Character: Isildur, Elrond
Disclaimer: Tolkien created Middle-earth and all who dwell there, it all belonga him.
Notes: a late delivery to go with the entry for 'Slip', and a prequel to where that one is going.
He staggered up the rocky mountain after Elrond, so wrapped in his thoughts he barely registered the Elf’s sorrowing distress. The flaming agony still burned the flesh of his hand… but in the midst of that pain was something truly, truly wonderful…
At first he hadn’t realised the bubbling voice was anything other than his own thoughts. So much death, so much… of course he felt like keening his loss to the stars… until the voice changed, became more distinct… then he knew what spoke, what called his name.
“Throw it in the fires, Isildur!”
“No… it is mine, my…”