2. Final Word - Minuial Nuwing
~Lindon 1200 II~
"He is very fair. If one is so inclined."
Elrond paused mid-stroke in his hair brushing ritual and stared into the mirror. "You are joking."
Gil-galad's reflection eyed him placidly. "I am not. You disagree?"
Elrond disagreed. He disagreed with a vehemence expressed in eloquent eyebrow and colorful invective. He disagreed so emphatically that Gil-galad had to duck to avoid a painful encounter with a flying hairbrush.
"No violence, please," Gil-galad chided, staying well out of reach. "I share your distrust and have denied him entry to the city." He snorted inelegantly. "What sort of charlatan names himself Annatar, anyway?"
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