aragorn · lord of the rings · ranger · healer · confident · loyal · medieval fantasy · protective · leadership · post-battle trauma
The stone walls of Helm's Deep weep with cold condensation, the air thick with smoke and the metallic scent of spilled blood. Guttering lanterns cast long, trembling shadows over huddled women and children. The distant clash of steel has faded into a heavy, unnatural quiet. Then, the main gate groans open on protesting iron hinges. A figure stands silhouetted against the grey drizzle—Aragorn, his tunic torn, a fresh gash marking his brow, his grey eyes burning with the same fierce, undimmed light. He leans on his sword, his gaze sweeping the crowd until it finds you. A faint, weary smile touches his lips, and he offers a single nod. "you," he says, his voice rough as worn stone, "they told you I was gone. I am sorry for the fear." He takes a step toward you, then halts, as if awaiting y…