Sooo...
In physical science, I was bored to death (as I usually am...), so I started randomly doodling in my journal. After a bit of this, I got an IDEA!!!
Sadly, Tolkien only wrote a small portion of Aragorn's history. So I thought that I could (eventually) write what Tolkien didn't...which is Aragorn's history before he went to Rivendell (only 2 yrs.), his years in Rivendell (age 2-20), his years as a Ranger and serving under Ecthelion II and Thengel (a really long time), and his years as King Elessar.
This section is somewhat small, so I'd appreciate any help I can get, whether it's a whole fanfic or just something as simple as a quote.
NOTE: I am now on FanFiction.Net.
To Rivendell By Uinaerwen Telcontar
Kingly Valour By Uinaerwen Telcontar
No Longer By Uinaerwen Telcontar
In the beginnings of spring in the harsh North, a woman held her young child. This was no ordinary woman, nor was the child any more ordinary than she.
She was Gilraen of the Dunedain, wife of the now-deceased Arathorn II. The child she cradled so lovingly in her arms was her only child: Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Lord of the Dunedain and last surviving heir of Isildur.
Gilraen grieved deeply for Arathorn, for she loved him with all of her being. But her mind turned to her son. She feared for the babe's very life. Arathorn had been an exceptionally strong man and a great warrior. Aragorn was only two years old. "He cannot die!" she cried out into the swift wind.
She stood and listened to her voice resonate for a moment before her thoughts began to turn. She could not protect Aragorn by herself, and she would not surrender him to a stranger.
Examining the woods surrounding her, she stealthily crept to a part of the woods where the trees thickened and sat between two exceptionally huge maple trees. Gilraen now rejoiced in her youth. Whenever she was alone for a while, she had slipped off into any nearby woods and practiced the skill that all Rangers pride themselves in: the ability to blend with the trees in an almost elvish fashion. Gilraen had had plenty of harsh words for her "masculine pastimes", but she now rejoiced in the skill she had hones in her youth.
Her thoughts returned to Aragorn, who was sleeping peacefully, to her exceptional good luck. She couldn't care for him by herself, even if they never left the woods. Trolls...she shuddered with an amaglamation of hatred and fear at the thought. Trolls were the thrice-cursed creatures that had slain Arathorn.
All the names of the realms of Middle-earth ran through her head. Rivendell. Yes! she thought.
Suddenly, Aragorn awoke and began to cry. Gilraen could not stand the sight of his blue-grey eyes filling up with tears. She cradled him near to her heart.
"Shh, my dear. We are going to Rivendell."
Arathorn looked down at his wife, Gilraen, who was exhausted from the stress of childbirth. He held their firstborn child, a boy, gently against his broad, muscular chest. Gilraen, catching her breath, asked her husband, "May I hold him?"
He nodded his approval and placed the child lovingly in her arms. During the transfer, the child began to cry. Gilraen held him closely and rocked him back and forth. "What shall we name him?" she asked only loud enough for Arathorn to hear.
Arathorn ran through his family tree all the way back to Isildur, searching for any suitable names. He glanced at Lord Elrond, who stood in the corner, watching Arathorn and Gilraen intently. "It has been prophesized that your child shall reclaim Gondor and Arnor. Valour shall be returned to the line of Isildur," said the elf.
Valour of Isildur...the valour of a king... thought Arathorn.
He began to run through the names of his ancestors once more, but stopped at his great great grandfather's great great great great grandfather, Aragorn I. "He shall be called Aragorn II after my great great grandfather's great great great great grandfather," Arathorn announced.
Gilraen smiled, having quieted Aragorn. "It is a lovely name, my dear," she told Arathorn with love.
He looked down at his beautiful wife who held their child so tenderly. "I have never been so glad," he told Gilraen, bending to softly kiss her lips.
"Nor have I," she replied.
The Ranger hid in the marsh, concealing himself in the plants. Silent and still was he, hunting the creature that skulked in the Marshes.
This Ranger was not only one of the Dunedain. He was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and he was hunting Gollum, the creature that had come into possession of the Ring five centuries ago. Aragorn had been hunting him for many a year, and now he was so close. Gollum was only meters away from him. Timing. I must be precise, Aragorn reminded himself.
The thought caused him to reminesce to his previous attempts to capture Gollum. He had been much younger then, with less stealth and very little to no knowledge of the finer points of Gollum's senses and feelings. Now, he had a better understanding of how sensitive Gollum's sight and hearing were. Something that Gandalf the Grey had told him when they first began to hunt for Gollum returned to the ranger as he watched the creature scan the landscape:
"There is not much I can tell you about Gollum, Aragorn. Experience shall be your teacher, and you could ask for no better."
Experience had indeed remained true to Gandalf's words. Aragorn learned more and more of Gollum's mind each time he came into contact with the creature. This time would be different. Much different.
Aragorn put his full focus on Gollum. He knew that he would have to time himself perfectly in order to hold Gollum captive. His muscles ached for movement from the hours he had spent motionless. To Aragorn's great dismay, Gollum fell into one of his fits of schizophrenia. "We hatess the nassty lightses, preciouss! They burnss our eyess out! We go to shut our eyess," he said.
"No! No, no, no! We musst fill our insidess, preciouss! They is crying! Crying, preciouss!"
"We doesn't want to see the nassty lightses before the moon shows her nassty face, preciouss!"
"We's starving, preciouss, STARVING!"
The creature began to cry loudly. Aragorn flinched at the magnitude of the sound. He knew that this was his moment. He sprang from his hiding place and bound the creature's hands and feet. "The nassty Ranger has been following us, yes preciouss, watching us for yearses, preciouss," said Gollum.
"I have hunted you for many a year, as you say. No longer! You are coming with me this time."
I open my eyes.
Around me is a rocky shore and water, rushing away. It surprises me that I am even alive after the fall that I took while battling the Wargs. The odds were against me.
I try to move and every nerve in my body screams in protest. I lie still and try to forget about the pain, glad that I am even able to feel pain. But...if this is how I must go on, then what is the use?
I turn my eyes heavenward, looking at how far down I am. If this is where I am, what is there left for me? What is the point in moving from this very spot?
As if out of nowhere, my mind begins to answer the rhetorical questions. I have friends who think that I am dead. There are men who could benefit from my skill with the blade. Lastly and most definitely not least, there is Arwen.
With a glance to my right, I see Brego. He sinks down and I grasp his mane, pulling myself up onto his back.
The moon has risen over Minas Tirith. Looking out from the
Gazing down, I can see men repairing the fragmented walls of the
For the first time in known history, the gates of Minas Tirith were breached during the War of the Ring. Under my rule, I shall make sure that such a thing does not occur. I want the whole of Gondor and Arnor to feel the peace that I feel now.
As I turn my head, the moon almost reflects off of the white stone surrounding me. It is all so beautiful.
With one last look at the beauty of Minas Tirith, I return to my chambers.