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An "Aragorn coming of age" drabble
Imladris’ pure air fills his senses. All the same, yet everything changed in a mere hour. Isildur’s Heir… Chieftain of the Dunedain…. His hand settles on the hilt of the broken sword. His destiny lies before him like the many endless roads he walked. He need only step upon it to embrace his fate.
Arnor… the old kingdom. His kingdom. He must know this land of his ancestors…his people.
“You are going?” A quiet voice turns his head.
“I must find my destiny, Adar. It is not here.”
A warm hand settles on his shoulder. “Namarie, ion nin. Journey well.”
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