Ok. I chose the mace rather than that staff thing they put in the movie. Oh well. I think a mace is pretty darn scary.

The rage of battle surrounds me like a tidal wave on the sea, the cries of wounded elves, my elves. I should be angered, I should be grieved at this loss of life, and for a time I was. But I have known battle and grime and blood and the stink of death for nigh on seven years, and such feelings no longer come so easily.

I look to my right, where, a little way off, fights my herald Elrond. He steps on a dead beast to gain leverage on its fellow, and for the first time in too long I feel emotion. Elrond, my Elrond. He was never meant to fight. His fea was destined for the healing arts, not murder.

I look away, fearing to see his face, and parry the blow of one of Sauron's creatures. I kill it, thrusting my dagger into its stomach like I had done so many times before. Another orc makes its way forward, pushing aside others, and I reach for my mighty spear, Aeglos.

I freeze.

The orc freezes. Elrond stops fighting.

No one moves, and for the first time in seven years there is silence. My finger moves to an inside pocket of my war cloak, where my old ring is. Elrond turns, meets my eyes, and slaps my hand from the ring.

I feel its call...I feel his call. He is near.

A black armored figure parts the crowds easily and fluidly, in one hand is a spike ball such as I have not seen, and the other is empty, but for a single band of gold on the index finger.

One Ring to rule them all...

I clench my fist to keep it from straying to my cloak. The crushed lava rock and gravel crunches beneath the figure's iron shod feet, and high above, the mountain of fire gurgles maliciously.

Elendil rushes forward, breaking the spell. "Gondor!" he cries, and is thrown effortlessly aside with one swing of the steel spikes, dead, with his son Isildur kneeling over him.

One Ring to find them...

No! I will not permit this! I, Ereinion Gil-Galad, High-King of the Noldor, refuse to allow the defeat of the Alliance.

Behind me, I hear Elrond shout, but I have already made my move. I throw Aeglos with all my might into the figure, into Sauron. It shatters in midair, like a fragile icicle in winter. Elrond cries out, desperate this time, and the black ball swings into my line of vision, into me, and I fly back. Sauron turns to the Man, the King of Gondor, Isildur, and the world stops.

I think I am lying on the rock now, and I see Elrond kneeling over me, even as Isildur knelt over his father. My herald is saying something, from far away. I listen very hard.

"I must get you to the tents, my lord! I-"

I take hold of his hand with my waning strength. I cannot find my voice, I try to speak and I feel warm blood in my throat. With my other hand I grasp the pocket, and Elrond nods silently.

"We must get you back, my lord."

No, Elrond, I will not be going to the tents. You do not know this, do not see it, despite you healing skills. Perhaps it is that you don't want to know this. Blood drips now from the corner of my mouth, but I have not the strength to clean it. He wipes it away with his sleeve, and proceeds to remove the dented breastplate of my armor.

I cannot see what he sees now, but his face turns from fear into sadness, and I know he can no longer deny it, and I fear he will break. I imagine what the wound looks like, I have seen so many. A black blotch of internal bleeding, spreading quickly...

My herald wipes away his own tears now. He's so young, you know, Elrond. So young. I can see him, playing with his brother on the sands, as I played with my foster-father Cirdan when I was small. He lifts his first sword, reads his first Tengwar...

Ah, my Elrond, you have been a son to me. You always will, always.

And he knows now. He knows what must happen. He nods, as if he knows my thoughts.

"I love you, Ada," he whispers close to my ear. I wish I could smile. Those are my favorite words. I can no longer hold my head up, and it falls like some discarded rag onto his lap. I can't see him clearly any more, and in the distance there is light.

"I love you, Ada," he whispers again.

I love you too, Elrond, my son.