Title : May You Fly
Summary : Aragorn says goodbye to an old friend.
Rating : G. Nothing bad in this story.
Disclaimer : I own none of the Lord Of The Rings characters. They belong to the wonderful mind J. R. R. Tolkien. That said, I now present.
May You Fly Authored By Runaround February 27th, 2003
He was interrupted by his healer standing nervously in the doorway to his study. The grim look the old man's face held told him everything, but he asked anyways.
"How is he?"
"Not well, King Elessar. I think you should see him soon. I'm afraid his last hours are near," the man answered, his voice sounding almost heavier than the news it carried.
"Then I will see him at once," Aragorn said quietly. His healer nodded, and together they left for the lower levels of Minas Tirith, where his friend waited.
The warm spring air lifted his hair slightly, caressing his cheek in a calming manner. He glanced towards the sky. She was starting to settle upon the horizon, making the sky a slight orange hue. The people of the city smiled and waved at him, but he could not bring himself to smile back.
They reached their destination shortly. A portly old gentleman greeted him with a sad look and a bow.
"King Elessar, sir, we have tried everything we know to save him. I fear, though, that there is not a cure for old age, and that he shall fade soon," the man said quietly.
"I understand and thank you, stable-master, for your valiant efforts," Aragorn said in his normally quiet tone. The man bowed and moved aside for the two men to enter. They went immediately to the end of the aisle, where the largest stall in the barn was.
There his friend lay curled up, sleeping. At the sound of his master's footsteps, though, his head rose slowly.
"Roheyrn, my friend, you do not look well," Aragorn joked weakly. The old warhorse snorted lightly. Slowly he rose to his feet, joints creaking as they had for many a year now. Carefully he stood, ears pointed towards his master, listening for the whispered Elvish words his master always said to calm him. But none came. Only a calming hand laid on his neck and another on his muzzle.
Aragorn took the chance to study the horse.
Old age had definitely taken its toll on the old warhorse. The magnificent bay stallion's coat, which had once been the color of blood and shone like silk, had now faded to a dingy brown sprinkled with small white hairs of age. His manes was sparse, and the black refused to shine like is had when Roheyrn was young. His tail was still full, but pepper colored instead of the solid crebain black it had once been. He was bony, hip joints and ribs sticking out even though he was given a massive amount of hay and food.
Roheyrn's face, too, was sprinkled with gray, the holes above his eyes almost white. His eyes were clouded with cataracts and the pain of old age. Everything had sunken in, making him looked starved. But he was well cared for, and happy.
A decision was made in Aragorn's head that moment. A decision that a brave, noble warrior like this should not die in the confines of a stall, even a stall so magnificently built as this one.
He moved aside of the doorway, calling in Elvish for the horse to follow. The horse moved slowly out the door, wobbling slightly. Together they walked towards the pasture Roheyrn had roamed for many a year. They came to a stop under the shelter of a tree that had been Roheyrn's favorite resting spot.
There Roheyrn fairly collapsed, his legs curling up under him as he laid down. Aragorn sat with him, the horse's head cradled gently in his arms.
He thought as he watched Her begin to sink below the horizon. The sky was ablaze, streaked with vibrant pinks and oranges. A breathtakingly beautiful sight.
Roheyrn was a special horse; there was no doubt in that. Warhorses rarely made it to age twenty because of the hard work brought upon them in battle, and said some, the horrors their eyes witnessed while there. But Roheyrn had celebrated his 42nd birthday three months ago.
He remembered getting Roheyrn as a scared little colt, just separated from his mother, as a gift from Halbarad. He had whispered the words of the Elves, like his foster-father Lord Elrond had taught him, and the two had bonded almost immediately. Together they had been for many years, and it had saddened him to leave the horse up North before his travels with the fellowship, but the horse had been slightly ill. Not even Halbarad knew how happy Aragorn had been to see the bay stallion in Rohan.
A soft moan brought him back to the situation at hand. Roheyrn's breaths were heavier now, and his eyes half closed. She was almost behind the horizon, and the navy night sky had begun to settle in. The stars were just beginning to twinkle.
Roheyrn moved to stretch out on his side, and Aragorn helped him, laying the horse's head in his lap. He began to stroke the horse's face, memorizing it with his hands. Roheyrn moaned again.
"*It is alright, old friend,*" he whispered the Elvish tongue the horse seemed to love, "*Peace will soon be here for you. And I will wait here for it until I am sure you are welcomed to it.*"
His voice was choked. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes. The horse emitted another moan, this one longer and louder. It would not be long now. The horse's breath became lighter, and his eyes flickered closed.
"*Be calm, old friend. Let it take you. Let it free you from this old, worn body you are trapped in,*" he whispered. A single tear streaked down his face.
The horse took one deep breath. Then a second.
Slowly, he breathed out. It would be his last breath. Aragorn felt up under his poll for a pulse, and felt it fade to nothing. A sob racked his body.
"*May you rest in peace, old friend, my dear Roheyrn,*" he whispered. He almost could not speak because of the sobs that threatened. Slowly he untangled himself from the body.
He stepped one step away, then turned to look down at the body of his old friend.
*"May you rest in peace,"* he said again.
Looking at the stars, he added, "*And may you fly once more across the plains of your youth, mane flowing like the wind. May you fly."*
Fin.
"And indeed the love that the horses of the Rangers bore for their riders was so great that they were willing to face even the terror of the Door, if their masters' hearts were steady as the walked beside them." ~ The Lord Of The Rings; The Return of the King; Book V, pgs. 49-50.
~*~
A/N: The words b/t the *'s in the story are meant to be elvish. I'm learning it, but I am not good enough to write full sentences yet. The bit after the end is a quote from the book I found fitting for the situation.
I am sorry if this idea has been done before, I haven't checked. I have a rare medical condition. If I see more than three Mary Sues on a page, my head explodes. It's not pretty.
This is my first foray into the fiction of the LOTR. I have at least two more story ideas, though, just waiting to be typed up.
Please be kind and review. Even if it's to flame it (this story is depressing and I need something to laugh at).
Thank you.
Seeya, Run.
Disclaimer : I own none of the Lord Of The Rings characters. They belong to the wonderful mind J. R. R. Tolkien. That said, I now present.
May You Fly Authored By Runaround February 27th, 2003
He was interrupted by his healer standing nervously in the doorway to his study. The grim look the old man's face held told him everything, but he asked anyways.
"How is he?"
"Not well, King Elessar. I think you should see him soon. I'm afraid his last hours are near," the man answered, his voice sounding almost heavier than the news it carried.
"Then I will see him at once," Aragorn said quietly. His healer nodded, and together they left for the lower levels of Minas Tirith, where his friend waited.
The warm spring air lifted his hair slightly, caressing his cheek in a calming manner. He glanced towards the sky. She was starting to settle upon the horizon, making the sky a slight orange hue. The people of the city smiled and waved at him, but he could not bring himself to smile back.
They reached their destination shortly. A portly old gentleman greeted him with a sad look and a bow.
"King Elessar, sir, we have tried everything we know to save him. I fear, though, that there is not a cure for old age, and that he shall fade soon," the man said quietly.
"I understand and thank you, stable-master, for your valiant efforts," Aragorn said in his normally quiet tone. The man bowed and moved aside for the two men to enter. They went immediately to the end of the aisle, where the largest stall in the barn was.
There his friend lay curled up, sleeping. At the sound of his master's footsteps, though, his head rose slowly.
"Roheyrn, my friend, you do not look well," Aragorn joked weakly. The old warhorse snorted lightly. Slowly he rose to his feet, joints creaking as they had for many a year now. Carefully he stood, ears pointed towards his master, listening for the whispered Elvish words his master always said to calm him. But none came. Only a calming hand laid on his neck and another on his muzzle.
Aragorn took the chance to study the horse.
Old age had definitely taken its toll on the old warhorse. The magnificent bay stallion's coat, which had once been the color of blood and shone like silk, had now faded to a dingy brown sprinkled with small white hairs of age. His manes was sparse, and the black refused to shine like is had when Roheyrn was young. His tail was still full, but pepper colored instead of the solid crebain black it had once been. He was bony, hip joints and ribs sticking out even though he was given a massive amount of hay and food.
Roheyrn's face, too, was sprinkled with gray, the holes above his eyes almost white. His eyes were clouded with cataracts and the pain of old age. Everything had sunken in, making him looked starved. But he was well cared for, and happy.
A decision was made in Aragorn's head that moment. A decision that a brave, noble warrior like this should not die in the confines of a stall, even a stall so magnificently built as this one.
He moved aside of the doorway, calling in Elvish for the horse to follow. The horse moved slowly out the door, wobbling slightly. Together they walked towards the pasture Roheyrn had roamed for many a year. They came to a stop under the shelter of a tree that had been Roheyrn's favorite resting spot.
There Roheyrn fairly collapsed, his legs curling up under him as he laid down. Aragorn sat with him, the horse's head cradled gently in his arms.
He thought as he watched Her begin to sink below the horizon. The sky was ablaze, streaked with vibrant pinks and oranges. A breathtakingly beautiful sight.
Roheyrn was a special horse; there was no doubt in that. Warhorses rarely made it to age twenty because of the hard work brought upon them in battle, and said some, the horrors their eyes witnessed while there. But Roheyrn had celebrated his 42nd birthday three months ago.
He remembered getting Roheyrn as a scared little colt, just separated from his mother, as a gift from Halbarad. He had whispered the words of the Elves, like his foster-father Lord Elrond had taught him, and the two had bonded almost immediately. Together they had been for many years, and it had saddened him to leave the horse up North before his travels with the fellowship, but the horse had been slightly ill. Not even Halbarad knew how happy Aragorn had been to see the bay stallion in Rohan.
A soft moan brought him back to the situation at hand. Roheyrn's breaths were heavier now, and his eyes half closed. She was almost behind the horizon, and the navy night sky had begun to settle in. The stars were just beginning to twinkle.
Roheyrn moved to stretch out on his side, and Aragorn helped him, laying the horse's head in his lap. He began to stroke the horse's face, memorizing it with his hands. Roheyrn moaned again.
"*It is alright, old friend,*" he whispered the Elvish tongue the horse seemed to love, "*Peace will soon be here for you. And I will wait here for it until I am sure you are welcomed to it.*"
His voice was choked. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes. The horse emitted another moan, this one longer and louder. It would not be long now. The horse's breath became lighter, and his eyes flickered closed.
"*Be calm, old friend. Let it take you. Let it free you from this old, worn body you are trapped in,*" he whispered. A single tear streaked down his face.
The horse took one deep breath. Then a second.
Slowly, he breathed out. It would be his last breath. Aragorn felt up under his poll for a pulse, and felt it fade to nothing. A sob racked his body.
"*May you rest in peace, old friend, my dear Roheyrn,*" he whispered. He almost could not speak because of the sobs that threatened. Slowly he untangled himself from the body.
He stepped one step away, then turned to look down at the body of his old friend.
*"May you rest in peace,"* he said again.
Looking at the stars, he added, "*And may you fly once more across the plains of your youth, mane flowing like the wind. May you fly."*
Fin.
"And indeed the love that the horses of the Rangers bore for their riders was so great that they were willing to face even the terror of the Door, if their masters' hearts were steady as the walked beside them." ~ The Lord Of The Rings; The Return of the King; Book V, pgs. 49-50.
~*~
A/N: The words b/t the *'s in the story are meant to be elvish. I'm learning it, but I am not good enough to write full sentences yet. The bit after the end is a quote from the book I found fitting for the situation.
I am sorry if this idea has been done before, I haven't checked. I have a rare medical condition. If I see more than three Mary Sues on a page, my head explodes. It's not pretty.
This is my first foray into the fiction of the LOTR. I have at least two more story ideas, though, just waiting to be typed up.
Please be kind and review. Even if it's to flame it (this story is depressing and I need something to laugh at).
Thank you.
Seeya, Run.