It was a strange sensation, to put it mildly. Walking down the steps to see people – friends and strangers alike – respectfully bowing or bending their heads. The weight of Gondor's crown was heavy on Aragorn's head, but his heart was light with their victory over Sauron.

All his life, Aragorn song of Arathorn had been a wanderer. A Ranger; the outsider who avoided companionship, save from few. To transition so suddenly…it was almost surreal. A dream – but Aragorn was not entirely sure whether it was a good one…or a nightmare.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, he stopped in front of Legolas. His long-time friend, wearing a circlet to symbolize his rank as prince of the Mirkwood Elves, smiled at him, eyes speaking volumes. The son of Arathorn and the son of Thranduil had known each other long enough to read between the lines.

No words were needed – except, perhaps, two.

"Hannon le," Aragorn said quietly, clasping his friend by the shoulder. Thank you.

A movement behind the Mirkwood company attracted his gaze. Releasing Legolas's shoulder, Aragorn turned to look. As Legolas stepped to the side, he shot Aragorn a curious smile.

Now before him stood a small company from Rivendell, Elrond at the head, his expression strangely melancholy. At his side was a flagbearer carrying the standard of Gondor, her face hidden.

Before nary a thought could cross his mind, the flagbearer shifted her burden to unveil her face. Staring at her in disbelief, Aragorn found himself momentarily rooted to the spot where he stood, a wave of emotion cresting and crashing down over him.

It was Arwen.

Arwen, who Elrond had said was dying. Arwen, who he had thought lost to him time and again. The Elf he had loved for nearly seven decades.

Without thinking about it, his feet found their way towards her. She, too, drew near, almost cautiously. He gazed into her grey eyes, shining with tears. They were so close now. All he wanted was to take her in his arms and hold her, never let her go.

Reaching out, Aragorn gently took the flagstaff from her hands. Arwen trembled at his touch and quickly bowed her head to him.

No, Aragorn thought. This is not right. What is a crown, a title, if it means those you love must kneel to you?

He quickly put his hand to her chin and raised her face to his. Her eyes locked with his, and he drank in their shining grey depths.

Do not bow to me, he thought.

Her lips curved into a small smile.

Casting down the flag, Aragorn leaned forward and kissed her passionately, just as he had dreamed of many times during the Quest. Hardly aware of the clapping and cheering all about him, he twirled Arwen around.

Setting her down, he drew back and smiled at her before pulling her into an embrace. Her laughter was music to his ears.

He felt as if a hole in his heart had been filled.

He was with Arwen, his beloved.

Aragorn, the new King of Gondor, had his treasure, more precious than any gem in Middle Earth. And now he was completed. If this was a dream, it was a good one.

Finis