Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original storylines or characters and am not making any profit by using them. Draumur is mine, though.
Author´s note: This takes place roughly 30 years before the war of the ring and after Aragorn has served Ecthelion II. under the name of Thorongil. After having led an assault on the Corsairs of Umbar he left and went eastwards according to Tolkien, who did not specify this in detail as far as I remember. Assuming that Aragorn´s intent was to gain knowledge about Sauron, I have taken the liberty to include the Ephel Dúath, the mountains west of Mordor. Later in the same year, Aragorn went to Lórien where Arwen pledged herself to him.
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Flying
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Lush green grass covered rolling hills; the air was mild, and the horizon beckoned invitingly.
Aragorn halted his horse, silently taking in the scenery. He sighed, though unconsciously so, taking a deep breath: it had been some time since his eyes had rested on such undisturbed beauty, such peace. He ran a hand over his eyes, unwilling to be reminded of where he had been recently. The bright sunshine was doing well to restore his spirit, and he wished for it to remain thus.
Thoughts of darkness were claiming his dreams every night; ever since he had first set foot in the Ephel Dúath had he been haunted by dreadful images which he was unable to get rid off.
He frowned at the thought; he had proven himself worthy, had become a leader of men and a renowned commander, yet the sinister shadow which was spreading from the Black Land was beyond his control. And even in broad daylight and the comforting warmth of sun could Aragorn feel it, could feel how it was tugging at the edges of his consciousness. He was barely able to subdue a shudder; Mordor, he thought. Sauron... the all times faceless enemy had gradually turned into a real threat, thus altering from being a mere name to an actual challenger; Aragorn doubted that this would ever be going to change, for he did not see how a task such as destroying the Dark Lord could be accomplished.
He ran his hand over his eyes again, suddenly feeling tired; it was a tiredness which settled deep in his bones, and he realized that it had nothing to do with lack of sleep or his traveling, but was a weariness which had derived from the battles he had seen and the fights he had fought. Some of these would forever remain with him, haunt his mind with excruciating details, unbidden and unwanted .
He did not want to fight anymore, had seen enough of war; he had never found himself so disheartened, so bereft of hope, and he had been thinking of Arwen more than ever lately. His heart longed to see her, to be able to be with her; she was a source of comfort to him whenever he needed something to cling to, a light in the darkness.
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His horse shifted underneath him, whickering softly as if to express its impatience and thus pulling Aragorn out of his thoughts.
He patted its neck; it was a fine dapple grey, given to him by Thengel of Rohan in return for his service, and it had faithfully carried Aragorn ever since. He had named it Draumur, after a horse from an old rohirric tale.
Unthinkingly, his eyes still on the horizon, the man now took up the reins and urged the horse on; it broke into a canter, hesitantly at first, then expanded its gait until it was running in a fast gallop. The wind whipped the hair out of Aragorn´s face and made his eyes stream while Draumur seemed to gain even more speed.
Bent low over the horse´s neck, Aragorn could feel how the animal´s stride widened, how the whole body seemed to stretch.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that it was folly to take the risk of exhausting his mount unnecessarily, and that both of them would very likely not survive the tumble if Draumur tripped over something, but he did not care.
He banished all thoughts out of his mind, concentrated on the moment alone. The ground underneath them was but a blur and the wind whistled in his ears, as they were flying across the plains of Rohan. Aragorn felt weightless; when he finally, gradually reined Draumur in, his heart was racing.
He took another deep breath and stroked his horse in gratitude, laughing about his own folly and feeling himself relax for the first time in weeks : strangely enough, his mind felt much calmer now. He would have to leave Thorongil behind if he wanted to find his true self, the man who was destined to take on the Dark Lord and become king. It would be a hard road, but somehow it seemed that he had just taken the first step. And he had survived.
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The End
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