A double-drabble.

"'Few now remember them,' Tom murmered, 'yet some still go wandering, sons of forgotten kings walking in loneliness, guarding from evil things folk that are heedless.' The hobbits did not understand his words, but as he spoke they had a vision as it were of a great expanse of years behind them, like a vast shadowy plain over which strode shapes of Men, tall and grim with bright swords, and last came one with a star on his brow." - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

The waters of Lake Evendim rippled under heavy clouds, washing over the streets of long-desolate Annúminas. Its proud towers still reared pale against the dull grey sky, defiant of Nenuial's continued efforts to take back its own. Halbarad and his kindred watched over the city of their ancestors, a long labor seemingly soon forsaken – summons had come from Rivendell; Aragorn called for aid. And yet Halbarad was in doubt; his allegiance was to his chieftain, but his duty was also to the North. While he stood, tormented, a wind rose suddenly from the West, turning the ripples to waves and tearing the clouds asunder. The sunset was revealed, a sudden blaze of splendor that colored the city's stones in hues of rose and crimson. A vision came unbidden to his eyes: black ships rode up out of the West, silhouetted against the fiery light and framed by the fleeing clouds; the greatest of them led the way, and a man stood at its prow. A bright star was on his forehead, and nobility was in his bearing. The apparition vanished as swiftly as it came, and Halbarad felt the touch of his coming death – but doubt troubled him no more.