Disclaimer: No matter how many times I have that dream; Aragorn does not belong to me. Neither does Boromir. *sob* Veracessa does, though. So hands off, perverts!
Chapter 1
The new king roamed the pristine interior of his palace aimlessly. His subjects began to gossip amongst themselves that the king's loss of conscious thought was a result of possession by a sinister force, just as Theodrin had been possessed.
Truth be told, the king was possessed. Not by any person, but rather the memory of one. Aragorn knew exactly when the strange behavior began to overtake his own lighthearted ways. He relived the moment so many times he was almost numb to the pain it caused him. Almost.
"Arwen? Arwen! Where is she?" Aragorn demanded of Elrond. His calloused hands itched to strangle the smug Elf.
"She has sailed into the West. She has heeded the wishes of her father, and for that she will be rewarded in the next life," Lord Elrond smirked as he turned and left Aragorn standing in the middle of the battlefield.
'What good is a victory over Sauron if I cannot have the love I desperately need?' Aragorn's bitter subconscious prodded him.
"-orn!" Aragorn was shaken out of his memory by the Woodland elf he had come to consider a brother.
"My apologies, Legolas," Aragorn intoned, engaging in a brotherly embrace with the Elf who had saved his life countless times before.
"Gandalf sent me to find you. He says it's urgent. You'd better come quickly," the Elf stated coolly.
The two men were greeted in the halls by Gimli who fell into step and walked with Aragorn and Legolas.
"I'll be clean shaven before I let an Elf be more informed than me," the Dwarf half-joked.
As the group reached Gandalf's tower study, their expressions turned quizzical as they observed the PalantÃr out of its encasement and nestled in the stand in the center of the room.
"Aragorn, my boy, you need to see what the PalantÃr has to show you. Prepare yourself. It is not a pleasant premonition. These are shadows of what will be lest a dramatic change comes to this land," and with that, Gandalf motioned Aragorn to the magic sphere.
As the light and dark began to form into shadows, and those shadows turned into figures and events, Aragorn's expression changed from hopelessness to outrage to grief. Finally, he ripped himself from the ball's mystical hold and sank to his knees. After a long moment, he raised his head to Gandalf.
"How do I stop this?"