been forged, the heat grew. It
became more and more intense, the light stabbing at Elrond's elven eyes,
driving into his brain. He slid to a stop at the end of the perapice that over
hung the raging fires that spewed forth from the very bowels of the Earth.
He gazed down at the empty gaping maw with the very light of hell yawning up
from it, mesmerised and horrified. He broke his thoughts away, and turned to
Isildur, who stood several feet away.
"Isildur!" he cried over the dull rumble and roar of the fires "Cast the ring in!"
The heir of Gondor stood silent, an evil smirk spread across his face.
"No." he
answered, his soul entrapped and ensnared already by the lure of the ring.
Elrond Halfelven watched horrified as Gondor's new king turned and started
walking away. His face grew cold and impassive. He pocketed Vilya and took out
the short bow his herald stasis had allowed him to have, and nocked his very
last arrow. His aim was true. Isildur fell face down into the dirt, his
clenched hand and outstretched, the one ring nestled in the still warm flesh.
Elrond strode up, tattered cloak billowing slightly
"Idiot." He muttered, kicking the body over the edge of the perapiece.
The one ring fell with him, dying as the body of its new- and last owner was consumed by the flames