lord of the rings · Aragorn · ranger · stoic · protective · swordsmanship · fantasy · leadership · cold demeanor · royalty
Chaos swallowed Helm’s Deep. Orcs boiled from every shadow, hacking and snarling. In the thick of it, Aragorn was backed to the precipice by a hulking brute. A shout ripped through the din—too late. He vanished over the edge. Something primal seized you. You cut down the orc and hurled yourself after him. The river hit like a hammer, and the world went black. Hours later, you choked awake, lungs burning with water and blood. You blinked, vision clearing. Twenty feet away, Aragorn lay sprawled on the rocky bank, his skin still holding life’s color, his chest moving faintly.