![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rosa_cottonDisclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien's estate and New Line Cinema.
Author’s Note: Written for the “Grief” challenge at the Elfsheen boards.
Summary: Aragorn is called back to life and chooses his path.
~~~
Path Chosen
The river gently directed Aragorn’s limp body downstream, along with the current which had now grown slow and gentle. Soon the ranger was washed ashore, the ground firm under him.
Gradually the man faintly grew conscious of the warm sun slowly drying his face and of the dirt beneath him. Yet he could not leave the dream world he was in, somewhere between the earth and heavens. He did not have the strength or will. He was giving into the darkness again. The warmth and feeling vanished.
“Estel… Estel… Estel…Hope,” his name was a whisper. The voice, low and like the wind, attempted to pierce his unconsciousness.
The darkness around him slowly parted in the wake of a pale light. A form took shape in its brightness. Dark hair floated in the wind; a star was on her forehead; and she was clothed in the night, a cloak of stars about her shoulders. The Evenstar.
“Estel…,” she called to him, her tone a loving caress, her dark eyes tender. “May the grace of the Valar protect you.” A white arm and hand reached out to him, deliverance at hand.
Aragorn did not reach out to the vision that once he had gazed upon with such longing and love. He turned away and was alone once more. Lying in the deepening darkness, he felt his life steadily drain away.
“Aragorn,” his name was a sob.
Suddenly he felt the ground and sensed her leaning over him, in her chain mail with a sword at her side. The sun was in her hair, the rain in her tears as she wept. He willed his eyes to open, but they weighed too much.
“Aragorn, we need you,” she said, her tears washing away the grim and dirt from his face while her hair, carried by the wind, brushed his cheek gently. “Aragorn…please,” she pleaded.
His heart quickened, and an ache settled in his chest. He wanted to gaze at her, dry her wet cheeks, answer her. But the darkness would not lose him willingly.
“Aragorn…Aragorn…” her voice grew distant.
Do not go, his mind managed to form the words. He attempted to reach out his hand.
“…need you…”
The darkness drifted slowly away. The man inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. There was dirt under his hand. Water bubbled by closely – a merry sound to his ear. The sun gave its heat willingly to him. He grew aware of the pain in his limbs. His mind came alive. There had been an attack…. He had fallen…. When his lips parted, it was not a moan that escaped them, but a name.
“Eowyn.”
With great effort eyelids cracked open to reveal pools of grey. The eyes shut for a bit and then opened again, wider, longer. She was not here. His chest ached more.
A soft neigh sounded a second before hooves entered his line of vision and his face was nuzzled. This time Aragorn did moan as he head moved to the other side. Glancing upwards, he saw a familiar horse above him. “Brego,” he breathed.
It seemed as though time slowed as the horse kneeled beside him. It was a slow, painful progress for the ranger to move onto the horse’s back. Grabbing fistfuls of Brego’s mane to pull himself onto the beast, Aragorn saw a tearful face for a moment come to his memory.
“We need you…”
He was on his mount.
The horse rose carefully and started off at a trot. Aragorn swayed but did not fall. Everything hurt. Yet despite his pain, he concentrated on a single thought he willed to run before him to Helm’s Deep.
I come. I come, Shieldmaiden.
THE END
Author’s Note: Written for the “Grief” challenge at the Elfsheen boards.
Summary: Aragorn is called back to life and chooses his path.
~~~
Path Chosen
The river gently directed Aragorn’s limp body downstream, along with the current which had now grown slow and gentle. Soon the ranger was washed ashore, the ground firm under him.
Gradually the man faintly grew conscious of the warm sun slowly drying his face and of the dirt beneath him. Yet he could not leave the dream world he was in, somewhere between the earth and heavens. He did not have the strength or will. He was giving into the darkness again. The warmth and feeling vanished.
“Estel… Estel… Estel…Hope,” his name was a whisper. The voice, low and like the wind, attempted to pierce his unconsciousness.
The darkness around him slowly parted in the wake of a pale light. A form took shape in its brightness. Dark hair floated in the wind; a star was on her forehead; and she was clothed in the night, a cloak of stars about her shoulders. The Evenstar.
“Estel…,” she called to him, her tone a loving caress, her dark eyes tender. “May the grace of the Valar protect you.” A white arm and hand reached out to him, deliverance at hand.
Aragorn did not reach out to the vision that once he had gazed upon with such longing and love. He turned away and was alone once more. Lying in the deepening darkness, he felt his life steadily drain away.
“Aragorn,” his name was a sob.
Suddenly he felt the ground and sensed her leaning over him, in her chain mail with a sword at her side. The sun was in her hair, the rain in her tears as she wept. He willed his eyes to open, but they weighed too much.
“Aragorn, we need you,” she said, her tears washing away the grim and dirt from his face while her hair, carried by the wind, brushed his cheek gently. “Aragorn…please,” she pleaded.
His heart quickened, and an ache settled in his chest. He wanted to gaze at her, dry her wet cheeks, answer her. But the darkness would not lose him willingly.
“Aragorn…Aragorn…” her voice grew distant.
Do not go, his mind managed to form the words. He attempted to reach out his hand.
“…need you…”
The darkness drifted slowly away. The man inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. There was dirt under his hand. Water bubbled by closely – a merry sound to his ear. The sun gave its heat willingly to him. He grew aware of the pain in his limbs. His mind came alive. There had been an attack…. He had fallen…. When his lips parted, it was not a moan that escaped them, but a name.
“Eowyn.”
With great effort eyelids cracked open to reveal pools of grey. The eyes shut for a bit and then opened again, wider, longer. She was not here. His chest ached more.
A soft neigh sounded a second before hooves entered his line of vision and his face was nuzzled. This time Aragorn did moan as he head moved to the other side. Glancing upwards, he saw a familiar horse above him. “Brego,” he breathed.
It seemed as though time slowed as the horse kneeled beside him. It was a slow, painful progress for the ranger to move onto the horse’s back. Grabbing fistfuls of Brego’s mane to pull himself onto the beast, Aragorn saw a tearful face for a moment come to his memory.
“We need you…”
He was on his mount.
The horse rose carefully and started off at a trot. Aragorn swayed but did not fall. Everything hurt. Yet despite his pain, he concentrated on a single thought he willed to run before him to Helm’s Deep.
I come. I come, Shieldmaiden.
THE END
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-26 02:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-27 07:35 pm (UTC)I haven't written A/E since the beginning of the summer, let alone for a challenge. I feel this fic is a bit on the lighthearted side considering the title of the challenge. But it was interesting writing Arwen and Eowyn.
I wonder if Arwen ever truly feared for Aragorn, since in the movie she can bring him back to life.
*cough* Sorry for this long ramble. All I meant to do was to say "Thank You!" Hehe. Thanks for reading. I'm glad you liked this. *hugs*