I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment when Frodo places the ring on the table like I asked him. I hope the others did not notice the way my breath hitched and the sadness which no doubt showed on my face when I saw that ring. That small piece of metal, which looks so harmless, has caused more suffering and pain than I could have imagined if I hadn't experienced it for myself. I prayed that I wouldn't have to look upon it again.
It was because of that ring that Isildur betrayed me.
When I recounted to Gandalf what occurred that day, I turned away from him so he wouldn't see the tears that sprung to my eyes. It was only because of my long years of practice in hiding my emotions that I managed to keep my voice even. Even after three thousand years the wound is still fresh, the hurt still too palpable. I fear it may never fully heal, even if the ring is destroyed. Time has not dulled the memory in my mind. I still remember perfectly every detail of the day the strength of men failed.
Before that fateful battle Isildur and me were everything to each other; friends, comrades, lovers. I would have gladly died for him and I believe he would have done the same for me.
During the battle, we each led our own armies while always keeping each other in sight. After much arduous fighting, our side took the upper hand and victory was within our reach. But at that time Sauron appeared, the fiery letters on the ring on his finger glowing maliciously. He belted our soldiers with such brutal force that they flew through the air as if they were no more than pebbles. One of those men was Elendil, Isildur's father. Isildur ran to where Elendil had been bashed against the rock and knelt beside him taking his lifeless head in his hands. He had no time to grieve, for Sauron walked up to him, arm ready to strike down and kill Isildur. Fear clutched my heart in an iron grip and I desperately fought my way through the mass of orcs in an attempt to reach him, but I was too far and the enemy too quick. I saw Isildur grab his father's sword and began to lift it but Sauron stepped on it, leaving him with only a shard on the hilt. With a defiant yell he suddenly raised that shard and cut off Sauron's fingers, letting the ring fall to the floor. Sauron gave out a wounded roar, reared back, and disintegrated in a colossal explosion that sent a giant wave over the battlefield. Their master dead, the orcs fell lifeless upon the floor. I rejoiced. Isildur, my Isildur, had finally rid the world of the nightmarish blight that afflicted it. But there was one more thing to be done before we could lay our fears to rest for good.
I made my way through the endless corpses and walked up to him. He had picked up the ring and held it in the palm of his hand. A look of wonderment was displayed across his features. I hint of worry crept into my spirit, but I pushed it aside.
"Isildur, hurry! Follow me."
I led him hastily into the heart of Mount Doom where the ring was made.
"Cast it into the fire!" I urged him. He ignored me and kept looking at the ring and turning it over with his fingers. My worry grew.
"Destroy it!"
He looked at me then, a sneer on his face. This wasn't the man that I knew, his eyes glowered with a wicked light. Icily, he answered me.
"No."
He turned away from me and walked out without another glance. I screamed his name trying vainly to break through the haze that had taken over him. I followed his retreating form to the base of the mountain and confronted him.
"Isildur," I spoke firmly. "Give me the ring."
I held out my hand. For a moment, the cloud in his eyes lifted and the true Isildur looked at me with a lost expression. Soon, however, his look hardened again. He answered me harshly.
"No."
"We must destroy it. The world won't be truly safe as long as the ring exists."
"I can use it. Nobody will be able to stand against me."
The words were spoken more to himself than to me.
"Isildur, you can't use that ring. It's powers are of evil. No good can come out of it. We've fought so long and hard to be rid of it. So many of our people are dead because of it, your own father. Are you going to belittle their deaths by ignoring the cause they fought for?"
His face hardened and his lips set in a straight line. He glared hotly at me.
"I can't destroy it. It is precious to me."
I was stunned. Those words cut through my soul more intensely than anything had ever done. I knew at that moment that he was lost to me. My face saddened and my voice softened.
"More precious than me?"
He looked perplexed and opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. He turned from me and walked away. This time I did not follow. It was the last time I saw him.
When I received word of his death and that the ring had been lost, my heart grieved for a man whom I had loved with all the strength of my soul. I cursed the ring that had stolen my love from me and hoped the depths would never relinquish their claim to it.
My hope endured for three thousand years, far too short a time for someone of my race. Now the ring is back, and we must once again join together to save the world from the darkness of Mordor. The ring lies before, an ominous threat to the peace of Middle Earth. The feelings which I had fought to vanquish all this time resurface in my soul. Love and hate towards Isildur, hate and despair for the merciless fate which has been handed to me.
His heir, Aragorn, is at this council. He protected the hobbits on their journey over here. He's strong and courageous, and his heart is noble. He reminds me so much of Isildur before this malignant ring entered our lives. My daughter, Arwen, loves him so ardently that she would bind herself to him and forsake the inmortal life. I pray that he won't betray her dreams like Isildur betrayed mine. I pray that he will be able to withstand the power of the ring and aid in its destruction.
I lost my faith in men long ago. I hope he can restore it.
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