Hi! Tis my first story, please be nice and remember how your first review felt. This story is entirely movieverse, based on a scene from ROTK extended. If you haven't seen it, you may not understand what is happening here. It could also be counted as one big spoiler for that scene. Anyway, if you're still reading, enjoy!
/Hannon le, ada,/ was Aragorn's first thought as he stumbled out onto the hillside. /Thank you so very much./
He stood blinking in the daylight, fighting to recover his breath after the ordeal of clawing through a landslide of skulls. Then he decided that kings of men, even less-than-impressive ones who cannot rabble-rouse ghost armies, do not fight for breath, and lifted his head. Bad idea. Aragorn stared in agonized disbelief at the blazing buildings ahead of him. Now he could smell it on the wind: the scent of burning, of death, and of evil. The corsairs. After all that fighting, he was too late. He sank to his knees.
/I have failed them. Father, I am sorry. Perhaps I am not the man you hoped I was. I have failed my people; it was all for nothing./
There was no other way; he was past hoping, or planning. The desperation in his heart had been replaced with despair. Abruptly he felt a hand on his shoulder and almost pulled away before remembering the companions beside him. Still he could not bring himself to acknowledge their sympathy. After all, how could an elf understand this situation? A dwarf? Pointless death, lives gone in a fiery shimmer.
/He offers comfort, but he does not know my pain/ mused Aragorn bitterly. /Or my responsibility. And why should he?/
Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, said nothing. He only tightened his grip on his friend's shoulder, as he watched slow tears glinting in the far-off firelight. To Aragorn it seemed that time stood still. His head dropped to his chest, dragged down by the crushing weight of futility. In his mind he saw Gondor fall, her king far distant…but there was not the strength in him to return there with nothing.
At a sound behind him, he whipped around, moving solely on instinct, angry that the world had not stopped with him. A ghostly figure melted from the hillside to stand before him. Aragorn stared into the decrepit face of the King of the Dead, a new, grim determination in his heart.
'We fight,' breathed the phantom.
/Indeed, my friends/ thought Aragorn. /We fight./
Thank you for reading, please come again. Btw, I am desperately seeking a beta reader for this and any future fics, will worship at the feet of anyone who could help me out, also willing to return the favour.