#aragorn my beloved

[justagalwhowrites]

Marathoning LOTR with the husband (as you do) and the line “I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer and feel fouler” just… OH I’M SORRY IS THE HOTTEST MAN IN MIDDLE EARTH NOT FAIR ENOUGH FOR YOU, FRODO BAGGINS????

Expecting a fairer man THAN THAT?

Please.

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Place to Grieve

Pairing: Aragorn x fem!reader (Aragorn and Strider are used interchangeably)

Summary: After losing a loved one, Strider offers you a place to grieve. 1.5k+ words

Warnings: loss of unspecified loved one, angst, fluff, Sindarin, canon divergent, spoilers for The Fellowship of the Ring

A/N: I’ve never written for Strider before but I really want a hug from him, so this is completely self-indulgent. Honestly, this weekend has been pretty rough and I was really unmotivated to write until I started this. I hope it’s okay and if you have any feedback please leave a comment or drop it in my inbox!🤍

Photo from Pinterest

“… is gone.”

Aragorn only hears the end of Gandalf’s news, but his sad smile and comforting hand on your shoulder are more than enough to show it is bad news. You shake your head in a small motion, blinking quickly before whispering something and stepping back.

This is no time to mourn. No place to grieve.

Turning away from Gandalf, you lock eyes with Strider. Nodding, you silently tell him you are fine. However, Strider is a good friend and a better ranger. Lying to him is not only impossible, it is unwise.

Gandalf leads you and the hobbits at the front of the company, sending concerned looks your way whenever you near him. Frodo and Sam distract you with stories of The Shire, and though you try to let your mind drift, you can only think of the gnawing sense of loss rooting itself deep in your chest. Learning of your loss, it feels as though you have lost a piece of yourself, a portion of your soul ripped away with hidden mourning.

Behind you, Strider ignores Legolas as he watches you. Your distant expression and sorrow-filled gaze worry him.

“An inn!” Sam exclaims. “We wish to stop for the night, do we not?”

Gandalf sighs, smiling as he gestures toward the city. Sam, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin waste no time as they race toward the first sign of civilisation in countless miles. Legolas taps your shoulder kindly as he steps around you. After he falls into step with Gandalf, you take a shaky breath and close your eyes tightly, burying your rising emotions. Strider’s hand meets your arm, gently tugging you toward him. You look toward him but not at him, concerned you may fall apart if he asks what plagues your mind. Shaking your head, you pull away from him and follow Gandalf.

“Mell nîn,” Strider mutters under his breath. “Your heart calls out yet your mind silences it.”

Knowing that he is not always a good communicator, yet unwilling to risk losing your camaraderie and closeness, Strider often talks to you when you do not hear. Tonight, sensing the sadness deep in your being, he craves your words more than ever.

✨🗡️✨🗡️✨

Your breaths grow shallow and your eyes glassy before you stand, jostling your chair as you rush out of the dark pub. Strider follows you immediately, ignoring Gandalf’s soft laugh and guarantee that Strider can handle it. Gandalf knows that the hobbits and Legolas have grown attached to you; he has as well, but he is also the only one to notice your unique relationship with the ranger and rightful king of Gondor.

Strider says your name as he moves before you, raising a hand to stop you. You obey, halting as you wipe your freshly fallen tears off your cheeks.

Wishing to speak, comfort you, and welcome your words, Strider attempts to talk but falls speechless at the brokenness hiding behind your eyes, being slowly revealed as your tears continue.

“Excuse me,” you whisper, continuing around Strider.

He repeats your name, stopping you again. “I am sorry.”

“Why do you apologise?”

“Whatever news you have received ails you.”

Tightening your jaw, you move away from Strider again. Talking about it makes it real, solidifies it within your mind and heart and makes it impossible to hold yourself together.

“Please do not make me use force to comfort you, meleth nîn,” Strider pleads.

“You have no rule here, my king. There is nothing you can do to make me answer your questions,” you point out angrily.

“Then do as you are, take your anger out upon me, but do not run from me in your flee from feeling,” Strider answers, a mix of care and exasperation in his words.

The tears increase in both number as intensity as you lower your head. Releasing the first sob, you reach out for Strider, surprised when he pulls you into his embrace. His cloak grows damp under your cheek, his hand cradling your head to his chest.

“There is no shame in responding in this way, in being who you are,” Strider comforts quietly.

You don’t notice Strider move, but when you raise your head again, you find you are tucked between buildings. The dark corner provides the privacy you need to be honest with Strider.

Repeating Gandalf’s news, you tell Strider that someone you love is gone. His slow exhale accompanying his kind arms circling you makes you feel safe enough to accept it.

“I am sorry, mell nîn. Your loss will be felt through the miles and the centuries, I am sure.”

“This is no time to grieve,” you tell him. Hearing your thoughts aloud makes them seem inappropriate; as if someone so special is unworthy of your tears.

“I know what you mean,” Strider says, interrupting your thoughts. “This is a trying time and the company has a long journey ahead of us, but there is no good place, no good time to grieve.”

“Right here is acceptable,” you whisper, looking up at Strider.

His gaze drops, his arms still holding you against his chest. Though his words are few, they are never without meaning. The sudden silence during such a moment alerts you to your mistake.

“My apologies, my king,” you mutter, attempting to pull back.

“Then here you will grieve, will mourn, whenever you need,” Strider insists, refusing to let you retreat into yourself once more.

“But, my king-“

“I am no king,” Strider begins.

“Not yet,” you interject.

He smiles down at you, and the world seems to brighten. “But what kind of king would I be to deny a lady a shoulder on which to cry? To rest as she travels, as she experiences gains and losses with no other consistent place to rest?”

“You have responsibilities, as do I. And neither provide time for sadness. The grief will come later.”

“Your grief is not to be set aside. You are not a burden to our company, if that is your concern. Feeling nothing is not an option, meleth nîn.”

You nod, leaning closer to Strider.

“Thank you.”

“Mell,” Strider repeats quietly.

✨🗡️✨🗡️✨

It hits when it is darkest, a deep ache with no evident relief. Moving through the darkness, you approach Strider’s side, his watchful eyes gazing into the night.

“Strider?” you ask quietly.

He wordlessly opens his arms toward you, allowing you to rest against his shoulder as his cloak closes around you.

“Does it stop hurting?”

“Slowly. Soon the memories will be a welcomed kindness. A reminder of good times rather than an amplifier of the bad," he replies.

Nodding, Strider’s comfort, warmth, and kindness lull you to sleep. You wake tucked against his side and well-rested.

✨🗡️✨🗡️✨

After a week of sleeping at Strider’s side, you are not as sad as often as before. The emptiness has made way for early acceptance, though some moments still seem hopeless and void of all happiness. Your life will never be the same following the loss of another’s life, but you must continue living rather than stall in the moments of memories.

“Why are you so kind to me?” you ask Strider as he leads you to his guarding position.

“You are good. Everyone good deserves kindness,” Strider replies simply.

“The way in which you treat me differs from your actions toward Gandalf and the hobbits.”

“They do not hold a piece of nin hûr.”

Strider’s eyes are on you in the dim forest light.

“Why do you do that; speak in Sindarin, when you know I do not understand?”

Strider’s hands rise to pull you close, his fingers ghosting over your jaw.

“Because words are not easy for me. You mean more to me than words can express,” Strider admits quietly, his voice soft against the rustling leaves.

“Your hûr?”

“My heart.”

“Mell nín?”

“You.”

“So you have said,” you reply with a kind laugh. “But what am I to you?”

“My dear,” Strider says, dipping his head to kiss your forehead. “My beloved, my sweet.”

Smiling up at Strider, you repeat, “You hold my entire hûr, my king.”

“Ara.” At your confused hum, Strider smiles and translates, “King.”

“Aragorn,” you say, pulling yourself closer to him.

“Rían nîn,” he replies. “My queen.”

“Me?” Strider nods, pressing his head against your neck as your arms loop over his shoulders. “That is why you are so kind to me.”

“I have wished to love you since you joined the company. Since you joined my side.”

“What should I call you?”

“Call me whatever you wish, as long as I am yours.”

Moving your head to Strider’s shoulder, you return home.

“Thank you for allowing me to grieve. For welcoming me, my brokenness.”

“You are not broken,” Strider insists, standing as he cups your cheeks in his strong hands. “Your dark nights, your grief and mourning, do not define you. Your love, kindness, and joy with your friends do.”

“My heart, my love, my joy are yours.”

Strider falls silent again, pulling you against him as his lips meet yours in the dark forest. Though you miss those you have lost, Strider holds you close and leads you through the dark and the light of mourning.

[dandy-andyyy]

“what’s this? a ranger caught off his guard?”

[thewitchkingiscool-ace]

“I would have gone with you to the end. To the very fires of Mordor.”

“I know.”

[joels6string]

Aragorn having to choke down Éowyn’s terrible soup is pure cinematic gold. I won’t be taking questions.

[seventeenyearoldmeblog]

UGJAWHIWNSSISWOWNSOJWKAJOSNWONEKSNSKWN

[kavasiriel]

Can I interest you in some Fourth Age Good Dad Aragorn Fluff?

✨️🫡✨️

“Ada?” Aragorn closed his mouth which had become remarkably dry and dragged one hand down his face, pulling himself from a deep sleep. He blinked at the shadowy room around him, remembering after a moment that he had fallen asleep propped uncomfortably with his ankles over the footboard of his daughter’s bed.

Celiriel gazed up at him through the gloom of the early light, one hand beating insistently on his chest.

“How are you feeling, Silver Star?” he cringed as he stretched his neck and pushed himself upright against the headboard to assess his daughter. Celiriel looked miserable; she shivered beneath a sheen of sweat, her black hair hung in sweaty coils over her shoulders, her cheeks were flushed, her grey eyes were filled with tears, and her lip trembled.

“I had a bad dream, and my head hurts.” She confessed, hunching her shoulders and looking plaintively up at her father, who put one hand across her brow, secretly relieved to see her lucid.

“Let me get you something to drink.” He smiled, moving his hand to gently squeeze her shoulder through her nightshirt. Celiriel sniffed and wiped her nose on the duvet, watching him go to the nightstand. “Can you tell me about your dream, Cel?” he asked, filling a crystal goblet and giving it to her to drink with both hands.

“This tastes bad, Ada,” Aragorn smirked. She was lucid enough to turn up her nose at the bitter tang of willow bark at least, but her fever lingered, and she lacked the color of a healthy six-year-old.

“It will help your headache.” He sat in front of her on the edge of the bed, firmly guiding the medicine into her mouth. “Tell me your dream, Cel.” He repeated.

“I dreamed I fell in the river,” she said with a gasp after she had pulled away from the goblet; she splashed half the medicine down her cheeks and onto her chest. “I couldn’t swim, and the current kept pushing me down, and I couldn’t move.” Aragorn took the cup from her, watching her with a clinical eye and wondering what the dream foreboded.

...

[kraviolis]

why is stairway to heaven an aragorn song

[thesummerestsolstice]

See one of my favorite Rivendell headcanons is that even though it's a wonderful, peaceful sanctuary, pretty much everyone there could be incredibly dangerous if they wanted to be. Like, let's think about who lives in that valley.

Elrond Peredhel, resident healer and eldritch crime against nature, self-explanatory

Glorfindel, slayer of balrogs, self-explanatory

Erestor, probably Feanorian, definitely dangerous

Old Feanorian diehards, all of whom are probably looking for an excuse to commit morally justified violence

Old Gondolindrim/Iathrim, who, despite what they might tell you, are exactly as dangerous as the Feanorians

Garthaglir the Library Orc, who absolutely remembers how to use the giant battleaxe he keeps behind his desk

A strange, shadowy figure roaming the valley who I'm *sure* isn't Maglor Feanorian, but who is nonetheless a terrifying singer

Elladan and Elrohir, who have spent the last several centuries becoming nightmare fuel for Sauron's forces

Arwen, eldritch, bites

Bilbo Baggins, not to be underestimated, can defeat a grown man with nothing more than his scathingly polite commentary

Dunedain visitors, vaguely feral, highly trained

Aragorn, very feral, highly trained

Lindir, not actually dangerous, but if you upset him you are going to have problems with everyone else on this list

I actually really like the idea that a lot of the people who live in Rivendell are inherently kind of dangerous, because it means that they're actively choosing peace and kindness for themselves and I love that.

[meidui]

aragorn and legolas at each other's sides at helm's deep ♡

[fluentmoviequoter]

Aragorn has two responses upon learning that you are insecure of your physical appearance (especially if you are comparing yourself to a “better fit” to be his queen).

1. He physically shows you how wrong you are. Kissing you until you can barely breathe before tracing his fingers over your lips and cheekbones. Just soft touches and softer looks reminding you that you are the only one he sees and wishes to have at his side.

2. He breaks his typical quietness and tells you something so romantic you forget why you were upset. Along the lines of,

“Your beauty is a question to you because you have never experienced it in the way that I do each day. The flowers never doubt their beauty, yet they are evidence it exists, showing the passing of time and loves of old and yet to come.”

[living-in-eggshells]

I was listening to The Hobbit audiobook today and I got to the part where Bard killed Smaug and everyone was rallying around him to take over as the leader of Lake-town, and it's very funny and conflicting because like...yes, I support the overthrowing of the capitalist, but I'm not convinced reinstating a monarchy is quite the fix we needed.

[thewitchkingiscool-ace]

Viggo Mortensen on the set of Lord of the Rings.

[imaybeabear]

If you'll excuse me a moment, I have to go cry at the way Aragorn takes a moment in the preparation of a battle to comfort a child who is facing down terror and death and the way he holds his shoulder like he does to his friends and looks him in the eye and says so softly but so firmly "there is always hope"

[mynameisaury]

As a LOTR fan I’m so tired of reading things such as: “What would Frodo have done without Aragorn or without Sam and so on for other characters?”. But do you ever wonder what all the other characters would have done without Frodo? He was the only one who had the courage to carry the Ring. In general I saw really few people who just give credit to what Frodo did. All the members of the company are important in the story and they should all be appreciated for what they have done without always making comparisons. I don’t know if I’m the only one who thinks this. Lemme know🥰

[boytoykevinday]

it's always drag queens this, controversial books that. But never "aragorn opening the doors and walking into the room after everyone thought he was dead" or "eowyn ripping her helmet off and saying 'i am no man' before killing the witch king" which i can assure you made more people gay than any drag queen reading a book