Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)
Title: The Invasion of Aragorn (#652)
Author: GypsieRose
Chapters: 9
Archive: Tolkien
Category: Palantir Section
Description: We're NOT writing a story about Aragorn. Really. Right? (Contains LOTR, "Hobbit," and "Silmarillion" material!)
Published: 26 Feb 2004
Updated: 16 Oct 2006
Warnings:
Type: Humour
Characters: Aragorn AND NO ONE ELSE!
Chapter 1 - A Ringbearer's Journey
Frodo was unable to sleep, despite the fact that he was lying in a comfortable bed for the first time in many nights. The firelight flickered gently on the sleeping forms of his three companions, and there was no sound to be heard except a slight rustling of the breeze outside. Strider had gone out somewhere, perhaps half an hour ago; Frodo would have felt safer to have the Man nearby, in case the Black Riders returned.
But, he realized with growing anxiety, no one could really protect him from those horrifying creatures. They had all been truly lucky thus far; how long would it be before their luck ran out? Frodo realized guiltily that he was the one responsible for placing his friends in danger. And what would they do without Gandalf to guide them?
Frodo tossed restlessly. In the bed next to his, a movement told him that Sam was also awake. "Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked softly. "Can't you sleep?"
"He should not concern himself so," came a gruff voice from the dark.
Strider leaned regally into the firelight from a shadowy corner of the room. The shadows played perfectly along his high cheekbones, making his chiseled features seem, to the hobbits, to be far superior to those of a mere Ranger.
Frodo's heart leaped with joy. Strider had returned!
"Actually, Frodo, I've never left. I can choose not to be seen if I wish, you know."
The hobbits gaped in amazement.
"Sam," said Frodo, answering his companion's earlier question, "You should try to get some rest. I'm sure we'll have to leave early in the morning."
"You should be restin' too, Mr. Frodo," responded Sam earnestly.
"Yes, yes, you both should rest," Strider insisted, his rich voice gravelly, but noble. "I will be certain to come up with a plan for us by morning. And I shall also keep a keen eye on the door."
Frodo smiled at Sam. "I'll rest if you will, Sam," he whispered, and lay back again. *Gandalf, where are you?* he wondered. He felt lost without the wizard's familiar presence and kindly guidance.
"As I said earlier, neither of you should fear. I shall lead you to safety in Gandalf's absence, for I somehow sense he's in danger," said Strider confidently.
"Do you think we can trust this 'Strider' person?" Sam whispered to Frodo. "He claims to be a friend of Gandalf, but we've got no proof for all that."
"My hearing is superior as well, Samwise Gamgee," Strider hissed. "And you really have no choice, do you? Besides, I am your only protection from the evils that trail you. It's best if you both get that sleep we agreed on earlier."
"I--er--perhaps--" Frodo began.
"Do not fret, Frodo." Strider's gruff voice contained a delicate hint of a sorrowful concern for the hobbit that made Frodo's heart ache to hear it. "Just sleep now. All will be well."
"Don't you have a plan for us, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked urgently.
"He doesn't need one," Strider insisted, wondering silently what the wizard saw in these obviously dimwitted hobbits. "I've got it covered."
*******
In a coffeeshop somewhere near Chicago, one author glared at the other.
"Frodo's supposed to be coming up with the plan!"
"Frodo isn't capable of that kind of planning. Strider has the necessary experience."
"What do you mean, Frodo's not capable? He led the group as far as Bree, didn't he?"
"Yeah, but this is where Gandalf's supposed to take over, and since he's incompetently gotten himself captured, Strider needs to step up. Frodo, you ain't in the Shire anymore, kiddo."
"Look, you promised we could try writing about someone *other* than Aragorn for a change."
"I know. It's about Frodo. But Aragorn is there, so he should still be playing in character. He's protective and noble and all, so he's just acting his part."
"I was trying to get him out of the picture! You were the one who decided he had to be there."
"He's there in the original, so he needs to be there in ours. He would never leave the poor little hobbits alone."
"Okay. Fine. We'll end the scene there. But next scene, Frodo gets to plan things on his own, all right?"
"Sure."
"Meet you here again next week?"
"Okay. Or IM me."
*******
Meanwhile, Frodo and Sam lay back, equally unable to sleep and envying Merry and Pippin their snores, as Strider continued to talk.
"The Nazgul, the Nine, are very dangerous, my hobbit friends. They are slaves to the Dark Lord Sauron, and they must do his foul bidding whenever he so desires it. This is why I gathered you to this room, under my hawklike watch, so that you would be safe from them. I would be very unhappy if I should fail you and Gandalf in this. I must try to prove my worth...must try. You understand that this is a dangerous world we live in, hobbits. Not safe, like your Shire was. I am surprised at Gandalf's judgement in placing such a severe burden on you, Frodo."
Frodo twiddled his thumbs and stared at the ceiling. Sam made a loud puffing noise of boredom.
"So, as I said before," Strider continued, "take good rest tonight, my hobbit friends. You will not see another night like it for quite a while, I gather."
"I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo whispered. "I am *trying* to come up with a plan. But I don't remember Strider being so talkative before now."
"I heard that, Frodo Baggins," Strider barked from his corner.
Chapter 2 - A Ringbearer's Journey, continued
The four hobbits huddled around the campfire, each feeling very lost and far from home. None of them spoke, as if by common consent, leaving Frodo alone with his thoughts. Nervously, he reached into his pocket as if to finger the smooth gold band that lay there, but then withdrew his hand quickly when he realized what he was doing.
Just then, Strider strode from the bushes, his dark cloak flapping elegantly in the breeze. He carried a freshly slain deer across his strong shoulders, and set the kill in front of the hobbits.
"I have brought you a feast's worth of meat here, my hobbit friends," he announced boldly, his dark hair shining in the moonlight. "Now, why the long faces? Frodo?"
"I--er--I was just wondering about Gandalf," Frodo said hurriedly.
"Gandalf can handle himself, I imagine," Strider mused, sitting upon a rock a few feet from the hobbits. "But you four are lucky to have me along, of that I assure you."
Pippin now piped up boldly. "And how much further is it to Rivendell now?"
"You have been asking since we left, Master Pippin," Strider said with a rather irritated sigh. "It's a long way. But never fear--I shall lead you there safely." He paused to pull out and fill his long clay pipe. "After all, I long to see Rivendell myself." Aragorn's piercing grey eyes took on a far-off, wistful character as he cleared his throat and began to sing. His voice, a rich, throaty baritone, mesmerized the hobbits completely. The Elvish words sounded particularly elegant and regal coming from his lips.
Frodo sat, entranced, all thoughts of the Ring forgotten.
*******
StewardsRule: Aragorn's taking over again.
AragornsBabe491: No, he's just singing. That's what he's supposed to do.
StewardsRule: *sigh* Look, every time Aragorn's in a scene, the scene ends up being about him somehow. How about if we skip to a part that he's *not* in?
AragornsBabe491: What fun is that? I mean, he's just making an appearance. It isn't like it's *about* him or anything.
StewardsRule: Okay, be honest...you don't like doing hobbits, right?
AragornsBabe491: Sexually? No offense, but they're kinda not my types.
StewardsRule: Let's try something different then. Think of it as a writing exercise--a scene with no Aragorn! ;-)
StewardsRule: Like the Lothlórien scene, maybe? From Galadriel's point of view?
AragornsBabe491: Whatever floats your boat. Sure. I can't guarantee my muse, however.
*******
The Lady of the Golden Wood slowly filled the basin of her Mirror. Its shimmering surface was unnaturally still. *I must first see whether there is any threat to Lorien,* she thought. *And the Ringbearer...perhaps he too should look into the Mirror. He will have great need of guidance in the time ahead.* Galadriel leaned gracefully over, focusing on a point of reflected starlight in the mirror's center, and let her mind spin into the visions it presented.
As she stared into the crystal depths, the eyes she saw staring back at hers surprised her greatly in their pristine, grey clarity. It was the face of her granddaughter's betrothed, Estel, that she beheld, his handsome features outlined clearly be the silver light of the mirror, which emphasized his chiseled cheekbones and the hint of beard upon his face. Her heart leaped at the sight of such magnificence, and she marvelled that she had ever found the grace to consent to the union of this beautiful Man with Arwen, when she desired him so for herself. *Oh!* she thought, *If only I had known Estel before Celeborn!*
Then the image faded completely away and was replaced with a view of the Golden Wood from high above, as if seen by an eagle soaring over the realm. All seemed peaceful at its borders.
Though her external world was at peace, Galadriel felt the turmoil of her heart inside. She could not release the image of Estel--his eyes, his face, his gentle but noble nature--from her mind. She envied her granddaughter, for Arwen had his love, when she herself could only dream of it.
And now there was the new uncertainty caused by the finding of the Ring, which threatened not just Lothlórien or Gondor, but all of Middle-Earth. The valiant halfling who had taken the burden upon himself had earned the honor and love of all, and she knew it was her duty to help him on his way. And yet, some small voice in the corner of her mind whispered that the Ring need not be destroyed, that she might have it and so preserve her land...and Estel...safe from Sauron's grasp.
Galadriel shook her head in alarm. Why was she having such thoughts? Best to find the halfling now and let the mirror speak for her.
But Galadriel was certain that Estel would ensure they would all prevail, that he would win the battles ahead and guarantee their victory. He was truly noble, and could not fail in this--or any task. Her mind lingered on the Man--on the sharpness of his chin, and the way his coat fell along his shoulders just so... She thought then of the beautiful promises that lay beneath that coat. The Man was accomplished with a sword--she had Seen that much in him already. She closed her eyes, envisioning the play of his muscles as he wielded his powerful weapon....
*******
StewardsRule: This is getting ridiculous.
AragornsBabe491: Why? He's not in the story.
StewardsRule: He's taking over even more than when he IS in the story!
AragornsBabe491: Does not! :-(
StewardsRule: C'mon, Galadriel???? Fantasizing about Aragorn??
AragornsBabe491: You so know she wants him. Who wouldn't?
AragornsBabe491: He's the king, you know.
StewardsRule: Sheesh, you might as well have him shag Rosie Cotton while you're at it!
AragornsBabe491: Gods, no! The Future King of Men does not have sex with Hobbits!
StewardsRule: Why not, if he's so irresistible?
AragornsBabe491: Don't get me wrong--she'd *want* him, of course. But he'd be gracious and let her down gently.
StewardsRule: *sigh* I give up. Tell you what, I'll meet you at the coffeeshop on Tuesday, and we can start something new?
AragornsBabe491: Okay, Tuesday's fine. But I'm not making any guarantees.
*******
On the other side of Lothlórien, Aragorn awoke out of a sound sleep and sat up with a start.
"What is it, Estel?" Legolas hissed in the darkness.
Aragorn shuddered at the dream he'd had just moments before. His grandmother-in-law-to-be had been getting awfully friendly, thinking things about his person that he hardly imagined Arwen had ventured to think about him yet. He cleared his throat and responded to the elf, "Er...nothing, Legolas."
******* ******* *******
AUTHOR'S NOTE: We don't actually use these handles on any IM system. But if we did, you can probably guess from our profile which of us would be which!
Chapter 3 - The Minstrel of Lothlórien
Two tall cups of chai and a notebook of blank paper sat on the coffeeshop table.
"Okay, the Galadriel thing didn't work. Maybe we're trying to be too serious. Let's do something just for fun."
"So, back to Aragorn, then?"
"I've always wanted to write one of those 'mysterious girl joins the Fellowship' stories. It would be kind of Mary Sueish, but that's not a bad thing if we have fun with it."
"So she's joining as a love interest of Aragorn's, then? That could be good."
"Aragorn *has* a love interest, remember?"
"He could always use another one--you know, one who appreciates his supreme hotness."
"Nah, to get the full Mary Sue effect, she's got to fall for Legolas."
"Legolas is a nancy. I prefer real men, and so should my avatar."
"C'mon, it'll be fun. Let's see, she's got to have a name which sounds sort of Elvish but isn't quite..."
*******
The moon was setting upon the Golden Wood of Lothlórien as Muriel finished singing the beautiful lament for Gandalf. The fallen wizard had been like a second father to her, she reflected as she brushed the tears from her long-lashed, violet eyes. She knew that her voice had not been at its best, though anyone listening would have said that the slight break of sadness made it all the more surpassingly lovely.
As she made her way down from the flet where she had been singing, the long skirt of her silken dress trailed behind her. It was the color of sea foam, with a silver belt and sweetheart neckline. She stepped daintily to the forest floor. The soft grass felt cool and pleasant to her bare feet.
Seated under a tree was a tall Elf she had never seen before. His long, blond hair was perfectly arranged on his broad shoulders and his sapphire-blue eyes were bright with tears. At Muriel's approach, the Elf stood up and bowed respectfully.
"Were you singing just now?" he asked. "It was beautiful."
"It most certainly was," a Man remarked, as he came out of the shadowy wood.
"Thank you," Muriel replied modestly. "I have been told that I get my singing skill from my father, who was a famous Elven minstrel from Rivendell. My mother was one of the last Unicorns in Middle-Earth." Muriel had all but forgotten about the Elf, and now focused completely on the Man, with his powerful shoulders and dark, mysteriously handsome looks. "Alas," she continued, "my mother was slain by orcs a few years ago and my father has disappeared. I do not know whether he has gone to Valinor or been taken captive by Sauron's dark powers."
"I am sorry to hear of your loss," said the Elf. "By the way, I am Legolas, prince of Mirkwood."
"And who are you?" Muriel asked the handsome Man, oblivious to the Elf's attempts at an advance.
"I am called Aragorn," he said, in a gruff but surprisingly warm and comforting voice. "And I know your pain, my lady, for I too am an orphan."
"Aragorn..." breathed Muriel, "such a beautiful and noble name!"
"My father is King Thranduil," Legolas added helpfully. "And what is your name, beautiful singer?"
"I am called Muriel," she answered in offhand manner, and then turned back to the Man. "How did you ever overcome that terrible loss?"
"I have never overcome it, my Lady," he answered, with a sadness in that gentle voice that nearly broke her heart. "It is a trial I live with daily."
"Oh!" Muriel cried, shedding a single, crystal tear of her own. "Perhaps we could walk in the woods together, my Lord, and share our sorrows?"
He extended his strong arm, bent at the elbow for her. "I would be honored, Lady Muriel." She hooked her arm in his, and the two of them strode away from Legolas into the leafy green wood.
*******
The authors looked at each other silently for a few seconds.
"Okay, so maybe Muriel Sue was a bad idea."
"I kinda like her. She has quiet dignity."
"I'm closing the notebook now and if anyone ever asks me about that story, I will plead insanity."
*******
Legolas sat moping on a log, staring wistfully into the forest. He wished silently for a mirror, or a gazing pond. Had his looks gone south that quickly, after only these few months on the road?
Suddenly, a half-dressed Aragorn came crashing out of the brush, straight toward the Elf. The Man was looking wildly about, as if his very life depended on escaping his apparent pursuer.
"Hide me!" he hissed, grabbing the elf around the shoulders.
"From what?" Legolas craned to see around him, but noticed nothing save the green of the wood.
"From Muriel, the mad half-dragon, half-unicorn, half-minstrel--thing--out there! She's trying to bed me! First, I had those disturbing dreams about Galadriel, and now this!"
"What exactly were you dreaming about Galadriel, eh?" Legolas asked archly. He tried to cross his arms for effect, but Aragorn's proximity made the pose an impossibility.
"Never mind that! You have to hide me!"
"I'll hide you, *Lord* Aragorn, only if you'll promise to never tell a single soul that a fair maiden actually preferred you to me."
"I will, I swear it!" the desperate Man fair shouted. He then added, under his breath, "And Legolas...please do not mention this to the future queen...."
Chapter 4 - While Hope Remains
Elrond gazed at his daughter as she sat before him on the couch in her chamber at Rivendell. There was a defiant tilt to her chin which told him that he would not have an easy time persuading her to give up her stubborn belief that Aragorn would return to her one day.
"Arwen," he began gently, "it is time. The ships are leaving for Valinor. Go now... before it is too late."
"I have made my choice," she answered him with quiet dignity.
At this, the Elf-lord felt a surge of frustration mixed with admiration for her tenacity. Aragorn had left Rivendell weeks ago; he must be hundreds of miles away by now. He had even, at Elrond's urging, set Arwen free before leaving. Yet she still refused to go to the Grey Havens, no matter how many times her father insisted.
Elrond drew in a deep breath. The threat of Mordor was growing more desperate every day. He would have to take more direct measures to ensure her safety. In all the centuries of his existence, he could remember no task so difficult, nor so painful. He could not bear to break her heart, and yet he knew he must.
"He is not coming back," he said in the same gentle tone. Arwen flinched very slightly, and he knew his words had hit home, though he took no joy in the fact.
"I am right here, Lord Elrond," said a regal voice from the shadows.
Elrond turned, reluctant to believe his ears.
"Estel!" Arwen shouted in gleeful surprise, all of her quiet resignation melting away at the sight of her betrothed. He was travel-worn, to be sure; his coat was tattered and faded, and his skin was marred with the grime of long days spent on the road. Still, his impressive bearing shone through it all. She still found him handsome, despite everything--her father could sense that simply by watching his daughter's eyes. This was a love he could do nothing to quell.
Arwen leaped into the arms of her future husband and King. "Father said you were lost!" she insisted.
"'Tis how I felt, meleth nîn, without you," he told her, his gravelly voice choking with emotion.
Elrond at long last relented. "You were right, Arwen," he said, "And I was wrong. This man is proof that Men are not truly weak, for he has indeed come back for you. I cannot oppose this match any longer."
"I knew you would see it in him!" Arwen smiled at her father.
"Yes," Elrond agreed, "He is truly capable of assuming the throne as the King of Men, once he has brought this war to an end. By the way," he added, turning to Aragorn, "Did the Ring get destroyed?"
"It will, Ada. I will return to the front and see to its destruction myself," Aragorn insisted nobly.
"Will you be gone long, my Love?" Arwen asked, eyes wide and liquid at the prospect of not seeing him for so very long.
"Not long, dearest," he insisted, his voice a husky, gentle whisper. "Though any time is far too long for my liking." With that, he swept her back in a long embrace, and kissed her as a King should kiss his Queen.
*******
StewardsRule: Are you finished?
AragornsBabe491: That's a good place to end, I think.
StewardsRule: You notice anybody in that scene who's not supposed to be there?
AragornsBabe491: Quit patronizing me. He could've gone home and come back. I'm sure there was down time.
StewardsRule: He took the short cut through Moria, I suppose? Leaped the broken bridge in a single bound?
AragornsBabe491: He's the King. He can do anything.
StewardsRule: I was really looking forward to writing about Elrond. He's an interesting character.
Aragorn'sBabe491: You did write about Elrond.
StewardsRule: I mean an actual story about him! But it seems we can't write a Lord of the Rings story without Aragorn showing up somehow!!
StewardsRule: Hey, that just gave me an idea.
AragornsBabe491: Now what?
StewardsRule: Tell you next time we get together. ;-)
*******
"What am I SAYING?!" Elrond shouted. "Estel, kindly cease pawing my daughter this instant!"
"Oh...Ada, I am sorry about this, really."
Arwen pouted. "You are?"
"I'll *make* him sorry if he doesn't stop," Elrond growled.
Aragorn and Arwen reluctantly separated.
"I...I'm not exactly certain why I'm here, Lord Elrond," Aragorn said in a hurry, obviously disoriented. "But things have been very strange lately...in Bree, I found that I could not stop talking...and there were the dreams about Galadriel, and then there was a most persistent young woman in Lothlórien...."
"A persistent young woman?" Arwen said archly. "How persistent?"
"Nothing happened," Aragorn said hastily.
Elrond's stern expression softened somewhat. "Ah. I see you have fallen under the curse of fanfiction. It plagues us all at times."
"It is not I that am having these thoughts, then? I am not causing it?" Aragorn sighed a sigh of great relief.
"No. But that does not lessen the inconvenience of your presence here," Elrond reminded him. "We must get you back where you belong. May the Valar grant we can keep you there!"
Chapter 5 - Midsummer's Eve
Aragorn gaped at his foster-father in relief. Fanfiction! The answer was so simple. "So I am not going mad after all?" he asked hopefully.
Elrond smiled. "No, Estel, you are not going mad. I only wonder that it took so long for you to notice. Think back--have you never before found that you were doing something that did not seem to fit your true self, yet you could not control it?"
"I remember one night--" Arwen began.
"Er," said Aragorn hastily, "Many times, now that you mention it, Ada."
"For instance," said Elrond, "That time when the Dwarves came to visit...."
*******
An open notebook lay on the coffeeshop table next to two tall cups of chai. One author beamed at the other.
"Aragorn was taking over every time we tried to write a 'Lord of the Rings' story, right? So all we have to do for a change of pace is write a Tolkien story that's not set during 'Lord of the Rings'!"
"Like, when, exactly?"
"Any time. How about during The Hobbit? I'm still interested in writing about Elrond...."
"Oh, goody...Dwarves and Hobbits...."
"And Elrond, and Gandalf."
"And Dwarves and Hobbits. Sounds *great.*"
"We can always go back to Aragorn next time. All I'm asking is to do one different thing for a change of pace in between Aragorn stories."
"Fine. *You* start it, then."
*******
Elrond Halfelven, the master of Rivendell, took a seat beside his friend Gandalf the Grey. From where they sat, they had an excellent view of the festivities of Midsummer Eve. The dancing and singing were just beginning down by the riverfront below as the sun was finally setting.
The Hobbit, Bilbo, was plainly entranced by all that he saw and heard. He was currently fumbling in his pack for a quill and paper and muttering something about taking down the words of the songs. The Dwarves were mostly helping themselves to food and making a great show of not being impressed; but from time to time one of them could be seen to pause in his eating and listen intently to the song before coming back to himself and attacking his meal with fresh gusto.
Gandalf pulled out his long-stemmed pipe. "May I?" he asked, gesturing with it.
Elrond nodded absently. He was thinking of the sword Gandalf had found in the troll hoard. To think it had come all the way from Gondolin, and had once been carried by Turgon himself! Elrond had seen many days which mortals considered mythical, but Gondolin was as a myth even to him. The thought made him feel slightly melancholy.
Pushing these thoughts aside, Elrond turned to his old friend. "Gandalf, I know you never do anything without a reason. Tell me, why did you choose the halfling for this quest?"
Gandalf's eyes twinkled in the deepening gloom. "I chose him because I suspect he will be a very good burglar," he answered. The wizard smiled to himself at some private mischief and took a long draw on his pipe.
"*I* could be a good burglar," piped up a childish voice at Elrond's elbow. "Why don't you take me?"
Elrond and Gandalf both turned to see a boy of about ten standing behind them. The exquisite lines of the child's face hinted that he would one day be a very handsome man indeed. Already his high cheekbones showed promise, and his lovely grey eyes spoke of a wisdom beyond his years.
"I'm about the same size as a hobbit, and I'm very clever," the boy continued as he pushed his dark hair away from his young but still noble face.
Elrond frowned sternly, though in truth he could not bring himself to be angry with his young charge. "Estel! What are you doing out of bed?"
The boy gave him a winsome smile. "I sneaked out to watch the dancing, Ada. And no one heard me, so you see I'd make a wonderful burglar. Besides, I can already shoot a bow better than Prince Legolas, so I could help to protect you as well."
Gandalf's eyebrows climbed higher and higher, but he puffed thoughtfully at his pipe. "The boy may have a point, Lord Elrond," he said slowly. "I do not see why we cannot have fifteen in our party instead of fourteen."
"Oh, please let me go!" said the boy earnestly. "I'm going to be King someday, you know, so I might as well start learning about the world now....."
*******
"I. Don't. Believe. It."
"Oh, now what?"
"Look, even if I accept that 10-year-old Aragorn has to show up in this story, he should NOT know yet that he's going to be King!"
"Why not? I'm sure someone's let it slip. Besides, he has excellent intuition."
There was a soft, strangled noise, like the sound of an author choking on her own frustration. The notebook was turned to a fresh page.
"So, how well do you remember The Silmarillion?"
*******
Aragorn brightened. "I do remember that night, Ada! You looked like you were going to say yes, and then you changed your mind and sent me back to bed. But the strangest thing was that I didn't even want to go, and yet somehow I couldn't stop myself from begging...."
Elrond nodded. "You see? That is the way of it. Now that you know what it is, you can be on your guard." He stood. "Now then, let us see about returning you to where you belong; where were you before you were drawn back here?"
"Edoras," Aragorn answered. He kissed Arwen affectionately--but, as they were under Elrond's disapproving eye, not *too* affectionately. "Goodbye, meleth nîn. I will return as soon as I can."
Aragorn turned to go, but Arwen held his arm. "Just one thing," she said sweetly. "If any beautiful shieldmaidens throw themselves at you while you're in Rohan...don't even *think* of claiming the author made you do it."
Chapter 6 - Túrin's Choice
"So, how well do you remember The Silmarillion?"
"Not much. Just that it was like reading a history book."
A copy of The Silmarillion thumped down on the table next to the newly-refilled cups of chai.
"Take a look."
A pause.
"There's an awful lot of Elves."
"You don't like Hobbits, you don't like Dwarves, you don't like Elves..."
"I like Aragorn. That's already been established, hasn't it?"
"I'll meet you halfway. We can write about one of the human characters. Maybe we could rewrite Túrin so he's not such an idiot."
*******
Nargothrond was burning. The air was filled with the reek of smoke and the cries of the wounded. But Túrin strode, unseeing, from the hall, his face set grimly, his hand gripping his sword so tightly that the knuckles grew white. His mind was tormented at the thought of abandoning Finduilas to a terrible fate and ignoring the last wish of Gwindor, who had been a friend to him; but his mother and sister were in danger too, and he must go to them. He turned his face resolutely to the north.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said an unfamiliar voice behind him.
Túrin turned. "Who are you?" he asked with a curl of his lip as he surveyed the raggedly-dressed man who stood there.
The stranger gripped Túrin's shoulder and gazed at him intently with piercingly noble grey eyes. "I realize you do not know me," he said with becoming humility, "but one day most men will hearken to my advice. So listen to me now when I say that this course you are taking can only end in misery."
Túrin hesitated, chewing his lower lip. He burned to be off on his errand, and yet this stranger radiated such awesome wisdom that against his will, he was forced to consider the man's words. "But my mother and sister...." he said finally.
"Go and save Finduilas. I pledge myself to assure the safety of your family," the striking stranger proclaimed solemnly.
Túrin's doubt fled, and he clasped the man's arm in friendship. "I can see by your noble bearing that you are a truly great warrior," he said. "Perhaps even greater than myself. I will entrust you with the safety of my family, so that I may carry out my friend's dying wish. A thousand thanks! May I know the name of the man to whom I owe so much?"
"I am called Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Estel, Strider, Elessar...."
*******
"WHAT?!"
A hush fell over the coffeeshop as the other patrons stared. After an embarrassed pause, the conversation continued in a softer tone.
"Aragorn can't be there. He won't even be born for several thousand years!"
"He time-traveled."
"He can't time-travel!"
"Of course he can. He's the King, you know."
"But he can't--"
"King."
"But--"
"King."
"But he--"
"I said king!"
"Look, if Aragorn could time-travel, he wouldn't bother Túrin. He'd go back and stop Isildur from taking the Ring."
"Well, maybe he will!"
*******
Isildur and Elrond faced each other on the narrow stone ledge of the Sammath Naur. The air swirled with heat, and the glowing lava cast a hellish light upon the tense scene.
"Cast it into the fire!" shouted Elrond.
Isildur smirked. "No," he said simply, and turned his back.
"Isildur!!" Elrond bellowed in despair.
Just then, a vision appeared before the Man and the Elf. Suspended in mid-air was a radiant, kingly form with a face of surpassing and somehow familiar nobility.
"STOP!" cried the vision in a rough yet commanding voice. "Isildur, you must do as Elrond has ordered. It will save future generations from much pain and grief."
Isildur stepped back in awe. "What manner of apparition are you?" he whispered.
"I'm your great-great-great-great-great..."
*******
"...Great-great-great...let's see, how many is that?...Hey, where are you going?"
The door of the coffeeshop slammed.
*******
Aragorn started as a sharp Elven finger poked him, hard, in the ribs.
"Aragorn? I said the stars are veiled. Aren't you listening?"
Aragorn blinked and looked around in confusion. He was standing on the porch of Meduseld on a chilly spring night. Legolas stood beside him, the hood of his cloak pulled up and a concerned expression on his face.
"I think I've just had another vision," Aragorn said in a hushed voice. "Like when I saw Arwen at the river. Only this time I was imploring Isildur to cast the Ring away. Oddly enough, he seemed to be listening to me." Aragorn's brow furrowed. "And before that, I was talking to some fellow named Túrin...."
Legolas patted him on the shoulder. "Fanfiction again."
"It can force me to travel in time?" Aragorn frowned. "I do not like the fact that these 'fanfiction writers' can impose on me in such a way."
"Time travel is nothing, my friend. Let me tell you about a thing called 'slash'...."
Chapter 7 - Interlude: While the Cats Are Away
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The idea for this chapter was suggested by our friend Bookworm, who also wrote the first section (down to the scene break). Since it fit neatly between the events we had planned for the last couple of chapters, we decided to incorporate it into the story. Thanks, Bookworm!
******* ******* *******
Aragorn's mind was most definitely not with his body.
It should have been. After all, he was at the head of an army that was riding straight for the gates of Mordor. He should have been thinking about that, about the life and death of himself and those who followed him--or about Frodo and Sam, possibly struggling toward Mount Doom, more probably captured or dead.
But the closer he rode to his fate, the more his mind turned to one thing, and one thing only.
Fanfiction.
He found himself obsessively reviewing the events in his life, wondering if the things he'd done were of his own free will, or done at the whim of some writer. *For that matter, what about right now?* he wondered. *What if all of this struggle and death is meaningless--just a shadow-play for the amusement of someone else?*
And what about afterwards, if there was an afterwards? Would he finally be left alone, or would these fanfiction writers continue to manipulate him? Would they let him settle down with Arwen? Would they take her out of his life, simply on a whim?
"No," he said abruptly, reining in. Ignoring the quizzical looks of those around him, he led his horse over to a rock, and sat down. "No," he repeated. When Legolas looked about to speak, he elaborated. "I refuse to go *anywhere* until I can do *something* of my own free will."
"But the battle--the forces of Sauron--"
"No. Not until I'm sure. Now leave me." At their hesitation, he sternly repeated, "Leave me!"
The others began drifting away, murmuring and looking back at him. All except Gimli. He was staring at Aragorn, admiring the spark of anger in his eyes, the stern set of his mouth, the tensed muscles that showed even through his armor. He looked completely like a king. "Ye know, laddie," he said quietly, "you should get angry more often."
"Scram!" Aragorn shouted. Once he'd watched Gimli scurry away, he bowed his head and hid his face in his hands.
*******
Aragorn sat defiantly on his rock while an hour slipped away and stretched into two. Occasionally he glared at the sky suspiciously. It was threatening to rain, and he wondered darkly whether that was planned by the fanfiction authors too, or simply a product of natural weather patterns of Middle-Earth.
"I doubt my very world," he spat, disgusted.
Meanwhile the army kept a respectful distance. Most of the men had dismounted and were now chatting amongst themselves, carefully refraining from staring at the new king who was behaving in such an erratic manner. To look askance at him was to look askance at Gondor.
Hobbits, however, care nothing for the good name of Gondor. So when Aragorn looked up again, he found Merry and Pippin standing squarely in front of him.
"Whatcha doin'?" asked Pippin.
"Quiet, Pip," Merry admonished. "He's thinkin'."
"About what?" Pippin asked, ignoring the first part of Merry's response.
"Free will," Aragorn growled.
"Who's Will?" Pippin wondered. Merry hit him.
"I only want to be sure that I make my own decisions!" Aragorn continued petulantly, crossing his arms. "I only desire to govern myself!"
"I think there are more people than that in Gondor, Strider," Pippin offered the beleaguered King.
"Yes, about that..." Merry added. "Some of the men are getting restless. That's why we came over, to see if you were ready to leave. We can't move until you do."
"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked, blinking.
"Well, you're in charge here, aren't you?" Merry continued. "It's your decision, isn't it?"
Aragorn beamed suddenly, a dawning smile chasing away the clouds upon his noble brow. "It is, is it? I. Am. In. Chaaaaaaaarge!" he announced, running after the rest of the army, hobbits in tow.
Chapter 8 - Through a Glass Darkly
AragornsBabe491: You haven't been on lately. What's up?
StewardsRule: Not much. Been busy.
AragornsBabe491: Oh. So you haven't been avoiding me, then? Putting me on 'ignore' or anything like that?
StewardsRule: Why would I do that?
AragornsBabe491: I thought you might be a little upset with me or something.
StewardsRule: Just because you turn everything we write into an Aragorn story? Why would that upset me?
AragornsBabe491: *whew* What a relief! I really thought you might be angry.
AragornsBabe491: Anyhow, I thought you might want to try another shot at some fanfic?
StewardsRule: I don't know. It hasn't been going too well lately.
AragornsBabe491: Well, I thought maybe we could write one about Faramir, since you like him and all.
StewardsRule: ...Seriously?
AragornsBabe491: Consider it a peace offering. Besides, then you can get a chance to see why it's so hard not to put your favorite in a story. I mean, really, you are to Faramir as I am to Aragorn, right?
StewardsRule: I don't think anyone is to any character as you are to Aragorn. But I'll take the peace offering!
AragornsBabe491: Was that a compliment...or an insult?
*******
Faramir, Steward of Gondor, had more reason than most Men to understand that much suffering and doubt can revolve around inanimate objects. After all, he had encountered the One Ring itself. But the object which lay before him now presented, in its way, an even more difficult challenge.
It was a simple globe of black crystal, perhaps a foot in diameter: the palantír of Orthanc. And although he knew it was not the same one which his father had held at his death, the very sight of it made Faramir's mouth go dry. King Elessar had graciously offered to appoint someone else to survey the palantír, but Faramir had refused--both because he would not shirk his duty as the Steward and because he felt it would be disastrous to give in to fear.
He took a deep breath, brushed aside a curl that had fallen into his eyes, and tried to calm his mind. *It is perfectly safe,* he told himself. *There is no longer any risk of encountering Sauron. The Stone is only a tool, which can be used for good as well as evil.* He set his jaw firmly, his handsome face taking on a look of stern determination as he prepared to try again.
Just then, Faramir was startled by a shadow cast over the menacing orb in his hands. He turned his head to find King Elessar himself standing directly behind him, peering over his shoulder with curious but piercing grey eyes.
Shutting out the distracting presence, Faramir focused all the power of his formidable mind on the dark globe. A light sweat broke out on his forehead and he pressed his lips together tightly as he concentrated. This time he was rewarded by a faint glimmering light in the center of the palantír, like the flame of a candle no thicker than a child's finger.
"Be wary, Faramir," a noble, rich, wise, and gravelly voice intoned behind him. "For though the Dark Lord is vanquished, the palantíri are still difficult tools to master."
The flame died as Faramir's concentration broke, but he scarcely noticed. He could not help but be impressed by the words of his respected King; after all, the Man had bravely gazed into a palantír once himself, and that when Sauron had still sullied Middle-Earth with his evil presence.
He stood, facing the Man, his King, Elessar. "My Lord, your guidance would be greatly appreciated in this matter."
"I thought it might," the king responded proudly. "You see, the trick is to focus yourself absolutely on the Stone. Distractions can be very dangerous."
Faramir nodded. "Yes, I was just trying to do that..."
"If you hold the stone steady and firmly, you will most likely succeed in your quest for knowledge," Aragorn continued boldly. "That is how I did it when I held the palantír and defied Sauron those years ago."
"Yes, Sire, I know all this," Faramir answered patiently.
"And you must remember that it is really just a tool that can be used for good or evil."
"I remember. I am sure I will succeed with a little more practice."
"Good--good." King Elessar paused, stroking his stubbled chin. "Faramir, why do you not let me search the stone for you? I have had experience in the matter, after all, and am troubled less by it than you seem to be."
Faramir drew a deep breath. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, may I request that you GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME ALONE?"
*******
AragornsBabe491: He wouldn't say that to his King!
StewardsRule: Want to make a bet?
AragornsBabe491: Faramir's a respectful servant of the King. He wouldn't be so...rude.
StewardsRule: He wasn't rude! He was very polite about telling Aragorn to butt out of HIS STORY!
AragornsBabe491: It WAS Faramir's story. Aragorn was just helping out.
AragornsBabe491: He does know more in this situation, after all. And he's the King.
AragornsBabe491: Hello? Are you there?
AragornsBabe491: Dammit--you logged out! You put me on 'ignore' again, didn't you? Didn't you?!
*******
"Pardon me, but did you just tell me to sod off?" Aragorn asked Faramir as the two stood in the throne room together.
Faramir's eyes widened and he bowed hastily. "I do apologize, Sire. Fanfiction."
The King groaned loudly. "I cannot begin to tell you how much I've tired of that word and all it implies." He sank to the floor, head in his hands. "I finally stand as King, and still, someone else toys with me like a mere puppet on a string. "
Faramir gingerly set the palantír on the seat of the Steward's chair and sat down next to his King. "It is dreadful at times, isn't it?" he asked sympathetically.
"Generally, yes," Aragorn woefully agreed, a tear coming to his grey eyes.
"If I may suggest," the young Steward continued, "I find that a cup or two of wine usually helps after one of these attacks..."
"I'd down the bottle, Faramir, if it would help. Never do I do anything remotely worthy of a King unless it is also completely ridiculous. And then there was the time that half-breed monstrosity tried to bed me in the woods..." Aragorn shuddered, and hastily added, "Never a word of that, my Steward--to anyone."
"Your secret is safe with me, my liege." Faramir paused. "How do you imagine we shall fare in this latest adventure?"
Aragorn turned to his Steward with a startlingly honest expression upon his noble face. "As long as I do not end up bedding *you*, I care not."
Faramir edged away. "Éowyn will kill you if you try anything," he said nervously. "In fact, *I* will kill you if you try anything--King or not. Sire."
"I have no designs on you, Faramir." Aragorn tried to be reassuring, but with fanfiction lurking around every corner, he couldn't be certain of even his own intentions. Then his face took on a thoughtful expression. "But it occurs to me that drunkenness may be our best defense in this case. If we are incapable of moving, they cannot make us do anything."
Faramir's rare grin appeared. "I do believe there is some of the 2998 left in the royal cellars."
"Shall we?" Aragorn started to head in the promised wine's direction.
"Lead the way, Sire."
THE END
Chapter 9 - BONUS CHAPTER
NOTE: Our friend "Bookworm" wrote a spinoff vignette for this story which we enjoyed very much! We ended up basing chapter 7 on the first part of it (down to the scene break). At the time, we had plans to do a spinoff/follow-up story using some of the ideas in the second part of the sketch. Since that's looking less likely at the moment, we'd like to present Bookworm's original chapter here in its entirety. Enjoy!
*******
Aragorn's mind was most definitely not with his body.
It should have been. After all, he was at the head of an army that was riding straight for the gates of Mordor. He should have been thinking about that, about the life and death of himself and those who followed him--or about Frodo and Sam, possibly struggling toward Mt. Doom, more probably captured or dead.
But, the closer he rode to his fate, the more his mind turned to one thing, and one thing only.
Fanfiction.
He found himself obsessively reviewing the events in his life, wondering if the things he'd done were of his own free will, or done at the whim of some writer. 'For that matter, what about right now?' he wondered. 'What if all of this struggle and death is meaningless--just a shadow-play for the amusement of someone else?'
And what about afterwards, if there was an afterwards? Would he finally be left alone, or would these fanfiction writers continue to manipulate him? Would they let him settle down with Arwen? Would they take her out of his life, simply on a whim?
"No," he said abruptly, reining in. Ignoring the quizzical looks of those around him, he led his horse over to a rock, and sat down. "No," he repeated. When Legolas looked about to speak, he elaborated. "I refuse to go *anywhere* until I can do *something* of my own free will."
"But the battle--the forces of Sauron--"
"No. Not until I'm sure. Now leave me." At their hesitation, he sternly repeated, "Leave me!"
The others began drifting away, murmuring and looking back at him. All except Gimli. He was staring at Aragorn, admiring the spark of anger in his eyes, the stern set of his mouth, the tensed muscles that showed even through his armor. He looked completely like a king. "Ye know, laddie," he said quietly, "you should get angry more often."
"Scram!" Aragorn shouted. Once he'd watched Gimli scurry away, he bowed his head and hid his face in his hands.
*******
He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there, but suddenly, he heard a voice say, "Enjoying your huff?"
He looked up, wondering if he'd see the shadow of a fanfiction author in whoever it was. But all he saw was Gandalf the White, sardonic as ever.
"We can't wait forever, you know," Gandalf continued. "We need you fully at the head of this army, not distracted by fanfiction."
"I know," Aragorn replied, somewhat weakly. "But--"
"And so, I believe I have a solution for you." Gandalf suddenly grinned. "What few people know is that fanfiction can work both ways, given the right circumstances. For you, I'll make those circumstances. Here." He handed Aragorn a scroll, along with a quill pen and a bottle of ink. "Whatever you write about them will happen; my magic will ensure that."
"But how can I write about them when I don't know anything *about* them?" Aragorn asked.
"I'll rectify that now," Gandalf said. He raised his staff in front of Aragorn, chanting softly.
Suddenly, Aragorn's mind was assaulted by information--so *much* information. He saw the two girl writers--young women, really, and shouldn't they be married and not wasting time on such frivolous pursuits? He saw their get-togethers, their chats over computers--fascinating things, computers--their cell phones--and wouldn't *those* have come in handy more than once here? Everything about their lives came rushing into his mind, trying to sort itself into some sort of coherent picture.
When it was over, Aragorn was a bit--but not much--surprised to find himself lying on the ground by the rock. Gandalf held out a hand to help him back onto his perch.
"Sorry about that," Gandalf said softly. "But for you to understand their lives, you had to get a *lot* of background information. But now, you have what you need to do what you want. We have some time in hand...so have fun." With that, he walked away.
Aragorn picked up the scroll and pen, story ideas already percolating in his mind. "All right, girls," he muttered, "let's see how *you* like it."
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