Loqi asked for a drabble about Arnor.
The crowning is done. A sunset king for the sunset towers, the last of his line: Valandil, son of Isildur, King of Arnor, and High King of the Dúnedain. Annúminas is thronged with folk come to celebrate the day, and the streets are loud with joy.
And the king himself? "He looks well," says one man, the belt of his knighthood stark against dark livery.
"Very like his father," says another, similarly attired, and raises his glass. "The king is dead."
"Long live the king." Ohtar and Estelmo, smiling, drain their cups, content that their service was not in vain.