The end of the story: Aragorn's part in the last battle, written in the frame of the game (a compilation of roleplaying posts). Morgoth was driven from the skies by Eärendil, although for the price of a great loss, as Vingilot crashed with him. Túrin defeated Melkor with Gurthang reforged, and avenged himslef and his family...

A/N: co-authored with Lirulin-yirth-k'aio (unbetaed)

The Last Battle

Aragorn and Finrod fought side by side, together with the Númenorean. As the darkness grew stronger, it seemed to give strength to their enemies, despite Denar's song, and Aragorn's hands trembled with fatigue as he fought against the endless rows of dark of them managed to came too close, and he bled from many wounds.

The Númenorean fell. Aragorn caught a glimpse of his face when the helmet fell on the bloody soil. He gasped as he recognized the face. He saw it in Rivendell, in a painting on a dusty canvas. Ar-Pharazôn... He almost missed a block, but Finrod caught the blade with his shield. Aragorn had no time to thank him, as he returned to the fight immediately. They stayed alone, and the circle of enemies was tightening around them...

The darkness rose high to the sky, and it looked as if it was about to swallow everything. There was no hope... But in that moment, a pure white light appeared on the sky, and descended upon the darkness like the flame of the West. Hope returned...

Aragorn had no time to follow the fight on the sky, hardly pressed by the enemies, but he fought with new strength, knowing that Gil-Estel shines again.

Suddenly the earth shook beneath his feet. The light crashed to the ground, taking the darkness with it. Aragorn's heart stopped for a moment. Eärendil! No! He regretted the dissonance that was between them when they last met bitterly. For a moment the rest of the world ceased to exist... Aragorn didn't see the blade coming. It aimed straightly at his heart, and would hit in the next moment...

The earth shakes again, in its very foundations. It stirrs, as if a great weight has been lifted from it. Suddenly the air feels fresh and clean. The darkness passed...

The blade does not hit. There is no will to drive the enemies forwards anymore. They flee in fear and confusion. Aragorn falls to his knees in exhaustion, the change too big to comprehend at once.

The strings of the harp tear at the moment when the enemy is no more and hit Daenar's fingers painfully. He startles, as if only now fully realizing where he is and what is happening.

Then he sighs and sinks helplessly on the ground and turns away from the Doors of Night, not uttering a single sound...

Still amazed, Aragorn looks at Finrod, thanking him for the many times he saved his life in this fight with his look, not trusting his voice to speak still. He looks around, and comprehension comes slowly. Morgoth is defeated! Aragorn's sight stops on Daenar, and he feels his heart clench. They won... He proved his loyalty... but had to fight against his own family to do it, and see its death. A bitter victory...

Aragorn rises painfully, and rushes to Daenar's side. "Dae..." he whispers, not knowing what to say. "I'm sorry..." he sighs, and puts his hand on the vampire's shoulder for a moment. The wind brings a song of joy, but he cannot rejoice. His sight is drawn to the wreckage that was Vingilot. A bitter victory indeed...

But there is light in the wreckage. It shines still, a white flame. Maybe it is not too late yet? Aragorn squeezes Daenar's shoulder once more, saying I'll return, and staggers to the ship, following the light.

The sight that greets him there, makes his heart clench again. Túrin and Eärendil lay side by side, and from one look Aragorn knows that he can't help them. But Eärendil's eyes are open... Aragorn sinks to his knees at his side.

"Eärendil..." he calls quietly, fighting back the tears. "You have done it..." He searches for athelas, but nothing is left from his supply. So he wipes the blood from his hand, and puts it on Eärendil's brow gently, easing the pain with the healing touch.

"Aragorn, you must help me... the Silmaril. Still in my hand..."

Aragorn nods, but his hand hesitates just inches from the jewel. He knows the friendship he has found it true. But has he done the right thing when he introduced Daenar to the others? Or was it a mistake, and he is tainted with it? Will the Silmaril reject him, burn his hand as it did to those who lost the right to touch the holy jewel? He takes a deep breath. May it burn, then. He will fulfill Eärendil's last wish...

Gently he opens Eärendil's fingers, and takes the living light into his hand. He expects pain... But it does not come. The gem is cool in his hand, and the light gives him hope...

"The Two Trees will shine again..." he whispers through the tears. "Rest easy, father..."

Aragorn feels the moment when spirit leaves the broken body of the Flammifer of Westernesse. "Rest, Eärendil son of Tuor... Your duty is fulfilled, and you are free," he whispers, and kisses the Mariner on the brow. "Farewell..." Somewhere in the distance, a gull cries.

He kneels at the body of his ancestor, not perceiving the joyful cries of victory. He does not know how much time passed so. But he looks up finally... he must find Fëanor... But he can't see him on the battlefield, there is too much confusion... He leaves the wreck of Vingilot behind, and walks blindly, like in a dream. They should bury Eärendil and Túrin with greatest honour... but his mind refuses to plan that now. There is too much pain still. Later...

He sees Daenar, still kneeling in the same position... Aragorn staggers to him, and then his strength finally gives up, and he sink to his knees at Daenar's side. Is there such a difference? For the dark or for light, grief is still the same... He does not speak, but puts his hand on Daenar's shoulder, careful to not touch him with the Silmaril in the other hand, trying to give some comfort with the touch, as well as seeking it in the other's presence. The world just ended. Maybe there will be a new beginning, but now, he cannot see it.

Deanar sighs, touching Aragorn's hand with his fingertips. "I am sorry.." he whispers quietly. "For him... for them both..." it sounds so vague that he adds. "For Earendil and Turin I mean..." and not a single word about his own loss.

Aragorn looks up shortly, meeting Daenar's eyes. "And for your father..." he whispers hoarsely. "The war of light and darkness ended with the death of both. Maybe there will be a new world, and there will be no wars..." he smiles slightly, through the tears.

He sighs then. "You asked me to not tell the others that you are his son, and I didn't. But that was what made me trust you... Your trust to me in revealing that..."

"I felt I should tell you all the truth," Daenar replies simply. "And I hope... I hope that the war is over now, and won't begin anew..."

He looks around. "But maybe we should leave this place... this joyful music from everywhere sounds a bit mocking to me..."

"Soon, my friend..." Aragorn nods. "But I have one more duty to Eärendil... I must find Fëanor, and give him the Silmaril..."