by Jay of Lasgalen  

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Even before the order to attack is given, we fall upon the hosts of Mordor.  Too soon.  Though valiant, we are too few to achieve our goal, and I watch in horror as one after another falls.  These are my friends, my comrades.  Then you too fall, and I kneel at your side, heedless of the battle still raging.

Scalding, bitter tears fill my eyes as you look on me for the last time, your hand brushing my face.  Then you too are gone, and around us warriors kneel in homage.

“All hail King Thranduil,” intones one, and others follow.