4. Acceptance — Vilwarin
Aragorn was glad when he finally left the city. Never before had he been so mentally and physically exhausted. The Palantír, the army of the Dead, the battle and the healing had left him drained of all energy. He sat on a boulder not far from the Gates and let his head sink into his hands. The camp was only a stone's throw away, but he could not bring himself to face anyone, especially not his people. They would not speak of Halbarad's death before Aragorn addressed the matter, but he had no words for them, not yet.
He knew what Halbarad would have said. "Do not be ridiculous, death belongs to our lives like the air we breathe." And it was true. Every one of them knew death, but that did not mean that it was easier to accept. He felt the years weighing heavily upon him. He had buried so many already, family, friends, comrades. He stood up and looked towards Minas Tirith and the Houses of Healing. Life to the dying in the king's hand lying. He breathed deeply, turned his back to the city and continued his way to the camp. The Dúnedain had need of their Chieftain now, as had he of them.
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