This one-shot's dedicated to my good friend, Angela teh Punk Hippie Platypus. This scene is taken from a scene that can only be found on the Extended Edition of "Lord of the Rings: Return of the King".When Aragorn visits the King of the Dead and his ghostly army, the scene in the normal-length version ends with Aragorn's question "What say you?" remaining unanswered. In the Extended Edition, however, the King of the Dead laughs and his ghosts disappear, and suddenly the whole cavern - along with an enormous landslide of human skulls - comes crashing down on Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They escape - just barely, and the way back into the cavern is blocked up. Aragorn, thinking this means the ghosts have refused to fight for him, sees the black corsair ships and thinks all is lost. Then, at the very last second, an unexpected visitor appears... If you've seen the Extended Edition, you know who I mean. If you haven't yet... just know that no actual events have been altered in any way in this fanfic. This is mostly just an elaboration on Aragorn's thoughts at this point in time. XD

Disclaimer: All belongs to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson.

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Aragorn stood with Legolas and Gimli in the sudden sunlight, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the abrupt change of surroundings. Only moments before, they had been scrambling through a cascade of skulls – human and otherwise – through the darkness of the dwelling of the ghostly army Aragorn had been sent to find and bring back with him. Now, the warmth of the sun and the light brush of the wind felt like a dream, no longer real.

But the cheer of the sun was dimmed by clouds, and the scene was ruined by the dark vision which now sailed the river Anduin. Looking down the hill upon which they stood at the waters below, the three hunters saw black ships with ebony sails – corsairs on their way to Osgiliath. It was upon seeing these enemies, passing through with no hindrance whatsoever, that the horror of what had just happened finally hit Aragorn – and it hit him hard.

He sank to his knees under the weight of his grief, staring unseeingly down at the ships below. He did not feel it when Legolas placed a hand consolingly upon his arm; he only felt cold – cold and alone and defeated. He had failed – not only himself, but everyone. Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf… all the peoples of Middle-Earth. They were all doomed now, sentenced to death because (as he now saw it) of the weakness of one man. He blamed only himself for the darkness they now would have to face – after all, he alone could have summoned the King of the Dead and his army to win the battle at Pelennor Fields. He alone had Anduril, Flame of the West, the broken sword of his ancestors reforged at long last. Yet now, despite everything – his determination, his loyalty, even the Numenorian blood flowing through his veins – he had still failed them. How could he ever forgive himself?

Tears sprang to his eyes as he thought of Frodo. He had sworn an oath to protect the poor hobbit; indeed, he could still hear his own words ringing mockingly in his ears. If by my life or death I can protect you, I will. Now Frodo and Sam alone were trudging through the harsh, unfeeling lands of Mordor with naught but each other and the clothes on their backs, whilst he knelt beside the Anduin, watching a legion of enemy ships sail by without being able to do anything about it. For the thousandth time, he wondered if he’d done the right thing, letting Frodo and Sam continue to Orodruin alone. This time, however, there was no answer; Gandalf had always been the voice of his conscience, but now he had failed his old mentor and friend as well.

Aragorn closed his eyes as he thought of Gandalf, and how disappointed the wizard would be in him. The realization that because of what he had done – or, rather, what he had failed to do – Gandalf would never get the chance to express said disappointment only made it worse. Empty and hopeless, Aragorn bowed his head beneath the weight of his guilt.

Just then, he became aware of a strange, eerie sound behind him – an echo of death. His eyes snapping open again, he stood up and turned to face the solid rock wall, frowning. Whatever was making the noise was coming from this direction, he was sure of it – yet, for a moment, he saw nothing. Then the sound grew louder, and through the living rock itself stepped the King of the Dead himself.

Aragorn watched with wary eyes as the spirit approached him, a less-than-pleased expression on his ghostly face. What could he possibly want now? Aragorn had thought the ghost’s answer to his offer to fight and be freed had become clear when their abode came crashing down over his and his friends’ heads.

Apparently, he had misinterpreted, for when the dead King opened his mouth, he spoke the exact words Aragorn had been hoping to hear since he set out to find the specters. “We fight.”

Just those two, simple words – we fight – were enough to restore hope and rekindle the fiery determination within Aragorn that had been crushed and forgotten only moments before. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he stared into the unsmiling face of the dead man, his grief and guilt replaced with surprise and triumph. He had succeeded, after all – he had not doomed Middle-Earth like he’d thought he had. His heart soared with the knowledge that Frodo’s trust in him had not been misplaced, that Gandalf had not been wrong to believe in him. He shared a glance with Legolas and Gimli, and they smiled at him for the first time that day.

Feeling a smile tugging at the corners of his own mouth, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, turned and led the way down the hill to the river Anduin. Once more, he was the brave and fearless man Legolas and Gimli had both come to love as a brother; for now, at long last, he truly believed he was on the right path, and that he had not made all the wrong choices after all. This knowledge alone would keep him going, keep him trying until his strength failed him at the very end of all things… along with two amazingly plain words. We fight.