Auron was a slab of rock with a sword wedged in him. He was cool and calm and dependable, was old and young and ageless, was alive and dead but (that's not quite right) undead and gods, he's tired.
That sword in him gleamed its innocence and guilt and neutrality but didn't really gleam at all, because it's dark and he's dark and (why's that matter) it's his sin and his mistakes and his duties that he left behind and (his story was over but) things had changed.
His sword was pulled out and burned away; he could finally sleep.