The morning is still, unnervingly so—like the world is holding its breath before something terrible and final. The sky is heavy with low clouds, thick and grey, the kind that seem to press against the earth and listen. Far in the distance, the sound of iron meeting iron carries on the wind: preparation, steel against whetstone, the clatter of armor, horses shifting, men murmuring prayers they never learned the words to. You can feel the storm of it building behind your ribs, slow and tight and inevitable.

Aragorn stands just a few paces away, fastening the leather straps of his gauntlet, movements practiced and silent. He hasn’t spoken yet—not because he’s ignoring you, but because he knows if he does, this moment will break. His sword is already strapped across his back. Andúril gleams faintly even in the dull light, sharp as fate itself.

You swallow, hard. You want to say something that won’t sound like begging. Something brave. But the words catch in your throat like thorns, and all that comes out is his name.

He turns at once. Just that. No delay, no hesitation. Like hearing you is more important than steel or strategy. His gaze settles on yours—those storm-gray eyes that always see too much. And this time, they read you like an open page.

“You’re afraid,” he says quietly.

You nod before you can lie. There’s no use pretending—not with him. You’re not afraid of the battle. You’re afraid of after. Afraid of the empty place beside you if he doesn’t return. Afraid of not hearing his voice again, of not seeing that half-smile he saves for when he catches you watching him.

His expression softens—not pity, never that—but something aching and fierce. He steps toward you and takes your face in both hands, callused thumbs brushing rain and unshed tears from your cheeks like they offend him. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm as it mingles with your own.

“If this is the last time I look into your eyes,” he murmurs, “then I will carry their light with me into whatever darkness waits. But I swear to you—I will not fall unless all the stars do first.”

You close your eyes, because it’s too much, and not enough. You want to beg him not to go, to stay with you, to choose love over death. But you know he can’t. He never could. His path is a long one, carved in ancient blood and sealed in the oaths of kings.