by: Angel Wings Rinoa (Cathy-chan)
Ah, my very first LOTR fic. This is a short fanfic (Well, in my reckoning anyhow. '^^) that I felt like writing because Aragorn is such a cool character, and I don't think he gets a lot of recognition by himself. It's also sort of my insight on how he must have felt and thought during his first travels. It takes place years before the quest. It's completely referenced to the novel (or rather the Appendixes) and not the movie. This is just for my own entertainment really, but perchance that you do like the fic, thanks! I know how much I suck at grammar and spelling so I apologize in advance. Enjoy reading and please review it! I'd love to hear what you think.
Disclaimer: C'mon....you've heard this before! I don't own Aragorn or Lord of the Rings, of course! It's by the talented JRR Tolkien. Like I said, just writing it 'cause I feel like writing a fanfic.
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Chapter 1
The parting had been bitter; the roads and forest were harsh and foreboding. Especially for a youth who knew naught of the lands beyond the northwestern region. In his score of years, he only treaded on familiar terrain, completely content as a simple, young man.
Until Master Elrond told him otherwise.
A simple man he no longer was, though still young according to his royal lineage. He would have a life span thrice that of ordinary, mortal men. He was but at the prelude of his lifetime. In that prelude, many were amazed. For with the teachings of his foster-brothers Elrohir and Elladan, he was wise with the wisdom of Elves. Beyond knowledge, he was also taught to wield arms; his skills with the sword were only surpassed by the greatest Elf-warriors among Rivendell. A trait the two brothers had no doubt came from his Numenorean blood.
The blood of the men from the West. The Kings of old, Elrond had told him the day ere he departed to the Wild. As Elrohir and Elladan traveled with him on the fields near Bruinen, he wondered at the hasty change of his life with just his foster-father's words. Or it was not a change; rather the revelation of his destiny. Estel he was no longer. Nay, he was Aragorn son of Arathorn, a child to both Numenor and the Dunedan. Bound to the duty of his inherited kingship, he had but one choice: in the name of the house of Elendil and the valour of Men, he would reclaim the throne of Gondor, hence redeem the strength and nobility of his kin. In that respect, it would please him greatly to honour his family. And he had much desired to see Minas Tirith, the fabled White City of the South. Furthermore his people would unite as one glorious kingdom. But alas! the grand victory of his people could not truly be so without battle and hard trials. At whose trials and which battle he now pondered intensely.
He felt the darkness of the road ahead. A growing darkness that gripped the frowning road without another bearing but to enter the dark. For Aragorn was snared to the Exiled Kings' damnation. A banishment of the Kings; their souls pleading atonement for their insubordination toward the Valar. The curse foreshadowed the blood of war, the heir of Isildur's final test. As if the Sun responded in fear of his dour thoughts, She hid Herself into the clouds floating near the horizon. 'Utulie'n Auta,' he whispered breathlessly; a night that came to cover the light of his hopes.
The path of Elrond's sons took them further west into Eriador. Thither they would depart from Aragorn to their own errands, leaving him to his perilous course. Before leaving Rivendell, many had tried to dissuade Aragorn from that course yet he chose to explore the Wild, gravely and resolutely. Danger of untrodden lands and dreadful creatures never laid heavy on his strong, determined heart. With his foster-brothers' company, they had thwarted the invasion of Sauron's orcs numerous times. It was loneliness that grew in his mind, though he told his burden to no one.
Then it came to him. Solitude was his source of survival.
For how long it was imperative even Elrond could not foretell. Perhaps years, decades or an era of relying on no one but himself. Given his circumstances, he doubted his chances of seeing Rivendell or Gilraen, his mother, ever again. Unanswerable questions swarmed his mind. Would he ever walk upon the fair valleys of Imladris once more? Was his road so fell that it was impossible to find hope?
Would he ever see the fair twilight of his love's face again?
Arwen Undomiel...The mere sight of her brought a word unspoken in eons of years into his mouth. Just as Beren, his ancestor, did long ago Aragorn called out to her crying out Tinuviel! A name worthy to only the fairest maiden that treaded the lands of Arda. But even that, he deemed, could not equal her beauty with words. From the moment he saw her near the white birches, he loved Arwen daughter of Elrond. Neither her immortal race nor anyone, be he an Elf-king or Melkor himself, could sway his heart from her. He knew the dangers of his desires, yet he could not help but long for the warmth of her gaze, the enchantment of her voice and the sensuality of her touch. Most of all, he yearned for Arwen's hand in his: an undying bond from here and hence. It was a hopeless wish, however. It was inconceivable, especially during his people's darkest age. He was truthful enough to acknowledge the pain of reality. It was the reason why he did not speak of his love to her. In his mind and heart, he felt unworthy to openly put it to words.
He repeatedly questioned himself of this matter. Was this not one of the cause of his plight? If he did not desire Elrond's chief treasure, would he not still be in Rivendell? Would he be less grim if he knew not of such overpowering love? It could very well be, he admitted and sighed inwardly. He was a foolish, young man in love.
Moreover, he had to prove himself to not only her, but to Master Elrond as well. Beren son of Barahir had to snatch a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown to win Luthien's hand. How could he match such a feat to prove himself worthy to Elrond? No matter the price, his heart was still valiant. He would find a way. For if fate summoned him to an Elf's love, he would answer it resolutely. For Arwen's love, he vowed to turn against evil. By the blood of the noble in his veins, he vowed to see Sauron's hand crushed, freeing Middle-earth from his dark grasp. Perhaps then, and only then, could the lady's father approve of him.
For days they strode through forests and hills until at last Aragorn and the two brothers arrived at the fences of Bree. A heavy fog covered the valley, and the Moon was high as they knocked on the gates. With the grey robes concealing their forms the gatekeeper casually let them in, thinking Aragorn's companions were wandering Men from abroad.
Aragorn had seen men before when, ever and anon, they would stray near the borders of Rivendell, or when a lordly one visited the Elves, though it was his first time to see so many at once. Working men, horse riders and drunkards passed them by. All of them tending to their own affairs, seeming to Aragorn as if they were cold, unfamiliar animals. The uneasiness inside him felt no better when Elladan and Elrohir halted, and turned to him. Elrohir came to him and said, 'Here we must depart. We of Elrond's house bid you farewell. May Elbereth and the star of Earendil light thy path always!' With a smile he added, 'On friendlier lands in Imladris we may meet again, Estel.'
'I cannot say I believe the same,' he answered gravely, 'yet my heart hopes to see you and your fair lands once more ere my fall.'
Then Elladan placed his hand on Aragorn's shoulder and said, 'Hope oft comes unlooked-for in the darkest hours. In our eyes thou art still Estel a child of the Elves, and the brother we have loved and taught. Forget not our counsels. Thy test will be long, but if fulfilled highly wilt thou rise above thy sires. Fare thee well, Estel our brother!'
With the broken sword of Narsil upheld honourably he said, 'By Elendil may parted brothers tread together again. Namarie. Elladan and Elrohir!'
Then the two brothers took leave of Aragorn lovingly. It pained the young man to see the last traces of his elven-home walk away into the mist, but he had to seek his kinsmen. His mother had counselled him to search for the Rangers of the North, wandering men of the Dunedain. The next morn he would be on his way, following the path Gilraen had given him to the Ranger's hidden abode. Until then, he had to find shelter; the utter black of the night was suffocating his spirits and strength.
To be continued...
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Note:
here and hence- 'this life to the next.' A sort of reference to Hamlet.
Author's Note: This is the second version from the original one. I've edited and expanded a few things, like the information about the Dunedain's banishment from Numenore. If you're unfamiliar with that history, it's from the Akallabeth (The Downfallen), a section from the book Silmarillion.