Hey all FFNers who are reading this fic! I know you want to get to the story part, and I'd really
like o get to writing it, but other things must be dealt with first. *sigh* this can get annoying, but
just so no one sues me: I do not own The Lord of The Rings *double sigh* Including the
characters.
On with the fic!
Aragorn looked out the window at the crashing falls just past the balconies of the House of
Elrond. If only he could go out on to the balconies and get some fresh air. But no, he was stuck
inside, doomed to hours more of sword training before he was let off for the evening. He
suddenly focused again on the small room he was in, and the task he was set about to complete,
when he heard the crash of his sword as it was knocked out of his grasp, then felt the cool edge
of a blade against his throat.
"You'll have to do better than that if you are to be the King of Gondor," came the voice of his
teacher. Aragorn grimaced and moved his head to the left away from the sharp blade just barely
touching his skin, then picked up his sword.
"Sorry," he mumbled and focused again on his teacher and the maneuver he was supposed to be
going over.
At seven o' clock Aragorn's sword lessons were over. He wearily made his way down the
stony steps from his training quarters. He practiced in a (comparatively) small chamber with two
large open windows looking down onto a balcony a story below. Oftentimes Aragorn wondered
why they had designated that particular space for him to train in, really it was almost a part of
the balcony itself, and everyone knew more than well enough that Aragorn was a dreamer. They
couldn't hope to have him concentrate half as well as he needed to in such a place. But as this
thought entered Aragorn's head that night, another voice spoke up, this one bitter and
subversive. You are your own person! You know you don't want to be king, you know that you
are not ready. It's the same old story that it ever was. Why should you be someone you're not?
Aragorn stopped and leaned against the stone wall around the balcony, over the glistening deep
blue pool that the waterfalls spilled into. He had heard this voice speak in his head often enough,
and he wasn't sure whether it was one he should pay heed to. It sounded a lot like Legolas, an
elven friend, who was next in line for the throne of Mirkwood. He understood Aragorn's thirst to
serve his people and country, but at the same time his imagination and heart.
Aragorn grumbled to himself, picked up a rough pebble, and tossed it far out over the
ledge, watching it fall for a moment before splashing into the watery basin with a tiny ker-plish,
inaudible and barely visible from where he stood. He was sick of things he didn't understand.
What's more, he was hungry, so he turned and started for the dining hall, where the later diners
would still be there for company.
like o get to writing it, but other things must be dealt with first. *sigh* this can get annoying, but
just so no one sues me: I do not own The Lord of The Rings *double sigh* Including the
characters.
On with the fic!
Aragorn looked out the window at the crashing falls just past the balconies of the House of
Elrond. If only he could go out on to the balconies and get some fresh air. But no, he was stuck
inside, doomed to hours more of sword training before he was let off for the evening. He
suddenly focused again on the small room he was in, and the task he was set about to complete,
when he heard the crash of his sword as it was knocked out of his grasp, then felt the cool edge
of a blade against his throat.
"You'll have to do better than that if you are to be the King of Gondor," came the voice of his
teacher. Aragorn grimaced and moved his head to the left away from the sharp blade just barely
touching his skin, then picked up his sword.
"Sorry," he mumbled and focused again on his teacher and the maneuver he was supposed to be
going over.
At seven o' clock Aragorn's sword lessons were over. He wearily made his way down the
stony steps from his training quarters. He practiced in a (comparatively) small chamber with two
large open windows looking down onto a balcony a story below. Oftentimes Aragorn wondered
why they had designated that particular space for him to train in, really it was almost a part of
the balcony itself, and everyone knew more than well enough that Aragorn was a dreamer. They
couldn't hope to have him concentrate half as well as he needed to in such a place. But as this
thought entered Aragorn's head that night, another voice spoke up, this one bitter and
subversive. You are your own person! You know you don't want to be king, you know that you
are not ready. It's the same old story that it ever was. Why should you be someone you're not?
Aragorn stopped and leaned against the stone wall around the balcony, over the glistening deep
blue pool that the waterfalls spilled into. He had heard this voice speak in his head often enough,
and he wasn't sure whether it was one he should pay heed to. It sounded a lot like Legolas, an
elven friend, who was next in line for the throne of Mirkwood. He understood Aragorn's thirst to
serve his people and country, but at the same time his imagination and heart.
Aragorn grumbled to himself, picked up a rough pebble, and tossed it far out over the
ledge, watching it fall for a moment before splashing into the watery basin with a tiny ker-plish,
inaudible and barely visible from where he stood. He was sick of things he didn't understand.
What's more, he was hungry, so he turned and started for the dining hall, where the later diners
would still be there for company.