theranger: (ranger by azziriaicons)
A perfect day? That would be a day filled with all the things that I love, the things that matter most to me.

Then it would definitely have to be a day spent out of doors, something that I used to take for granted in my Middle Earth life but that is not really a given now. And it would have to be a real out of doors, someplace where you find only trees and mountains and water.. very few people, or even better no people at all.. when you're alone, the way you relate to the natural world changes and out of human contact you attune yourself to the wilderness, your very life depending on how good you are at that.

I would follow the tracks of wild animals, knowing they will lead me to drinking water, knowing that if I will hunt them I will feed myself.

I would watch the sky change colour and let it set pace to my perfect day, ready to lie down under a canopy of dark sky and twinkling stars when the sun moves on and the night takes it place.

Then I would sleep, and let the stars watch over me.
theranger: (Aragorn Prancing Pony by Wizzicons)
Aragorn fingers the slim scar splitting his upper lip. He often does that when he's thinking about something that bothers him, but he only does it when he's alone.

Memories associated with that scar are too private, not something to be shared with others, and they always seem to surface when he touches it, like he's doing now, back in the quiet seclusion of his room in Elrond's house after the council his foster father has called about the Ring, the cursed Ring the hobbit has brought here.

But there's more than worrisome thoughts about the darkness shading the future that's bringing the scar to the forefront of his mind today. There's the blond warrior from Gondor who sat in Council with them today and called back vivid memories of how that scar came to be, back in what now feels to Aragorn like another life, a life lived by someone else, lived by a man named Thorongil who is not the man he is now.

He's surprised Boromir hasn't recognized him, but then again maybe he's not suprised at all. They are both not the same men, their respective destinies have caught up with them and made them different men from the two young warriors who used to spar together.

Aragorn fingers the scar and remembers how stricken Boromir had been when the tip of his sword, swinging wild out of control after a lunge, had sliced open his upper lip, how he had tended him and begged for forgiveness.

Those days are past now, the man Aragorn is now is a stranger to the Gondorian, still Aragorn can't help remembering.
theranger: (ranger by azziriaicons)
I am my own best friend, it's always been like that, ever since I was a child. I have always been alone, apart from the others, different.

Of course I had friends as I was growing up. Elrohir and Elladan were close like brothers to me, but they are elves and I am human and that has always made a difference, put an invisible wall between us.
Of course I had friends among the Dunedain, the Rangers of the North, as we rode together, but none was close to me in that way, they always knew that my destiny was different from theirs.

It hasn't been particularly different being alone, not having a best friend, I got used to it pretty quickly. There was only once that I felt the need to get close, to set a special bond with another. I think that if he had lived we would have been best friends.

Fragile

Mar. 18th, 2007 06:29 pm
theranger: (Aragorn by Liars Dance)
Aragorn touched the chain hidden under his tunic and remembered how the Evenstar had felt the first time he had held it in the palm of his hand and looked at it. It had seemed so impossibly exquisite, so light, so fragile... He had been afraid he might crush it when his fingers reluctantly closed over it.

But he had found it was quite different from what it had seemed, from the way it had felt...
Exquisite, yes. Light, yes. Fragile, no...

Mithril, that was what it was made of, shiny and luminous as silver but harder than forged steel, taken deep from the cursed mines of Moria.

And Aragorn had found out that the one who had given him the Evenstar was exactly like the pendant.
Impossibly beautiful, shining with a light of her own, apparently fragile, but harder than steel.

But, like the pendant, that was what made her unique.
theranger: (Aragorn by Liars Dance)
He has been seeing him often. But most of all he has been hearing him, a casual voice in his hear commenting on things happening, telling him what he would have done differently and what would be best that Aragorn do - for Gondor.

Urgent sometimes, warning him of dangers ahead.
Amused other times, telling him how people would read his doings and suggesting that he took a bath or trimmed his beard or untangled that rat's nest that passed for his hair.
At times telling him in a good-humoured, but stern and worried voice, that he was not taking care of himself in the right way, that he should sleep and when was it that he last killed and ate the odd rabbit that had crossed his way?
And then there was the soft, low, intimate voice that spoke to him at night, reminding him of what it felt like to be two instead of one. Sultry and wistful and filled with the knowledge that one that they would be together again.

But Boromir was there, always there with him.
theranger: (ranger by azziriaicons)
I never thought I'd say this, but we're actually ahead. I've gone this way before and have been checking landmarks. By my calculations we're a full day ahead of where I thought - hoped - we would be by now. We've been making good time.."

Aragorn offers one of his so far rare grins, those grins that seem truly spontaneous and cheerful but are always made vaguely disquieting by the number of unusually sharp teeth on display.

"We could push on and gain further advantage... Or.." he adds, pausing for suspense and to savour the way some members of the Fellowship are desperately trying to hide hopeful looks, "we could stop and camp here for the day, rest, take it easy, sleep.. Stopping to regaining our strength now that we're ahead can mean having an advantage on the next leg of the way.."

Aragorn gives a circular glance to his companions, stopping on each face, lingering on one.

"I vote for stopping and enjoying some rest.." he says softly, looking away from green eyes, sure that they have caught his meaning and that the day will be good.

Sunrise

Nov. 19th, 2006 04:12 pm
theranger: (ranger by azziriaicons)
How long has it been since he's slept out of doors and seen the sunrise, woken in the grey darkness of pre-dawn knowing instinctively that if he stayed awake he would see a scene of unique beauty?

He used to know how a morning would dawn, if clear, with the sky pale like an elven crystal, or foggy, with the rays of the sun having to use their warm strength to pierce the mists.
He would lie on the ground, wrapped in his cloak, and watch the sky put on a show and change above him. It felt magical... the way the day renewed itself seemed to give him the strength and faith he needed to start a new day and by the time the sun was fully up he was ready too.

His days dawn differently now, stretched in a comfortable bed under pleasantly warm covers. The soft light of dawn comes in from a window and doesn't have anymore the encompassing magic it seemed to have. Still, other things make up for what he has lost, and they are no less a source of strength and faith.
theranger: (Aragorn Prancing Pony by Wizzicons)
Was it night or day? Hard to say in the stark darkness of Moria. They had been trying to keep up a semblance of day-night cycle all the same, for the sake of their bodies, for the sake of their sanity... It was apparently night now, or so the wizard had declared.

Their little camp was quiet, but the ranger very much doubted that the members of the Fellowship were getting any true rest. He knew he couldn't, but his reasons were different from the uncertainty and homesickness that troubled the hobbits, from the uneasiness that kept the elf alert, from the memories of the house of Durin that sat heavy on the dwarf's mind, from whatever ominous secret it was that was making the wizard so wary of this place.

Only one was awake for the same reason that Aragorn was awake. The ranger could sense him in the darkness, he could see him. They could both feel the danger surrounding them, the darkness of their future, but there was something that right now they felt more keenly, something drawing them to each other. The Gondorian was resisting it, denying it, but this was a battle he would lose. Aragorn knew this and smiled in the darkness.

Revenge

Sep. 10th, 2006 07:17 pm
theranger: (Aragorn_lip)
He had never been one for revenge. Revenge was a selfish waste of precious time in a world and time where once you got rid of a servant of the Dark there was already another one ready to stalk you. No time to stop and get even, no time to avenge lost ones that were dear to you.

So Aragorn had just gone on, always moving forward, never lingering, no time for grief, no time for regret, no time for revenge. His duty was to the future, not the past.

Only once had he stepped away from his duty, only once had killing felt sweet. That was when his blade had separated the head of the Orc leader from his body, consigning him to the world of the dead.

It hadn't helped, it hadn't changed the way things went, it hadn't stopped the feel of bitter ashes in his mouth or the tears falling. It hadn't kept Boromir from dying. Still there were times when revenge was necessary, a duty to a lost one.
theranger: (Aragorn Prancing Pony by Wizzicons)
Aragorn always wondered how it can be that the ring fits him perfectly, like it did fit his father, and his grandfather before him, and a long long line of forefathers before them both.

The Ring of Barahir...

The two serpent heads eye each other evilly. Or is it that they glare at the green emerald stone embedded between them, the green so reminiscent of Boromir's eyes.. What would the two serpents do, if the green stone were not cast between them, keeping them away from each other?

Aragorn remembers Arwen closing her fingers over the ring, as if to lock it in place, fuse it with Aragorn's flesh, where it belonged.

But he also remembers Boromir twisting the ring around and around the ranger's finger, as it to make sure it really fit there, it really belonged there. And he also remembers the exquisite moment when Boromir kissed the ring and everything changed between them.
theranger: (ranger by azziriaicons)
A string of swear words falls from the ranger's lips as he stares at the large rainbow trout swimming away from his fishing rod having eaten the bait but not taken the hook.

The silvery tail of the fish seems to wave mockingly goodbye at him and he switches his swearing from English to an assortment of Middle Earth languages that feel much more satisfying right now to express his disappointment.

Damn the creature, didn't it know that the ranger had a reputation to live up to and that it was out of the question that he could go back to camp without dinner? Still this was in the nature of things, and the ranger had a lot of patience, he could afford to since the sun was not down yet and he had time.

With said patience he rebaited the fishing rod and sat down, waiting for another fish to take the place of the one who'd got away.
theranger: (ranger by azziriaicons)
Aragorn thinks of the many dangerous situations he’s lived through.. hunting the servants of the Enemy, battling them, facing their attacks to defend the innocent.. all dangerous things, but in a way.. safe.. He always had himself to count on, his full resources at his disposal, making it possible for him to face any threat without a second thought.

Nothing physical can be a true danger, only emotions can bring danger because they take away from you the cool detachment that you can have when you know that what you are risking is just yourself, with no strings attached, no consequences for anyone else.

Emotions make you think of other people, make you think of what you risk and stand to lose, and the conflict that is born inside you puts you in danger.

And what is the deepest emotion of all? Love...

So loving is the most dangerous thing he has ever done. And the most precious.
theranger: (Aragorn by Liars Dance)
My foster father, Elrond.

He gave me a home, the only one I knew, and he raised me along with his own sons and daughter. They were a family of sorts to me, especially after my mother died.
But I could often feel the weight of Elrond's gaze on me.. studying me.. assessing what I had in me and what I might to grow up to be..
He never tried to guide my choices, at least not until Arwen's eyes turned to me. After that everything changed and I had to make myself worthy of her. And only one thing could make me acceptable as Arwen's mate... the crown of Gondor.

That is what I would like to know... if Elrond truly believed if I was not worthy of her because of the person I was, or if he felt that the sacrifice of Arwen's immortality was such a huge one that I had to sacrifice something myself, give up the life I had chosen to life.

I have answered your question, now it is for you to answer the questions it raises.
theranger: (Default)
... that made Aragorn feel he was truly, completely out of place in this world, unskilled to cope with it.

He sighed, resisting the urge to use his fist to shatter the coffeemaker. Why was it that this morning the damn thing wouldn't drip the water down into the filter he'd duly filled with coffee powder the way he'd been shown to do?

He'd come to love coffee, had come to rely on the kick it gave to his body first thing in the morning, on the bitter taste of it stinging his tongue. But above all he was addicted to the scent of it. The explosion of it when he got the tin out of the fridge and opened it to scoop the stuff out, the warm fragrance wafting up as drop after drop made it through the coffee powder down into the jug...

He poked the machine, checked the plug and made a frustrated sound.

He so wanted a mug of coffee and he wanted it now.
theranger: (Aragorn Prancing Pony by Wizzicons)
The question angers Aragorn. He cannot abide people who keep harping again and again on the same thing.

Didn't they question him only a few months ago on something very similar, on when in his life he felt the most alone ? Now they want to know when he did realize he was not alone. Aren't the two facets of one same thing?

He sighs, discouraged, wondering why he keeps answering when each time it gets harder, not because he doesn't want to answer, but because the questions seem to repeat themselves, providing no inspiration.

When he sits down to write his answer, he almost feels like he's a child again, his mother at his side teaching him to write and checking his efforts.

Someone one day promised to me that I would never be alone again. That day I knew I was not alone... Truth is that deep inside, I knew that even before he spoke those words.
theranger: (ranger by azziriaicons)
Aragorn's dark eyebrows shot up in utter surprise when he read the question. Hearing the work karma used in this world was the last thing he would have expected...

Who would have thought that these people, who knew nothing of Middle Earth, its people and its history, would know about the Karma-kundo, the Guardian of the Helm, the Regent appointed by the King of Gondor? Even in Middle Earth it was a title hidden in old, dusty chronicles.

But then it was most likely that they meant something altogether different by karma...

He went to the library in the living room and got out the thick book that Weps had told him he could use to find out about things he was not familiar with.

Karma
• noun (in Hinduism and Buddhism) the sum of a person’s actions in this and previous states of existence, viewed as affecting their future fate.

He sighed and closed the book. It hadn't been of help, except for confirming the fact that this karma had nothing to do with Gondor and the Karma-kundo, and he still had no idea what this karma was.
theranger: (ranger by azziriaicons)
It is not often that Aragorn thinks back to his days in Middle Earth, but there are times he does, times when he closes his eyes and he's brought back there, to remember the good and the bad of it.

He has no regrets... There are things he could have done, or not done, or done differently.. Things he could have said, or not said.. But no, there are no regrets. He always had a reason for what he did or didn't do, for what he said and for what he left unsaid. And there are times when words are just.. words.. a noise that lasts only a moment in the air.

There are things he could have said, maybe.
But maybe he said them all the same.. noiselessly, with his actions instead of his words, with his caring, and he thinks that maybe the ones he could have said those things to knew all the same that he cared about them.

He nods to himself.. yes, they knew.
theranger: (ranger by azziriaicons)
A ranger doesn't lose control, what's the use of losing control when he's mostly on his own and has no one to vent his rage onto?

Better store away all of that rage, all the unruliness and restlessness that now and then will try to take away from him the calm assurance a ranger needs to carry out his chosen duty, better let it drain from his body and go to some secret place inside him, a place that he can tap into when the enemy is before him and he needs all of his strength and more, when he needs to be blind and deaf to everything except the need to destroy the enemy and come out the winner.

Aragorn has no memory of losing control.. The anger, the fury, they had their place and stayed there, like well-trained war hounds waiting for the master's call. He would unleash them when needed, and once they had done their job they disappeared again inside him, as if they had never existed.
theranger: (ranger by azziriaicons)
Aragorn's favorite way to relax had always been to fill his old pipe with sweet pipeweed, light it, watch the flame consume the dried leaves pressed down into the chimney, and pull the fragrant smoke down into his lungs, savouring the scented burn of it before exhaling it slowly and watch the tendrils of smoke lift into the air.

While smoking, he had often felt that his cares were vanishing into the air as if trapped in that smoke. He knew that this was just a delusion, but as long as the herbs burned and the smoke floated away he could believe it and relax, letting his worries fall away from him.

When he vanished from Middle Earth and found himself in this new world, his pipe had been one of the things stored in the two leather packs he had with him, but his precious hoard of Longbottom Leaf was gone all too soon and he had found nothing to replace it with. They did have a kind of pipeweed that could be smoked in pipes similar to his own or rolled up into thin squares of paper, but it tasted nothing like the one he was used to and enjoyed. This had an acrid taste that left one's mouth feeling bitter and gave no satisfaction.

He had given up smoking, and found that is was far easier to relax by soaking in a tub of hot, bubbling water, with his arms wrapped around the one he loved and a glass of wine that tasted like liquid sunshine waiting for him on the edge of the tub.
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