Rewriting History
The Horn of Gondor rings out in the forest. Its high round notes sing to me,
summoning what strength is in my blood to respond. I fight with the force of
Isildur himself, I cut down orcs by the dozen. I reach your side in moments,
before any can harm you. Together we destroy an army of darkness, we defend the
little ones, we stand shoulder to shoulder as the enemy flees these shores.
Frodo and Sam have gone on ahead, yet the Fellowship holds fast.
Even before Merry realizes that Frodo has gone off by himself, I see your shield
and know that you have drifted from us. The Ring calls to you; you cannot resist
it alone. I find you before you find Frodo, I take your hands in mine. I tell
you of my love until there is no room in your heart for anger or fear or doubt.
Together we send Frodo and the Ring to their destiny, and together we turn
toward our own.
At Lothlórien, you unburden yourself to me. You confess that the people lose
faith in your father and that you want to set it right, offering me for the
first time a role in that quest. You call your home my home. When you tell me
that one day our paths will lead us there, to the white tower of Ecthelion, I
promise to go with you. I call you brother. Over our clasped hands, King to
Steward and Steward to King, we vow our allegiance to Gondor and to one another.
The darkness cannot bind us.
In the depths of the mines, there are no orcs, no troll, no balrog. Gimli's
cousin Balin greets us before a roaring fire. During the four days which Gandalf
says it will take to cross beneath the mountain, we walk in well-lighted
chambers, we feast on malt beer and red meat off the bone. The dwarves give us
mithril and arrowheads for the journey beyond. We lie together each night, you
and I, apart from the others, the firelight making your hair and skin gleam
brighter than the greatest treasures ever dug from the earth.
High on the shimmering mountain, late in the night, I sit amidst the ice aching
with the cold. Suddenly I feel something soft against my cheek and a weight
against my back. It is the fur lining of your cloak, which you have wrapped
around my shoulders. I reach out my hand to pull you to me, so close that the
steam of our breath mingles in the air above us. Together we huddle beneath the
heavy mantle, arms around one another, until we have both stopped shivering. We
spend the long night keeping each other warm. In the morning, when Frodo loses
the Ring, I say your name and you give it back to him without a second thought.
I am basking in the bright sun and your smile, sprawled on a rock where we have
climbed to scout the hills. This moment belongs only to the two of us, with no
other cares, no charges, no Ring. All the shadows have fled your face. For the
first time I see what a simple thing it is for me to make you happy -- I have
only to touch your hand or ask you to tell your stories, you will give your
heart to me and grow in the giving. I am humbled in the knowledge of such power,
uplifted in the face of such joy.
The Fellowship rests in a temperate valley beneath the Misty Mountains. You have
been coaching Merry and Pippin with their swords; your body runs with sweat,
your eyes gleam with the pleasure of exertion. The little ones are exhausted,
but you want to keep striving. "Come hunt with me," I suggest. In the forest, I
sneak behind you and we grapple playfully. Against a tree, I pin your arms above
your head and lick the moisture from your throat. Before we return to camp with
the others, it has begun to rain, and I have become as damp as you.
You are washing in a mountain lake when a sudden wave knocks you off your feet.
I surface beside you, grinning as I splash at your chest. You slap the water
back at me, and I dive beneath to grab your feet. We are both laughing as we
plummet together. When in the course of our wrestling I discover that you have
become as excited as I am, I stop teasing and try to hold you still, though you
are slippery as a fish and powerful as an eel. We come together like two
turbulent rivers spilling their waters into the same embracing sea.
While the others go off to make preparations for our journey, I find you on the
bridge at Rivendell staring down at the running water. You meet my eyes with
anger but also a grudging respect. I apologize for my blunt words in the meeting
and assure you that I want only peace for Gondor. We walk back to the House of
Elrond together, though I know that your blood is still riled. When we reach
your rooms, you invite me inside. There among the strewn petals and silks of
Rivendell, you make your claim as Lord of Gondor, yet I welcome you so eagerly
that before you have finished, we have pledged our mutual commitment to our land
and to each other.
At the council, before Legolas can rise to speak for me, I tell you, "I am
Aragorn, son of Arathorn." I make no demands for allegiance and you pledge no
duty, but because I have met your challenge, you treat me as an equal, and my
words seem to hold new weight with you. When the Ring begins to enflame all who
sit at the meeting, our eyes meet. Together we understand that we can only
resist this evil by refusing fear and frustration. Silently I promise you that I
am no rival, but a man who will walk by your side, protecting your heart as you
protect mine.
When you walk away from the shards of Narsil, I call out to stop you. I tell you
my true name, and I express my admiration for you and for your father. You are
wary at first but once you realize that I am sincere, you begin to speak to me
of the White City and the men you command there. I tell you of my longing to
return and my fear, ashamed to make such a confession to a stranger yet knowing
somehow that because of who you are, you will understand better than Elrond,
better even than Arwen. "You are Isildur's heir, not Isildur himself," you
remind me as she would. "You are not bound to his fate." Coming from you, the
words ring true. We speak of our fathers and the burdens we bear. When together
we replace the hilt of Narsil, you pass it to me as my birthright.
I study you for the first time as you stand before the shrine to my ancestor,
holding his sword. The reverence on your face inflames me, as do the strength in
your hands, the confidence in your stance. I think I have never seen before a
man who so looks the part of a king. You feel my eyes upon you and turn,
disturbed to find anyone spying on your reverie. Quickly I rise and move toward
you, explaining quietly who I am, why I am there. Then I lift your hand to my
lips. The broken blade of Isildur's sword clatters from your fingers to the
floor, its lonely legacy lifted forever from my shoulders, for now we will share
it, always.
Far along the hallway I see you approaching, the golden man of Gondor
approaching your destiny. As you come to the shrine, I rise to meet you. "I am
Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and I have wished to meet you, Boromir," I say. Your
eyes widen in surprise, but there before the mural you clasp my hand. I cover
your fingers with my own, and we stand together, the beginning of a solidarity
not even the fires of Mordor could breach. My brother. My captain. My heart.
by Your Cruise Director
crouch over you, my hand on your face, praying that you might be spared, that
what grace is given me be passed to you. "I would have followed you, my
brother...my captain...my king," you whisper, and I weep to hear the devotion in
your voice. But miraculously, you do not die. Legolas arrives and teaches me
secret elf-magic like that which Elrond used to heal Frodo. We pull your arrows
out. While the others run to save Merry and Pippin, I hold you, I nurse your
wounds and fill you with joy until you become whole again. Together we ride to
the White City, and the tower guard takes up the call, "The Lords of Gondor have
returned!"
