Written: April 12, 2010
Summary: Aragorn ponders what was, what is, and what might have been.
Author: Razberri
Author's Note: Aragorn came to me in math class and saved my life. I kid you not.
Musings of a Ranger-King
I never asked for any of this. This was never something I had ever desired. I would never wish this upon even the purest and wisest soul. Being made the King of Gondor that is. Being king supposedly flows in my veins, but it will never suit me. I'm just a ranger who was raised by elves. It wasn't my fault I fell in love with the daughter of the one who told me I would be king one day. She was more beautiful than Luthien. Who was I not to look?
I thought I was just a tracker, the simple, rugged type. Apparently I was much more, since being forced to reclaim a throne forgotten by Men and scorned by Stewards. Why me? That must be the question of the age.
It never dawned on me fully, the gravity of my heritage, the blood that flowed in my veins, not until my brothers showed up at the Fords of Isen with Halbarad and the standard of Arwen. Everyone told me it was now or never, do or die. A storm was rising, they said, and only a few could stem the tide. I was the key, they said. Whether I liked it or not, I would be forced to come to terms with the knowledge that I was the heir of Isildur, and that without my leadership, Gondor had little hope of survival against the powers and forces of the Black Land.
It was the strangest of feelings, the transition from lowly ranger to the highest rank among Men. It happened in the space of only a few days, though the fact that I got to carry around a burly, reforged ancient sword certainly helped.
So now, as I lean back uncomfortably on my hard throne in a vast hall of marble and obsidian, I realize it has been fifty years to the day since the ring was destroyed. I am married to Arwen and our little Eldarion, at five years of age, roams the halls of the palace like I once roamed Middle Earth.
Yet despite my kingly raiment and my winged crown, I can't help but feel out of place. And I often wonder what life might have been like had I refused the throne, and remained in the wilderness until I breathed my last.