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First March, TA 3019
A drabble, in honor of one of the more memorable of Aragorn's birthdays. Not a tale of the Dúnedain of the North, but of a Dúnadan of the North who traveled far to the South...
Few of my birthdays have brought such utter shock, with fear and joy tangling together in a moment where a ghost became flesh and sorrow was wiped away with a single hurling aside of grey rags.
In a single heartbeat, the one who I thought was an enemy changed before my eyes into a dear friend, one I had thought lost beyond the circles of this world. My sword, drawn to slay him, flamed, burning against my hand. Legolas’ arrow flew wide. Gimli’s axe fell clattering to the ground... and my heart surged with joy.
Gandalf the White had returned.
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