Title: Become Who You Were Born To Be
Author: B-witched83uk (bwitched83ukaol.com)
Rating: PG
Summary: Aragorn is struggling with his destiny before the big battle in ROTK.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. The whole of Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien.
Additional info: This takes place during The Return of the King. It is movie based. It was inspired by the trailers
Beta: The Last Evenstar, a great friend and a great editor.
Archive: fanfiction.net. Any others please ask.
Feedback: I would absolutely love some because yes I am a praise junky.
Become Who You Were Born to Be
Aragorn stood alone in his tent. The time had come. Every path he had trodden, every battle he had won, every victory and loss had all brought him to where he was now. Outside, thousands of men were waiting; waiting for him to take charge and accept his destiny.
His eyes wandered to the sword resting upon a small table. The shards of Narsil had been renewed and brought to him by Lord Elrond. He looked at the blade reluctantly, and thought of its last owner. The same blood flowed through his veins. Did he have the strength to lead, to govern the race of men?
He walked slowly over to it, but did not dare touch it. "I cannot do this," he whispered to himself, closing his eyes. How could he, a Ranger from the North, lead those men to their deaths? What right did he have to stand before them as their superior? How did it come to this?
He looked down at his hands, so rough and scarred, covered in dried blood. He was no King, he was a wanderer, a vagabond. Was he a King simply because he was born into it? What made a King? Blood? Courage? Aragorn knew not.
"I cannot do this!" His hands were trembling slightly as he reached for the sword.
A white light twinkled behind him, making him turn round sharply. "Arwen?"
It could not be. His eyes must lie. But there she was, standing before him, dressed in a flowing white gown. She smiled at him and walked closer.
"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring.
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be King."
Aragorn watched her intently, listening to her words. She came before him, he knew not how and did not care. He needed her now more than ever, his strength, and here she was.
"Arwen, I am afraid. I now have no choice but to lead them, for no one else will." He placed an arm around her and rested his forehead against hers.
She closed her eyes, enjoying his smell. "You have nothing to fear, my love, except fear itself." She ran her hand over his bristled cheek. "You are their King, and they will follow you to the end."
"I am their King because blood says so. They follow me blindly, my heritage is what they love, not me."
Arwen opened her eyes and looked up at him, "I told you once that your time would come. It is now that time. You must become who you were born to be."
He let go of her and walked a few paces, turning his back to her. "How does a man suddenly become a King?"
Arwen smiled, full of hope. "He doesn't. He does not need to, when he already has the heart of a King. No man in all of Middle-earth is more right for leadership than you."
He turned at her words, wishing desperately that all this were over and that she was already his wife. "I do not feel like a King."
"And what does a King feel like?" Aragorn shrugged slightly, never taking his eyes from her face. "Then how do you know you do not feel it? You are strong, full of courage, love, and honour. That is what makes a King." She moved closer to him and took his hand in hers.
Aragorn needed to feel her mouth on his, to hold her body close to his. Her eyes flew shut as she felt him relax against her. She opened her eyes and moved so that her mouth was by his ear. "It is true that you are a King by blood, but you are also a King by heart." She nuzzled her nose against his. "I believe in you."
Aragorn's mouth came crashing back down, stealing her breath from her lungs. They melted into each other. When Aragorn opened his eyes, he was alone once more. He looked toward the sword and slowly reached for it. "Anduril," he named his new weapon, "Flame of the West."
He held it up and looked upon it with pride, before sheathing it and fastening it to his belt. Aragorn left the tent, set with a new will that only death could break. He ran over to his horse and mounted it.
Legolas watched keenly as Aragorn rode towards the waiting troops. Never had a man seemed more worthy of the crown in his eyes. Silence fell over them as they waited for instruction from their new leader.
He rode slowly, speaking loudly with a new found determination.
"I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down. But it is not this day. By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, men of the west!" He lifted Anduril high, glinting in the midday sun.
The cheers rang up throughout the field from the men, for before them stood the King of Gondor in all his rightful splendour. Aragorn looked at them all with pride and honour. If Sauron wanted a fight, then he would get one. For this day would be the day when all the forces of good in this world unite in a common purpose. Today the world would change one way or another. They would win this war, or die trying.
He was their hope, their leader, their King.
The End