Disclaimer: Tolkien’s … and whatever I said before!
He laughed, almost uncontrollably, mouth wide, throat rasping. The clash of steel on iron, and smack of iron into flesh, became a vicious counterpoint to his baleful laughter amidst the carnage. Part of him could not understand the shrill noise; part knew his shrieks of defiant laughter were that - or weep.
His shoulders burned, his hands sweated inside blood-drenched gauntlets as he gathered his remaining strength again. Knees and thighs barely held him as rotten fangs, foul faces and black armour became his only vision. Then - beside him - Gil-galad fell.
It took all he was... not to fall with him.