Early morning's twilight, filtering through the high narrow window, does little to brighten this Hornburg chamber's grey stone walls. Halbarad swallows.
"You are resolved upon this, Aragorn?"
"I am. 'Tis my right… mayhap my duty, in our greatest need." The Ranger stands up, straightens weary shoulders… and is Isildur's Heir. Slowly, deliberately, he draws Anduril; at his nod, Halbarad unfurls the standard, lets its folds fall where crown-and-stars shine clearly forth.
"Very well, then." For a moment their eyes lock. Elbereth, Halbarad prays, let him be strong enough…
Aragorn fixes his gaze on the waiting, dark globe; and it begins.