All credit for the characters and the poem goes to Professor Tolkien.
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.
Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Strider the Dunedain Ranger, Estel of Rivendell, Elessar, the king who would be and the heir of Isildur; whatever people of Middle Earth knew him and by whatever name they called him, it was known above all that here was a man of true honour. Though a king by right he wandered in the dark places of the world where few others dared to tread. He went hooded, cloaked, and near unseen, but brought hope where all other hope seemed lost. Hope; as the elves had named him.
Many were the place the cloaked ranger visited and where he trod his weary path, a light sprang in the darkness. Though he clung to the shadows he brought light and joy, and was beloved by the people.
The Grey Pilgrim came to him for aid-the Ring of Power was found, and the heart of the ranger trembled with dread. Long had he tread the paths where no power could tempt him. But the freedom of Middle Earth hung in the balance and so he went. He went for the sake of Middle Earth and for the sake of Mithrandir's friendship. He went to Bree and to the hobbits for the sake of duty and stayed for loyalty and the bonds of friendship which he had ever deemed sacred.
The old that is strong does not whither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
The Ring sang to him in his dreams with Rivendell behind them. It whispered to him of love and treachery in the dark. Gandalf watched him with sadness; knowing the pain of resisting its call, but the heir of Isildur endured in resistance. His blood was weak, but his will must prevail.
"You are Isildur's heir; not Isildur himself."
There were day he thought he would weep with the yearning pain of its call. It whispered to him and told him of fell deeds, of death, of sorrow, of a day he would stretch out his hand and take its power to save all he held dear.
Gandalf fell to shadow and he wept, but stayed his hand and would not use its terrible power to save his friend.
He was offered it freely; had but to stretch out his hand to take it, but the trust in Frodo's eyes bolstered his will. He sent it from him, far beyond his reach, for he feared the tempest of his blood. Still it sang to him, but his will was strong; ancient and unbent. He was not Isildur.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Power dogged his wearying footsteps; ever within his reach. Ever a thing to be avoided. He knew the men of Rohan would follow him at a word, whether their king willed it or no. And so he stayed silent through all the bitter watches of the night. Rohan rode to its doom; Helm's Deep would entomb them all but by some miracle, yet he still would not command. He would die as one of them, not as some dusty figure head of glory. Perhaps his honour would be in his death, free at last from the seductive pull of the Ring's voice. Perhaps his freedom would come in the strength to endure the siren call of power.
When Gondor called for aid he still would not command; he would go alone if he must, even to the very gates of Mordor, even to the heights of Bara-dur. But Rohan would answer; he would not yet stand alone.
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
Anduril-Flame of the West sang to him, but not of darkened power, rather of light; of the White tree and of the return of the king. He took its power with fear, unwillingly, and the sword was glad. It sang him a song of hope, and of love, and of a world's dawning. The dark tendrils of the Ring, ever hidden in the secret places of his soul loosened their hold, their terror beginning to fade, but they would not so easily release him.
At last he stood before the Black Gates, before the might and terror of Sauron himself. Sauron called to him by his hidden name, calling to him Elessar, Elessar. Long have you hidden and wandered and been lost; take your power. Be not afraid and serve the only king who is greater than you shall be.
And Aragorn took his power; the sword's song flowed through him and he charged to battle with a name of bravery on his lips like a war cry. "For Frodo!" And Sauron the mighty shook before the King of men and the voice of the ring at last fell utterly silent.
The crownless again shall be king.
The End