Broken.

Isildur stared at the shards of his father's sword in his lap. Narsil had been strong, powerful, and unbreakable, or so he had thought. The sword had been the symbol of Elendil. In Isildur's eyes, his father had also been strong, powerful and unbreakable. Wasn't it he who had enabled them all to escape Númenor before it was destroyed? Did he not forge a powerful alliance with the elves? Was it not he who had advanced his armies into the very depth of Mordor and made Sauron's defeat possible?

Isildur sighed as he gazed at the dull, shattered remnants of his father's sword. Narsil no longer shone with the light of the sun and of the moon. The battle was over, the war won, but at such a cost. His father had fallen, as had his brother Anárion. The elves had lost their high king, Gil-Galad. So many others had fallen as well, men and elves beyond count, lost to the seemingly never-ending tide of Sauron's dark army. They had won, but there was very little celebrating occurring now, though that would surely come later. For now, the men and elves had set about burying their dead, tending their wounded and grieving their many losses.

Bowing his head over the shards of Narsil, Isildur allowed himself to weep for his father and brother, for all they had lost, for all those who would not be returning home to their loved ones. After many long minutes, his tears ceased and he stared once again at the broken sword. "You will not be forgotten, father," Isildur whispered. "I will journey to Eriador and take up your kingdom. Your name will be celebrated for as long as my line continues. This I swear. Ages from now, people will know your name and your great deeds. I will not allow your name to fade into the mists of time. Your kingdom will be great, and all great deeds I do will be done in your name."

Fingering the golden ring on a chain under his shirt, Isildur made his vow that the name of Elendil would be remembered. He had been unable to cast this ring into the fires of Orodruin as Elrond and Círdan had counseled. He did not believe that the ring was a source of evil, as they claimed. It was Sauron who had been evil, and he was now destroyed. This ring was nothing more than a very pretty trinket. But this ring was more than a trinket to him. He could not bring himself to destroy it. It was a reminder that his father and brother's deaths had not been in vain. Though they had lost their lives, in so doing, the evil of Sauron had been defeated. That thought was some small comfort to him, and for that reason alone, the ring had become precious to him.