I am a man.
Son of Arathorn, son of Gilraen. Son of kings, of noble men. Keeper of the blood of Numenor. I am a ranger; Strider, Estel, Elessar, The Dunadan, the hope of the lost. I am all of them, yet I am none of them. Who am I, truly?
No matter my name, no matter my actions, I will always be what I truly am.
I am a man.
After all that I have done, all that I have accomplished can I say that I have made a difference? One evil follows another, after all. For now I have made a difference then, but in future will my descendants be able to call my actions a 'difference'? Will they look at me in pride, carving my likeness out of marble or making songs about my deeds? Will my name be on their lips in the frenzy of battle? Will I hear the cry of my name amidst the battle when commanders rally their troops?
Will they even remember me?
Perhaps. But I am just a man.
Simply a man. I will not live to see many more ages, for I am old. All of my names, all of my titles and trappings of state cannot hide the fact that I am mortal. Who will care for my wife when I am gone? Brilliant Undomiel, woven by starlight and shadows…and my son? My son. Strong and brave, the weight of his ancestors on his shoulders. Both man and immortal lie within his veins. What creature would choose to let go of his two most important treasures, his wife and his son?
I would, and I will
For I am man.
Simply a man.
And I am weak.