vigorli

The Warrior
Author: Thalassatx
Rating: G
Author's notes: Just a vision that came to me. It's short, and obviously from Aragorn's POV. Archive and disseminate as you will, as long as you leave my name on it.

Elegant.

Willowy.

Lovely.

Delicate.

All of these, and many more have been used to describe our Prince of Elves. When at court, he is all of these. He is a breath of air in a stuffy audience chamber, when he slips in quietly, gracefully, in a silken tunic of green or silver. His hair always smells of sunshine, and some exotic scent captures your attention as he passes in a narrow hallway.

But now, the ladies of the court would fain recognize him. His golden hair is braided back as a warrior, and the tips are dark with dried blood and filth. A black mark crosses his sharp cheekbone, and I know not if it is a wound or the blood of an orc, or some other loathsome creature.

I have seen him, teeth bared in a snarl of hatred and fury, and I have seen his dance of death become frenzied as they come on and on in a seemingly endless attack. I have heard his fine voice hoarsened into a howl of pain and of rage, and of fear, for me.

He defends me. He protects me. He has given me a vow far deeper than words on a document, or in an oath. He has risked his immortal life for my own, even when I did not wish to be a King.

And if we both survive this, if one day we should celebrate the beginning of a new age, he will be the Prince again, a vision of a day long past. But I will remember the warrior, for all of my days.