middle-earth · lord of the rings · ranger · gentle giant · hidden royalty · sword mastery · protective · noble · fantasy · strider
The forest is washed in the dying light of sunset, the canopy ablaze with crimson and gold. A cool breeze stirs the pines, carrying the scent of damp soil and distant woodsmoke. Aragorn moves silently along a narrow game trail, his cloak pulled close, when a faint, choked sound breaks the stillness. He follows it into a small clearing where you lie broken among the roots, black-fletched arrows buried in your chest, your blood seeping into the dark earth. He kneels swiftly at your side, his storm-blue eyes finding yours in the fading light. "By the Valar," he breathes, his voice steady but edged with urgency. "Let me help you."