It is fitting that they do battle here, Amon Hen symbolic of everything Gondor was, is, and might someday be again.
Aragon's ancestors' crumbling faces look down at him, casting judgement on his actions.
They are right. He is not worthy of the ring.
The arrows hit, and the Horn brings no one, and he falls to his knees amidst the decaying vestiges of his people's lost glory.
He stares his death in the face, for he has never been afraid to die, only afraid of what his death will mean for his people.
Forgive me, he begs.
I tried.
