Isildur stood over the bonfire, and stared at the corpse of his
brother. It burned, like the anger in his heart. They had won, but it had
been a bitter and difficult victory.
The dwarves, overlooked in the general fray, had rallied under Nalí Bloodtooth. They drove back the orcs, giving the Alliance time to regroup. They had been reinforced by ten thousand soldiers who had been overwhelmed by shame. Then, they had joined the dwarves in pushing the enemy back into the Barad-dûr. Nalí Bloodtooth's pyre was burning brightly in the middle distance. He had fallen beneath the gates to Uruks.
Those that were still unhurt had stood guard while others gathered the corpses. That was where Isildur discovered Anárion's broken body. He had wept, and wept, and when Elendil arrived, there had been more weeping. The surviving men of Anárion's bodyguard had borne his body back to the camp, and it was cleaned as well as possible, and clothed.
And now they were burning it. Isildur glanced at his father standing beside him, glassy-eyed. Isildur had not seen him this distraught since Amandil had parted ways with them.
He turned back to the pyre and grimaced. So many had died today. Gwathôl, the King of Greenwood the Great had fallen in battle with the Easterlings. Thranduil had been distraught, and none could console him.
Isildur noticed that Galadriel had chosen to stand with him and his father at Anárion's funeral pyre, rather than at Gwathôl's, a fellow elf and friend. She noticed his gaze and smiled enigmatically at him. He looked away.
They stood in silence for hours as the fire slowly died, and Galadriel and Celeborn left to mourn others who had died, and Elendil retired to his tent. Only Isildur remained at the final resting place of his brother.
He clenched his fists and whispered under his breath, "I swear by Ulmo and by Manwë that I will avenge you brother. I will make your sacrifice worthwhile."
With that, Isildur turned on his heel and walked away, and came to that spot never again, except in dreams. And the wind blew, and the ashes of Anárion mingled with the ash of the land he hated.
Eventually, the Plains of Gorgoroth claimed all who passed through them.
The End
I'd like to give a big thank you to all of my reviewers. This is the first multi-chapter story I have completed. All feedback is appreciated.
The dwarves, overlooked in the general fray, had rallied under Nalí Bloodtooth. They drove back the orcs, giving the Alliance time to regroup. They had been reinforced by ten thousand soldiers who had been overwhelmed by shame. Then, they had joined the dwarves in pushing the enemy back into the Barad-dûr. Nalí Bloodtooth's pyre was burning brightly in the middle distance. He had fallen beneath the gates to Uruks.
Those that were still unhurt had stood guard while others gathered the corpses. That was where Isildur discovered Anárion's broken body. He had wept, and wept, and when Elendil arrived, there had been more weeping. The surviving men of Anárion's bodyguard had borne his body back to the camp, and it was cleaned as well as possible, and clothed.
And now they were burning it. Isildur glanced at his father standing beside him, glassy-eyed. Isildur had not seen him this distraught since Amandil had parted ways with them.
He turned back to the pyre and grimaced. So many had died today. Gwathôl, the King of Greenwood the Great had fallen in battle with the Easterlings. Thranduil had been distraught, and none could console him.
Isildur noticed that Galadriel had chosen to stand with him and his father at Anárion's funeral pyre, rather than at Gwathôl's, a fellow elf and friend. She noticed his gaze and smiled enigmatically at him. He looked away.
They stood in silence for hours as the fire slowly died, and Galadriel and Celeborn left to mourn others who had died, and Elendil retired to his tent. Only Isildur remained at the final resting place of his brother.
He clenched his fists and whispered under his breath, "I swear by Ulmo and by Manwë that I will avenge you brother. I will make your sacrifice worthwhile."
With that, Isildur turned on his heel and walked away, and came to that spot never again, except in dreams. And the wind blew, and the ashes of Anárion mingled with the ash of the land he hated.
Eventually, the Plains of Gorgoroth claimed all who passed through them.
The End
I'd like to give a big thank you to all of my reviewers. This is the first multi-chapter story I have completed. All feedback is appreciated.