It was over at last.
His sword fell from his numbed grasp, a sigh gusting from his lips, and then Aragorn turned to meet the rising sun. Far in the north the mountains rose, shadowed in darkness and cloud, but at his back the eagles called, and the night dusk swept back for the dawn.
Before his eyes, the Dark Lord fell. Even the impenetrable clouds over the black land lifted, permeated by some bright sun-ray, and songs of gladness rose into the air and dissipated, echoing off the cliff sides and hills about them.
He did not turn back, yet. He stood and watched the tower crumble, beheld the utter ruin of Sauron's dominion, eyes grey as dusk bright and yet weary. For now he would look upon the final despair of his foe, and later heed the men who had fallen in battle. Who had followed him, in faith and in love, trusting him with their lives, unto their deaths.
Still the songs continued, cries of victory from dying lips. And at last he turned to face them - Aragorn the Dúnadan, last of an heirless bloodline, and their king.
Hope had come at last, at the turning of the tide. And this time, it would prevail.
A/N: WE SOLD OUR HOUSE!