I'm not going to waste your time, because I'm sure author's notes aren't at all fascinating to you lot. But this story is mostly an RP between the lovely Nymphadora Andromeda Lupin and myself, and I remember we had tons of fun writing it. So we certainly hope you enjoy it. We used the brilliant LOTR fanfilm Born of Hope as our inspiration.

This is the story of Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, and how he became Gondor's hope - and, finally, King of the Reunited Kingdoms.

Based on "The Call" by Regina Spektor. A sort-of songfic.

Arathorn, Son of Arador was a proud man – he always had been. He was rightly the heir of Elendil, currently the only surviving one. But even for all his strength, he had never been without his father Arador. That was exactly it. Slain by Orcs –by that damned troll – the rather young man had been forced into the spotlight as the only one able to claim the Gondorian throne. But he didn't want it – and he was convinced, his house would fall into darkness, as certain as the seasons would pass.

Few approached him, the only ones brave enough being Elgarain and Dihraborn, his closest friends for as long as he could recall. But even seeing them was painful, for it brought upon memories of his father. His grief was so strong that he even found himself wishing that Arador had never existed, so he could be spared his pain.

On one of those dreary and lonely days, Arathorn awoke to another nightmare –in which Arador had been slain by yet another variation of Orc...he had been so close...so close to saving him this time...but it ended in his death, the same way it always had, and the way it had in reality. Seeing that his troubles had not awakened his beloved wife, Gilraen, the Chieftain of the Dúnedain sighed quietly and slid out of bed, pulling on his tunic and belt before heading out the back door of the hut. He breathed in the forest air, his eyes closing for the yearned moment of peace.

It started out as a feeling

Contrary to Arathorn's belief, his night terrors had awoken his wife, whom had only been sleeping lightly as it were. She slid out of bed after him, clad only in a thin sleeping shift and padded on silent feet across the cottage floor to where he had disappeared. She hoped he had not wandered far. "Arathorn?" Her soothing voice flowed gently through the night, like a cool stream on hot feet in the heights of Summer. "Arathorn? What is it that you dream?"

She hoped he could hear her. She did not want to have to wander too far in search of him. Despite the best efforts of the Dúnedain, the forests were still not safe. "Arathorn?"

The Man heard his name called from his wife's soft lips, and opened his eyes to push open the door yet again. "Out here, Gilraen." His voice was neither aggravated nor cheerful, sad nor happy. It simply was. Just as he had been living a half-life since they came back with Arador's motionless body in tow. He shivered involuntarily at the flash of a memory – how was it that people grieved? How could they move on with their lives? It just wasn't possible for him. Not when he had looked up to his father for all of his life.

The blonde woman turned in that direction and opened the back door, stepping out into the night. She found the Chieftain of the Dúnedain quickly enough and stepped closer, to lend her warmth. "What is it that causes you such nightly terrors my love?" Her voice was still soft, still soothing but held an undercurrent of worry and fear.

Arathorn slipped his arm around his wife's waist and pulled her close, his eyes shutting of their own accord. His muscles stiffened at her query, but he sighed quietly. "The future, Gilraen," he said quietly. "Orcs are massing, moving closer by day. They come to kill the one who holds the Ring of Barahir." He twisted the ring off his own finger and held it with a sigh. "Is this to be the end of the line of Elendil?" He voiced the question with fear. "I do not know how we can survive this."

Which then turned into a hope

"Arathorn! Where is your joy? Where is your hope?" Her voice cracked on the last word as if the sound of a whip. "I will not despair, nor would I have you do so. Fear not tomorrow, for it is not ours to know or to command. And fear not that line of the Kings is ended. It lives on in you... and in me." With a shy smile she took his hand and guided it to her belly. "Fear not, my lord. Fear not." Her eyes were wet with unshed tears of joy as she gazed up into his eyes. "For there is always hope, even when the way seems darkest."

His eyes shifted from the forest down to her stomach and their joined hands and then finally up at her face, his irises wide with disbelief. "Gilraen..." he whispered, gathering her into his arms before spinning her around and then holding her close. And for the first time since Arador's death, Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, laughed. "You have brought hope to our people, my love." He pulled out of the embrace and fixed her with a loving gaze. "You have given me hope." With another amazed smile, his eyes glazed over, transfixed, his hand reached over and placed it upon her abdomen once more.

"And you are my hope, my love. You and our son." Of course the child she carried would be a son, all of the Dúnedain bore a male heir first. A soft laugh echoed her husband's as she clung to his shoulders. "Did I not tell you Arathorn? All will be well."

He beamed at her, his eyes - as blue as the oceans - lighting with happiness, finally. He seemed to be a new man, or the old Arathorn, the unstoppable Arathorn. "Our son..." he breathed out, "The next Chieftain..." That in itself was a strange fate to think of. His still-unborn son would one day be leading these people. "All will indeed be well, Gilraen."

This was merely a tester to see if people like it. There are more chapters already written and edited, just to be posted. Depending, of course, on what people think. Remember to review if you enjoyed it, maybe even if you didn't and want to tell us how to improve.

Cheers,

Teddy.