Amarth 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
 
Author: AC 
 
Series: NONE! A one-off! Not related to anything else I've 
ever written! 
 
Website: http://www.ithilas.com/fos.html 
 
Synopsis: Answer to a challenge - what really happened 
between Isildur and Elrond in Mount Doom? See endnotes for 
more details on the exact challenge. 
 
Pairing: Elrond/Isildur 
 
Rating: NC 17, warning for nonconsensual sex 
 
Not mine, no harm intended, the sheep are lying through 
their teeth! Thanks to Emma for the beta job.  
 
Comments are always cherished.  
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
 
"Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold? 
 
... 
 
This yellow slave 
 
Will knit and break religions, bless th' accursed, 
 
Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves, 
 
And give them title, knee and approbation 
 
With senators on the bench." 
 
-- William Shakespeare "Timon of Athens," act 4, sc. 3, l. 
26, 34-8.  
 
 
 
Part 1:  
 
[The heart of Orodruin, the Mountain of Fire, Mordor, the 
year 3441 of the Second Age] 
 
"Isildur!!!!!!!" Elrond's plaintive call echoed through the 
raging inferno of the volcanic vent. "Please," he 
whispered, desperate for any miracle the bountiful Valar 
might see fit to grant. He feared his prayers for victory 
over Sauron this day had already used up his allotment of 
favors with the heavenly powers, but he could not help but 
ask for their protection one final time. 
 
Hope for victory revived in the Half-elf's heart as he 
watched Isildur suddenly stop at the arched entrance to the 
cavern, perhaps - just perhaps - finally coming to his 
senses. He stood in silence, with hope-held breath, 
watching as the newly-crowned king of men strolled back 
down the stone causeway to his side. Too late did he see 
the unbridled, wanton ring-fueled lust in the other's eyes, 
and the hilt of Narsil connected with the side of his head 
in a furious, blurred flash of betrayal and surprise. 
 
Elrond fell to the floor, stunned, unable to move or see 
clearly for the passing of some seconds as stars so unlike 
the Lady's danced before his incoherent vision. Another 
loud gasp of terrified surprise slipped from his lips as 
Isildur pounced on him like a warg on a yearling. Arms 
flailed in unconnecting desperation, Elrond trying in vain 
to will his uncooperative body to obey the defensive 
maneuvers his brain instinctively screamed in command. He 
found himself rudely flipped over onto his stomach like a 
snake, wincing in pain and struggling to breathe as he felt 
Isildur's knee sharply shoved into the back of his neck. 
"Take your hands off me!" he managed to gasp, only to be 
rewarded with another unrepentent knee firmly planted into 
the small of his back. 
 
"I always wondered what it would be like to ride the High 
King's favorite 'mare'," a derisively sneering voice leered 
from above him. "I heard you both, moaning in the silence 
of the night, when you thought all were safely lost to 
their weariness and their dreams. I would stroke myself in 
time with your cries, all the while wishing I could take 
you myself, in the way I knew he did." A pregnant pause 
hung in the air, then the taunting continued with renewed 
vigor. "I always imagined you preferred a rougher hand than 
any Elf could bring himself to grant. Now is my chance to 
prove myself his better, in all ways, as I did on the field 
this day." 
 
"You defile his memory by even daring to make a 
comparison," Elrond spat in staccato, wheezed breaths. He 
struggled as best he could against the dual pressure, but 
groaned in unrelenting pain as his spine was compressed in 
two most sensitive areas. 
 
"I could toss you into the pit, or strangle the life from 
your breast, 'Immortal'." 
 
"Then what stops you?" 
 
A lewd, chilling laugh of derision heralded the man's 
reply. "I would rather you live, remember, and suffer. 
Suffer the loss of your precious King, your so-called 
lover. I would have you tormented by the fact that he died 
in vain, burnt to a cinder by Sauron's fiery power -- power 
that 'I' now possess!" Isildur cackled even more loudly, 
more smugly, more maniacally. "What are you, but an Elf?  I 
am a Man; I could own you, break you! You Firstborn think 
yourselves our superiors, but is it not 'we' whom Iluvatar 
gifted with the chance to go beyond? You are a slave to 
this world, but we leave its toils behind! It is 'we' whom 
He loved best!" 
 
"You are mad," Elrond spat with a choked cough. "The ring 
has poisoned your mind." 
 
"No, the ring has cleared my mind, Elf! I can see clearly, 
for the very first time in my life. The rulers of Numenor 
were the ones who were mad, mad to try and sail West to the 
Blessed Lands, but not for the reasons some would say. Why 
should we lower ourselves to be like you, when we are so 
much more? And 'I' shall be the greatest of all who ever 
lived! I shall do whatever I will, claim whatever I wish, 
beginning with the High King's favorite whore!" 
 
Elrond felt the weight shift above him, but before he could 
respond he felt the cold touch of steel slice through the 
back of his leggings, exposing his most private regions to 
the other's leering gaze, the flexible elvish armor which 
protected him this day now rudely shoved out of the way. 
 
"Yes, I will begin with you, 'Lord' Elrond. You will 
remember this moment always, the moment you were taken by a 
'mere' man, one of your lesser kin!" 
 
The rustling sound of garments being loosened and hastily 
dispensed armor gave Elrond both reason to fear and a 
final, desperate chance to act. Thrusting his full weight 
up onto his knees and backward, he momentarily bucked the 
power-mad man from contact with his flesh. Yet before he 
could twist around or grab his own weapon, Isildur was upon 
him again, and the elf found the remains of Narsil pressed 
against his throat. 
 
"Try that again, and I shall make you suffer in ways not 
even Sauron could imagine." 
 
Elrond froze, trying without success to find a final out 
from the situation. The blade slowly slid from contact with 
his throat, nicking the delicate skin in the process and 
spilling a few drops of his mixed blood upon the sharp 
stones beneath his bruised hands. The cruel kiss of steel 
circled around his throat, finally coming to rest against 
the back of his neck. A sharp cry of protest flew from his 
lips at the distinctive sensation of steeled flesh poised 
at the taut entrance none but his beloved had ever 
breached. Defiant to the very last, he gritted his teeth 
and tried in vain to bar entry, tensing his flesh with 
every ounce of his strength. In the end, he heard Isildur 
roughly spit, some of the droplets splashing against the 
fleshy hemispheres of his rear, the rest he imagined 
raining upon the man's insistent need. When the final 
assault came, it brought all the agony of body and brain 
and heart which he dreaded it would, a far more painful 
defeat than any he had ever suffered on the plain of 
battle. 
 
The man's breath felt hot and oppressive in his ear as he 
was bear-hugged from behind, more venomous still than the 
sulfurous fumes of the volcanic vent which choked him, 
seared his lungs, and stung his eyes. Elrond cursed the 
inadequacy of his physical strength at this moment. All he 
need do is crawl a few feet forward, and he and the beast 
which defiled him - and the cursed gold which was the root 
of all evils borne this day - would tumble into the igneous 
abyss, never to be seen again. He would surely be reunited 
with his beloved king, and Isildur would be sent to 
whatever eternal punishment awaited the faithless of their 
kind beyond the Walls of Night. But the thought was in 
vain. Aided by the ominous power of the ring, Isildur held 
Elrond his prisoner, more firmly than Morgoth himself had 
bound Maedhros to the iron cliffs of Thangorodrim. Feanor's 
son had begged for death in the madness of his suffering, a 
wish which Elrond now understood all too well. 
 
The death of his King, and his ally, the righteous Elendil, 
the fall of Sauron, and the moral fall of Isildur.... All 
had come to pass in a single day. Events had swept him away 
in their ferocious, frenzied riptide of agony, the brief 
respites of hope now becoming but a distant memory. Had 
they conquered one malevolent tyrant only to supplant him 
with another? 
 
The guttural grunts of lust echoed in Elrond's brain, even 
the din of the volcano's tumultuous fountains of red-hot 
spray unable to block the disgusting sounds from his ears. 
The undeniable delight in Isildur's voice cut at the elf's 
soul as deeply as each pain-wracked thrust ripped his 
flesh. 
 
Elrond clenched his teeth tightly, determined not to give 
in to the tears of frustration and shame which 
precipitously welled up behind his burning eyes. He would 
rather leave this life than succumb to the wanton will of 
this stranger, this monster, who robbed him of his very 
dignity. "A Elbereth Gilthoniel!" he cried to the hellish 
air. "Togo-nin bar! Awartha cuil!" No sooner had those 
pleading words escaped his dry and flame-cracked lips did 
his entire body go limp, collapsing onto the rugged rock 
cliff as if boneless and bereft of life.

Part 2: 
 
The Lord of Imladris awoke to find himself in another 
place, seemingly another time, one unknown but instantly 
recognized as safe and serene. Blue tendrils of sweet-
scented fog swirled around his body, a body which was 
surprisingly whole and hale and fully clothed, no hint of 
stain or battle or the insult which had been so rudely 
perpetrated upon it. A brilliant, iridescent, pearl-white 
light suddenly filled all space, momentarily blinding him, 
yet radiating peace along with its warmth. As he raised a 
hand to shield his sensitive eyes, a grateful smile of 
awareness wiped all hint of care from his countenance.  
 
"Is it truly you, Lady Elbereth?" he asked in a choked sob, 
falling to his knees in grateful reverence. "Have I left 
the sorrows of life for the respite of the Timeless Halls?" 
 
The glimmering image solidified into the most beauteous of 
feminine forms, a glimmering gown of shifting starlight 
hues framing her slender body. "Yes, it is I, fair son of 
Earendil, yet you are not yet in Mandos' care. Although 
long have I heard your prayers, and honored as many as 
Manwe would allow, this time I would not give ear to your 
wishes. Instead I have gifted you with dreams brought from 
Lorien himself, so that you might not bear further witness 
to the vile deeds of your distant kin. I could not allow 
you to swear off life, not when there is still much in the 
Song of Iluvatar for you to accomplish." She tenderly 
stroked the side of his face with long, graceful fingers 
the ethereal texture of the finest silk. "You are the heir 
of my brightest star, and therefore close to my heart. 
 
"You would have done better to allow me to slip away, into 
true forgetfulness and permanent shadow, as I can no longer 
bear to face the light of day, or the sight of others. He 
brings shame upon me and my King, shame that none should be 
made to bear." 
 
"He can do neither, my child. Instead he brings shame, and 
my considerable ire, upon himself. The gaze of Manwe might 
span the world, yet my anger is more insightful still, and 
more sharp. He shall pay for his foul deeds, that I swear, 
upon my love for Manwe, and the name of the Great Father 
Himself. Isildur's hard-won prize shall become his bane, 
and his name will fall into the ignominy it so rightly 
deserves. Yet your name, and that of the King with whom you 
sweetly shared your heart and your bed, shall ever be held 
in the highest esteem, even unto the end of the world." 
 
"And what of the ring, my lady? Can it be that Gil-galad's 
death was in vain?" 
 
The Queen of the Heavens smiled sweetly, with a touch of 
piquant sadness, her fingers softly sliding down to cup the 
elf's chin as her expression grew grave. "Not in vain, 
child. Many toils await you, but I swear that neither his 
death, nor the sorrows you alone must face, shall be 
without necessity and compensation." 
 
Elrond grew agitated, despite his inherent trust of the 
Lady's motives and her words. "Then how shall meet again, 
my beloved and I, if I am not to join him in the Silent 
One's care?" 
 
A secretive hint of a smile graced the loveliest of lips. 
"None may remain in His halls for a moment longer than is 
deserved and decreed. You shall meet again, but in the 
pain-free grassy knolls of the Blessed Lands, long before 
the Healing of Arda and the End of Days." Flitting her 
fingers across one of the elf's cheeks, she gently grasped 
him by the shoulders with both hands. "For now, sleep, Hope 
of Arda, for that is what you are. From your loins and your 
heart shall spring the final chance for the triumph over 
evil in this Middle-earth. I would have you suffer no more 
this day. When you awaken, you shall be in your tent, under 
the care of your most faithful of counselors, and none 
shall ever know what evil has befallen you unless the words 
pass from your own lips. They will know that my hand has 
returned you to them from the Mountain of Doom, but naught 
else shall they ask, nor be told." With that she pressed a 
lingering, consecrating kiss upon the elf's furrowed brow 
and he swooned once more into the awaiting arms of Lorien's 
care.. 
 
 
 
Epilogue 
 
[The great river Anduin, near the Gladden Fields, Second 
Year of the Third Age] 
 
Isildur swam for his very life, away from the orc ambush 
which had certainly claimed his sons and faithful 
counselors. Anger fueled each swift, synchronized arm pump, 
aided by the invigorating power of the ring. Many a night 
he had heard the ring call to him, had sat with it cradled 
in the palm of his hand while he stroked it. One night he 
dared heed its seductive song and had slid it upon his 
finger, and was shocked by the consequence. Now he eagerly 
gave the gold a home once more upon his finger, needing its 
secretive defenses as he never had before. As before, he 
found himself in a dreamworld, another reality, and he was 
blessedly unseen by those not protected by the ring's 
caress. It was thus how he had dove into the river and swam 
away, all the while plotting his revenge. 
 
Yet not far downstream another voice suddenly spoke, 
unbidden, in his head, a voice of power equal to that of 
the ring and somehow just as menacing. "Vengeance shall be 
mine, Isildur, son of Elendil, yet I not need raise a hand 
to make it so. The hearts of man are fickle and faithless, 
yet the gold you so cherish is more treacherous still. I 
know not what awaits you on the other side, for that is 
Eru's will, but I know the suffering you have caused will 
one day be but a distant memory in the hearts of those I 
hold dear. Farewell, would-be-king. May the Unmarring of 
the World be your final salvation." 
 
Isildur's blood froze, then he swam faster still. But in 
the blink of an eye, the ring slipped off his finger, 
exposing him to the plain sight of all the horrid hoard. He 
desperately grasped at the ring, trying to keep up as it 
fell toward the sandy bed of the river below.  
 
As the first arrow entered his flesh, and the pain seared 
through him greater than any he had ever known, he thought 
he heard a lyrical laughter mix with the uncaring rush of 
the river water pulsing through his ears. 
 
"Amarth," he heard the eerie voice whisper, just as the 
second arrow pierced him and sucked all the breath from his 
body.  
 
 
 
The End 
 
 
 
Notes: 
 
Amarth = fate 
 
"Togo-nin bar! Awartha cuil!" = "Bring me home! I abandon 
life!" 
 
Remember that Elves can will themselves to abandon life, as 
was first done by Miriel after giving birth to Feanor. 
 
Challenge posted by Nauta Aragorn: 
 
The Topic:  What *really* happened inside Mt. Doom between 
Isildur and Elrond? 
 
Restrictions:  None -- may include Slash, DarkFic, etc 
(respective to appropriate list rules) 
 
Required Characters:  Isildur, Elrond  (add others at will, 
as many as you need!) 
 
Must Use At Least One of the Following Lines (bonus points 
for using them all!): 
 
"Please...."  -- either Elrond or Isildur 
 
"Take your hands off me!" -- Elrond 
 
"What are you, but an Elf?  I am a Man; I could own you, 
break you!" --Isildur