Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or its characters and make no profit from the following story. However, I'm still hopeful that one day the Tolkien family will recognize my devotion and grant me a share in J.R.R.'s tale...
Summary: A vignette. Aragorn thinks of Frodo after Frodo has gone to Tol Eressea. He receives a revelation that causes him both heartache and comfort.
This is the first fic I've ever completed and also the first I've ever posted, so please read and leave a review! I'm not that confident of my abilities as a writer, so I'd appreciate some feedback.
Five Years Ago
Aragorn son of Arathorn, King of Gondor and Arnor, sat silently at the low stone table, his head in his gloved hands. His lank brown hair spilled over his face, resting forlornly on his hunched shoulders. It had been five years ago today. Five years since he left me. He grieved now just as deeply as he had the previous year, just as intensely as the year before last. Will I never be able to let go, to accept? Memories of blue eyes, sunny smiles, and an indomitable spirit chased each other through his bowed head like golden sunbeams dancing on the ground during a bright day. They were followed closely, though, by memories shadowed and grim: of eyes gone pale with pain and fatigue, of smiles grown mournful and empty, of a spirit crushed beneath the weight of the Darkness. Oh, my brother, that I could only have helped you more while you were here. I pray each day that you may find your healing in the West...
Suddenly, he thought he felt a familiar hand laid upon his shoulder. A small, scarred hand from which a finger was missing, yet a hand that had been, miraculously, healed. And a much-loved melody, once shredded and tattered but now mended and more beautiful than ever, entwined itself softly about his heart. Aragorn's breath caught, and he turned with an eagerness and rapidity that belied his former lethargy, but saw to his disappointment that no one was there. His heart newly bleeding, he dropped his head back into his hands. And yet... Aragorn, my brother, I love you. The voice spoke gently into the very core of his soul. Tears began sliding down Aragorn's face and dropping onto the table before him, crystal splashes of his spirit's longing. Oh Frodo, I love you too. I love you, and I've missed you, I've missed you!-- But the presence was gone, leaving behind only a sense of wistfulness, of a desire for dreams that could never and would never happen within the bounds of Arda. And Aragorn was alone again, left only with the traces of the Melody and the comfort of the Healing.