Disclaimer: As always, I own none of the characters or places.
A/N: Hey! It's been a
long time since I've written anything, but I really hope you do
enjoy this little story. I was writing this in a bit of a hurry so do forgive me for any typos and other mistakes.
This is dedicated, as always, to a
certain 3 friends, none of who are actually going to read this story
but are going to have it dedicated to them anyway :)
Chapter 1
The wind whispered gently through the trees, the mild breeze stirring the bushes where the rangers knelt, hidden. About twenty of them were gathered there in that small clearing near the western slopes of the Misty Mountains, and another dozen were waiting close by. It was not often that they gathered in such large numbers, usually more prone to traveling in pairs or alone, but today they were responding to the, of late, increasingly frequent reports of orc attacks in nearby villages. The orcs' hiding hole had been discovered; one of the many caves on the slopes of the mountains, and the threat was deemed urgent enough to require more decisive action than simply posting more guards around the villages. To this purpose they waited here near the caves for the signal for the attack to start that would get rid of these creatures once and for all.
Aragorn stood near the edge of the clearing, sharp gray eyes trying to make out the mouth of the caves that was just barely visible through the foliage. His stance reflected confidence, on his face there was no doubt or tension and only those who knew him really well would notice the slight tremor that ran through his frame or know the chaotic thoughts running through his head.
Far from his peaceful exterior, Aragorn's mind was in a flurry as for the hundredth time, he ran through their strategy again in his head. He would lead his group of rangers straight to the caves and engage the orcs in battle, while the second group would mount a surprise attack from the back. A simple strategy, a simple battle, not much different from the many other fights he had had with orcs before in his short time as a ranger.
But this time he was more nervous than he could ever recall being before, and his heart would simply not calm down. For this was the first time that he, Aragorn, Chieftain of the Dunadan was actually leading his rangers in a direct attack. He had participated occasionally in them before and on many more occasions had faced orcs and other wild beasts on his travels alone. But for the first time, he would be taking up his responsibility as Chieftain and would be in command of the battle, and the thought filled him with more fear than the actual orcs that were awaiting him.
Aragorn's mind drifted back to an old memory, of when he was just a child living in the comfort of Rivendell. It was evening and young Estel was walking alone through the halls of his home, gazing in wonderment at the beautiful paintings and sculptures surrounding him. The sheer beauty of his home never ceased to amaze him, even after so many years of living here, and he would often find himself wandering through the rooms or standing staring at one painting alone, lost within its sights.
On this particular evening his attention was drawn to one of his favorite paintings, depicting the march of Gil-galad and the armies of the Last Alliance to the final battle with Sauron. He was drawn by the fair, tall figure of Gil-galad standing at the head of his huge army, resplendent beneath his splendorous banner, his long spear, Aiglos, shining brightly in his hands, in his eyes a fire blazing with such courage and determination that his enemies would quail at the very sight; the last High King of elves on Middle-Earth. To the young child, it seemed impossible that anyone could dare stand up to him, and he would spend many long hours wishing that he could grow up to be even half the man- or elf- that he was.
"Estel?" a soft voice questioned, startling Estel out of his reverie. He spun around quickly to see his foster father standing there with a half-amused, half-curious expression on his face. He had been so absorbed in the painting that he had not even heard his father enter.
"A bit late to be wandering the halls of Rivendell, isn't it ion-nin?" Elrond asked gently, moving closer to see what had so captured his attention. Estel turned back to gaze at the painting, as the half-elf came to stand behind him.
"Just looking at the painting, ada. It's beautiful isn't it?" Estel responded softly, already lost again in the sight.
"That it is. I remember well that day. If you can believe it, it looked even more glorious in person."
For the second time that evening, Estel spun around in astonishment. "You remember? You were there?"
"Yes, Estel." Elrond answered, the amusement apparent in his voice at the wide-eyed look of surprise his son was giving him. "I was the herald of Gil-galad and marched with his host against the Dark Lord."
"What was he like, ada?" Estel asked excitedly. "What was it like to serve Gil-galad?"
"There have been few great leaders like Gil-galad in this world." Elrond replied, his eyes faraway, recalling his memories. "Courageous, passionate, quick-thinking, a born fighter- none could withstand his spear-, yet loving, compassionate and warm. There was not one elf that did not speak of him with admiration and love, they would have followed him into the very depths of Mordor if he asked. He…he was a banner for hope, one look at him would uplift a heavy heart, banish despair and grief, strengthen a falling arm. You could watch him walking through the ranks of the soldiers and where he had passed, shoulders would be a little straighter, head lifted up just that little more. All weariness fell away, and elves would spring to his rallying call with renewed passion. I feel honored to have been given a chance to serve him."
"O' I wish I could have the chance to be such a brave leader of armies!" Estel said, eyes shining with admiration.
"Who knows, Estel? Maybe you will. But when the time comes, I am afraid you would not be so willing." Elrond smiled at Estel's doubtful face. "Think about it, Estel. Being a leader is harder than you can imagine. Gil-galad would give hope to his warriors, but who was there to give hope to him? When he was faltering, weakening – yes, Estel, even he would despair at times- he had to strengthen his will himself, not only for himself but for all his soldiers. As a commander, you have to be more than what you are, because your men need it of you. They take their strength from you, and you have to be stronger for them. When they look upon you, they must see the legendary warrior, who gives them hope for victory, not the man within. And it's tiring, tiring having to wear that mask. I am sure you do not agree now Estel but believe me, one day you will see it for yourself."
And with these cryptic words, Elrond gently steered his youngest son away from the room, and towards his bed chamber.
Aragorn smiled now at that memory, and at his father's words. How true they had proven! He understood now the burden of leadership, what he had never before seen in that painting. His young, naïve eyes had seen only the Gil-galad of legends, the hero, invincible and undefeatable, with courage and confidence radiating out from him. What was never depicted by the artist's brush was the fear, uncertainty and self-doubt that Aragorn knew now must have been plaguing him.
He looked back at the rangers hidden in the foliage around him. The particular group nearest to him was filled with young recruits, boys no older than him, some of whom had almost no experience with this kind of an attack. They were clearly frightened, licking lips nervously and grasping their weapons tightly with sweaty palms as their eyes darted everywhere as if expecting the orcs to pop up any second. He was just like them, young, unexperienced, nervous, frightened, but for all his heart, he could not be one of them.
No longer did Aragorn wish to be in Gil-galad's position. No longer did he want to bear this burden of leadership. It was only his first time, and already he was tired of it. For perhaps the first time, the thought of the destiny that awaited him – King of Gondor and Arnor- filled him not with the joyful pride that he had felt ever since hearing of it, but instead with a great sense of dread. For the first time, Aragorn felt like cursing his fate, for landing him on such a path. He wanted nothing more right now to be sitting amongst those young rangers right now, to let someone else worry about leading the battle, and let his only concerns be about himself.
But he could not, for he was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and he had learned his lesson well; for he knew now that it was a lesson hidden beneath his father's cryptic words that night. Even at that young age, Elrond had been preparing him to one day take up his destined role. And now that the day had arrived, he would not fail him. He would be for his rangers the leader they needed, the strength that they looked for. It was this determination that enabled him to push back all the rolling emotions of Estel, and take on the mantel of Aragorn. Carefully he schooled his features, forcefully relaxed tense muscles. On his face there could be no fear, no doubt, for he was not just one solitary ranger any longer. He was all of them, he was thirty. One tremor in his voice would crush the confidence of all. One hint of uncertainty would lead to thirty hearts filled with doubt. If he fled, they would flee. And if he stood, they would.
As a commander, you have to be more than what you are, because your men need it of you. They take their strength from you, and you have to be stronger for them. When they look upon you, they must see the legendary warrior, who gives them hope for victory, not the man within. And it's tiring, tiring having to wear that mask
Elrond had never known how right he was.
He looked again at the faces of the rangers. One of them looked up and caught his gaze and gave him a small smile, and he could see in that moment the trust he held in his Chieftain, the confidence that Aragorn would do what was best for all of them. Aragorn smiled back at him, and nodded, a sign of reassurance and he felt that he could almost see the nervousness in the ranger's eyes fade away. It was only a slight change, and Aragorn thought he might well have imagined it, but yet it was enough to put some of his own doubts and uncertainties to rest. Perhaps he could, after all, be the leader that Elrond had wanted him to be.
Unbeknownst to Aragorn, as he stood surveying his rangers, there was another's gaze that lingered on him. Halbarad had been observing his new leader out of the corner of his eye. It was the first time he had really had a chance to serve directly under him, and he was curious to know about him. He had been a good friend of Arathorn, his father, and hoped that his son would live up to his father's name. And as he watched Aragorn today, he could not help but feel proud. It was the very first direct attack under his leadership, yet he was handling it with great skill and confidence. There was an almost discernable aura of strength and leadership about him, and Halbarad had found himself willing to give his life into his hands, a man 60 years his junior, on first sight. Indeed, it even seemed to him that at moments he could almost espy a crown on his head, a banner of the white tree fluttering above him, as if Elendil himself had been reborn.
Smiling softly, Halbarad nodded to himself. Yes, here was a man truly worthy of the title of Chieftain of the Dunadan, and much more besides.
A/N: So, did you like it? Please do review with your comments. Once again, I don't know when I will write again, but reading your reviews really really helps.