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Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from it.
Credit: Tuckborough.net, lotr.wikia.com
His eyes misted, though not for the father he had lost but moments ago. His heart pounded, though not because of the impossible victory attained by one lucky stroke from a broken blade. His breath quickened, though not in readiness to join his allies' cries of jubilation.
Fingers reached out of their own accord towards the smoking digit that was once Sauron's. Wonder raced through him as grey eyes reflected the glint of purest golden perfection wreathed in fiery script. It was burning hot, but no matter.
The air stilled as Isildur claimed his weregild.
To the victor, the spoils.
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