Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

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The long train of soldiers had long since disappeared into the distance. The Battle of Pelennor Fields had been fought and won, yet soldiers had left for another battle. One that they most likely would not return from.

The man snorted and turned away. What use would it do to dwell on things that no person had control over? There was too much to worry about at home. The city was damaged, the people were scared, and there was only a fool's hope that the Dark Lord would be overthrown. Still, it was hope.

The man hobbled away from the broken gate of Minas Tirith. He felt so old. Old because he had nearly died. Old because he had witnessed blood being spilled. Yes, blood had been spilled. Yes, the city had been breached. But still Men had conquered the enemy. All because of one man.

One man who claimed to be the Heir of Isildur. He bore the sword, he had the banner, he had the bloodline. And the people would follow him unto their deaths if need be.

A shadow of a smile crossed his face. The King had returned out of exile. Never had he thought to live such days. And he had returned with all manner of people. There was an Elf, a Dwarf, and the Halflings. The man had never thought to see any races but his own, and yet he had seen them all.

How often was it that one lived in such times? The shadow of a smile became a full one and changed the man's face entirely. He did not feel so old, after all. He walked back up the streets of the city to the Houses of Healing.

The women shot him glances and exchanged smiles. He ignored them all, and walked into the gardens. He breathed in the fresh air and was glad. A flash of white caught his eye.

The woman stood at the edge of the garden, watching the distant horizon. He slowly approached and laid a hand on her shoulder. She turned and gave him a small smile. She leaned back against him, grateful for his support, and turned her regard back to the horizon.

They will come back, beloved, he told her. I know it in my heart.As do I.