Warningthis story does involve violence and depression not suitable for those with serious emotional troubles

PleaseReview and custructive comments are always welcome! view my info to see the places you can leave comments, leave them here, or PM me. just please review, but no flaming

Going Home
He rode along a pathway and marveled at the beauty of the city that loomed ahead. Its roofs glittered in the sun and the leaves from the trees gave the ancient city a soft earthen hue. He allowed the big gray’s stride quicken as he trotted across the bridge. He felt the cool mist of the waterfall cling to his face as he reached the other side. This was it, he was home. As Aragorn, son of Arathorn urged his steed through the gates of Rivendell he felt calmness pass over him.
For the first time in many long years he felt soothed and less troubled. So much, but yet nothing at all had changed since he had last passed through the archway. However, last time he looked upon to elven paradise he was going out, not coming in. He dismounted and immediately helped the 3 hobbits dismount from their ponies. He solemnly led the 4 horses to the stables. He was retracing his exact steps in reverse order. He had come down this very path the night he left home. He carefully cared for the beasts gave his gray horse one last pat as he walked out of the stable door.
He knew where everything was located like the back of his hand. But Aragorn was in no rush. As he carefully scanned the ancient realm his mind wandered back to the night he left. He had stood in the very same spot looked out over the city one last time. Then he saddled his horse and rode off into the night. A voice woke him out of the daydream. It was calling a name he had not heard in a very long time.
“Welcome back Estel.”
As Aragorn turned to face the voice he felt his emotions weld up inside him. Standing behind him was Lord Elrond, the ruler of Rivendell, and also Aragorn’s adoptive father. Aragorn just stood there, not really sure whether to run to the man or flee. He hadn’t honestly expected to have his path come here, but he had become prepared for what fate had in store. Ever since Bree he knew he was destined to return to his place of refuge, though he needed none. He lowered his eyes and took a very slow step backwards as Elrond approached. In his mind he had known what his was going to say, but now all logical thoughts had abandoned him. He just sort of stood and wondered how his life became so complicated.
Elrond now stood directly in front of him. Aragorn was now just a head taller than elf for he had grown since he last looked upon Elrond. Aragorn’s heart was in his throat his he fumbled for words. Words and cloudy thoughts raced through his mind and he found it hard to sting the words into a coherent sentence. He realized then that fate had brought him here and no matter how much time he had, he would had never been prepared for this moment. Elrond patiently waited for Aragorn to speak as he watched the tough ranger melt down into a soft-spoken little boy. Finally Aragorn spoke, but all he could get out was,” I’m sorry”.
He quickly turned and fled down the path that led to the garden. Elrond called after him, but never moved. He knew how hard it was for Aragorn to be here. Aragorn rushed into the covered woods eager to be alone. He slowed his pace and sighed. His mind cleared and he was able to think once more. He wandered through the lush growth until he came to a depressing sight that crippled him. Deep in the woods stood a slate gray statue of a beautiful woman. Unable to hold back the flood of tears, Aragorn sank to the ground and wept.
As he knelt there he remembered the women’s face, how soft it was and always smiling. He longed to be with the women of whose grave he was looking at. He heard a voice inside his head telling him not to be troubled. As he looked at the detail on the statue he could almost see the women’s face calling her son to her. “I am here mother,” Aragorn whispered. As the last tear rolled down his cheek he slowly rose from the most ground. He began to wander slowly back the way he came. As he stepped delicately through the underbrush his mind raced with thoughts of old. Aragorn walked back into the rays of golden sun. He had to blink back the brightness has it touch his eyelashes. Far off in the distance he saw pale gray clouds mounting to great heights. He heard the rolling thunder ride through air. The sweet sent of rain made him smile. No matter what the weather the ancient city always made it a delightful experience. Cold drops of water began to sprinkle down from the heavens and Aragorn stridded toward the nearest covered walkway.
He stopped and glanced over a beautiful mural. The scene depicted Isildur holding the broken hilt of Narsil. Towering above Isildur was the Dark lord Sauron. Aragorn felt a pang as he ran his weathered hand along the smooth cool wall. As he stood there remembering his past Elrond approached him from behind.
“My son, what troubles you? Your heart worries about things it should not. Be at peace with your past and lay your troubles to rest.”
Aragorn continued to stare at the evil lord and solemnly replied,
“You know that is something I can never achieve. At least not while I am in my right mind.”
“Then let us bash you over the head and knock some sense into you,” Elrond mused.
But Aragorn just turned to look painfully at Elrond. He tried desperately to rid his face of his emotions that boiled under the skin, but it was worthless as his shoulders and knees trembled in sadness. He sat down on the nearest bench and cupped his face in his hands. Elrond gently placed his hand on his son’s shoulder and spoke soothing words.
“You have done well in your short time upon this earth. Do not fear what has not yet come. Evil may lie ahead but do not be troubled by it. Clear your mind and let fate take you along your path now.”
Aragorn cocked an eye at his father. His whole body trembled for a brief instant and then all tension seemed to leave his body.
“How is that possible? How can I forget what fate has in store for me? To return to the throne of my forefathers and unite two nations, one besieged by shadow and the other by a pound line of Stewarts who will not easily resign power is no easy task.” Aragorn now spoke with the most sincere authority. Elrond sensed in Aragorn the presence of the king he should be.
“When that time comes you will know how to resolve the conflicts. But that day is not today, or tomorrow, or even in the next year. Long have I wished to see the happy son I once had returned home?” Elrond removed his hand from Aragorn’s shoulder.
A tear slowly trickled down Aragorn’s face. “I am here,” he replied as he realized the truth in his words. “Yes, I am home,” A smile broke across his face and father and son embraced in a merry reunion.