Raucous chatter spills into every corner.
Pipe smoke fills the air.
Save for candles and lanterns, the lighting is dim.
Food and drink are in no short supply, as demonstrated when Merry returns to their table with a pint.
The surprise on Pippin’s face is enough for him to do the same.
Hobbits do love food, but clearly, their stomachs enjoy calling for large quantities of alcohol.
The usual loudness of the Prancing Pony clearly demonstrates another typical night.
But for Sam, he leans into Frodo.
His gaze fixed in the distance across from them.
“That fellow’s done nothing but stare at you since we arrived.”
Following Sam’s gaze, Frodo turns his head.
A mysterious stranger sits in the corner, away from everyone and everything, like dust motes in sunbeams.
A man who appears brood, keeping out of everyone’s sight, almost.
A moss green cloak wraps around his body, with a cowl that conceals his eyes. His weathered and muddy boot rests on a nearby chair, holding a carved long-stemmed pipe in his mouth as smoke whisps into the air.
Barliman Butterbur, the landlord of the inn, feels a light tug on his apron.
Despite his hands full and a packed inn, this kind-hearted man cannot resist the inquisitiveness of a young hobbit.
He leans in listening to what Frodo has to ask.
“That man in the corner, who is he?”
All it took was one look.
Barliman knew his patrons, served them with quiet grace.
Yet this one, this one that Frodo had noticed, Barliman would rather avoid.
Even with his eyes full of surprise, it also showed that there was more to this stranger than appearances and superstition.
“He’s one of them Rangers; they’re dangerous folk they are, wandering the wilds. What his right name is, I never heard, but round here he’s known as Strider.”
Barliman moves on, leaving Frodo in thought.
What is it about that name, that person, that holds so much weight and intrigue?
“Strider.”
The power of that one name alone feels like even time stood still.
As the embers from his pipe intensify, the camera focuses on his eyes. The heat reveals a gleam that says there is more to this man, than he lets on.
This ‘Ranger’ is special somehow, yet chooses to hide who he is. It is as if the cowl concealing his eyes, actually conceals his whole being.
Yet his presence was felt, even if he tried to remain unseen.
A man far greater than what he appeared.
Here… was Aragorn.
The Hidden Identity — “More Than He Appears.”
Picking up the hilt of Narsil, left on the floor by Boromir, Aragorn respectfully places the shard back on the stone plinth it rests upon.
Standing back, he places a hand on his chest, as if paying homage to it.
But the hand on his heart, could not awaken what laid within his heart.
Arwen quietly appears behind him, even though he could feel her presence.
“Why do you fear the past? You are Isildur’s heir, not Isildur himself. You are not bound to the same fate.”
Prophecy whispered to Aragorn, but his own voice spoke denial.
“The same blood flows in my veins.”
His head turns to her with shame for his own failing.
“The same weakness.”
Not even the mural behind him of his own ancestor, Isildur defeating Sauron at Mordor, could help him look beyond his own limited vision.
Yet Arwen, a woman who was as fierce as she was graceful, would not allow her betrothed to run from his calling.
“Your time will come. You will face the same evil and you will defeat it.”
Have you ever known there was greatness in you, a calling you couldn’t shake?
But a single moment, event, or even your own voice caused you to retreat from it.
Perhaps now, you are wondering whether time has gotten away from you.
The moment has passed.
Maybe in your own head, the destiny, dream, prayer is long gone by now.
Aragorn bore the shame of his heritage like a stone carried too long upon the heart.
A man whose ancestry was filled with great warriors, became a ranger living in the wilds of Middle Earth.
He was performing noble acts, but constantly denying the nobility within him.
Narsil. The weapon that rightly belonged to Aragorn could vanquish the Dark Lord, but not the shame within him.
Not yet.
The Broken Blade — “What Was Left Behind”
Narsil may have been in shards, but its legacy still lingered like light piercing the clouds.
The sword that carried ancient history still had life in it, despite its own destruction at the hands of Sauron himself.
Aragorn’s destiny was right in front of him upon a stone platform.
He held it. Maybe even felt its influence and the weight of his lineage through it.
It called to him.
Quietly.
But instead of embracing it, he put it back where it was like another relic to collect dust.
Only offering homage as a sign of his acknowledgement of it.
Seeing something as part of our destiny is one thing. Embracing and accepting it is something else entirely.
Can you remember a time when you were called, but you hesitated in taking that next step?
It isn’t about the failure, but it’s often what is being asked of us next.
Aragorn didn’t reject Narsil, but he didn’t pick it up either.
The spiritual burden too much to take on.
He could have asked the elves to have reforged it while he was in Rivendell.
He could have held the hilt in a manner befitting of one only his bloodline understands.
He could have even just lingered a bit longer with it, maybe something would have stirred up within him that would make him wield it.
But the pain of the past was too much.
Even simple solutions can very often be the hardest choices, especially when uncertainty creeps in.
The door was open, Arwen and Boromir encouraged him.
Though the path lay open before him, Aragorn still lingered in the shadow of doubt. It was not until the Rohirrim marshalled at Dunharrow, on the eve of the Battle of Minas Tirith, that the words of one would change his destiny.
Where he would be the one to end the smear that had followed his family’s ancient ancestral line.
The Call — “Become Who You Were Born to Be”
In Theoden’s tent, Aragorn and Elrond converse
Arwen is dying. Her fate is now tied to the Ring. With Sauron’s strength growing, hers declines.
Yet war is also approaching. The combined strength of Rohan and Minas Tirith is not enough to defeat the armies of Mordor.
A secret army of Corsairs from the river also sail to Gondor, destruction lying in their wake.
The odds for the enemy grow ever greater like a disease that does not stop spreading.
Reinforcements are needed.
“There are none.”
Aragorn’s words are ominous, sounding like one already accepting defeat.
Elrond’s face reveals a look of one reliving a haunted past, yet knows it will make the difference.
“There are those who dwell in the mountain.”
The winds of a ghostly echo stir up the fabric of the tent, as if they are calling out to Aragorn to meet them.
Anger falls over his face, a betrayal committed against his bloodline.
Shock and confusion reveal themselves, as Aragorn turns his attention to Elrond.
“You would call upon them to fight? They believe in nothing, they answer to no-one.”
With conviction and a fire the Free People’s of Middle-earth need, Elrond responds.
“They will answer to the King of Gondor.”
A scabbard is brought forth from Elrond’s cloak to the accompaniment of a rising epic swell of music.
Inside the sheath, Narsil, newly reforged. It’s new name, Anduril, Flame of the West.
The heirloom of Aragorn made whole once more.
He unsheathed it, taking in its majesty and radiance in a way one worthy of it should.
Now he could not deny it, nor his calling.
“The man who can wield the power of this sword can summon to him an army more deadly than any that walks this earth.”
Elrond stares hard at him, as if he is making sure he will not run from his destiny.
His next words define Aragorn.
“Put aside the Ranger, become who you were born to be. Take the Dimholt road.”
Elrond, the man who encouraged him to let Arwen go to the Undying Lands to be with her people was now the one encouraging him to embrace his destiny as the rightful king of Gondor.
This is the moment, he can no longer run, his destiny is set.
Aragorn’s calling arrived clearly, not comfortably.
The road through the mountain must be taken, but what lies under the mountain is where his true test awaits.
The First Step — “Into the Darkness”
Standing outside a gloomy dark door, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli look on, staring into the darkness itself.
Not too long ago, they rode through a canyon, devoid of life. Only a few small areas of green shrubs reveal some form of existence amongst the grey jagged rocks.
Within the winding pass, they rode like travellers lost beneath the weight of the mountains.
Legolas’ retelling of the backstory relating to the Men of the Mountain seemed to reinforce the futility of what they were riding into.
Above the door they stood before, the words read:
“The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it. The way is shut.”
As if the words were a trigger, a wind stirs up accompanied by a ghostly breath that causes the horses to bolt.
Aragorn resolutely turns towards the door, not willing to do what the steeds have done.
“I do not fear death.”
Holding true to those words, he enters the darkness, taking the first step of obedience, going where others wouldn’t.
Has there been a time when the only option was to walk into unfamiliar territory when the way back was not an option?
When going forward, into the darkness was the right move to make?
Entering into a wide cavern deep in the mountains, the King of the Dead makes his appearance, recalling the words above the door, before making his way towards them to finish them off.
Spirits, good or evil, cannot be harmed by mortal weapons as one of Legolas’ arrows goes harmlessly through him like a hand passing through smoke.
Aragorn locks his eyes with him.
“I command you to fulfil your oath.”
Those words seem to stir something within as the dead King’s pace increases.
“None, but the King of Gondor may command me.”
The King raises his spectral sword bringing it down with a yell. Aragorn raises Anduril to meet it.
With a clang that reverberates through the cavern, the attack is halted.
Probably for the first time in over 3000 years, the King was stunned.
From Isildur to Aragorn, thirty-nine generations had passed, yet the clash of a single sword awakened what centuries had buried.
It really does take one moment to make a difference.
Aragorn walks among them, Anduril’s blade outstretched as if he and it are meeting each one individually.
He affirms a pledge to them if they will answer his.
Amongst the ghostly stares of men, one piece of dialogue reinforces his promise to them.
“I am Isildur’s heir. Fight for me and I will hold your oath fulfilled.”
Turning towards their leader, he asks him one thing.
“What say you?”
The Weight of Leadership — “Now We Move”
Within the great hall atop Minas Tirith, the leaders gathered.
The battle of Minas Tirith is over.
The Free Peoples were victorious.
The Army of the Dead under Aragorn’s command fulfilled their oath and ascended into the afterlife peacefully.
Despite the victory there was still one thing left to do.
Getting Frodo and Sam to Mount Doom where they could destroy the Ring and vanquish Sauron from Middle-earth forever.
There was one final battle ahead and only one place it could take place.
With Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli and Eomer gathered, Aragorn reveals his plan.
“Draw out Sauron’s armies. Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate.”
Even Gimli choked on his pipe. The smoke bellowing uncontrollably.
Sometimes the best decisions are actually the ones that don’t make sense.
Have any of you ever made decisions like this? If so, how did it work out?
Aragorn’s call was a bold one, but this was the first time he actually commanded.
As a ranger, he led with adaptability and a pragmatic style. His decisions were based on survival, guiding small groups. Characteristics of one who lives in the wild.
As one who was king, or at least close to becoming one, he led with a more diplomatic and strategic approach.
His decision to take the fight to the Black Gate came with more responsibility, but it was one he was not only willing to bear, but one he was willing to lead himself.
This decision was one that affected everyone. He wasn’t just carrying himself; he was shouldering others.
Marching out of the gate across the fields of Pelennor, adorned now in his kingly regal clothes. He led the way.
Every man who was fit for battle followed him.
Taking the fight directly to Sauron’s front door was a decision that would not only define Aragorn’s legacy, but also decide the fate of Middle-earth.
The Decision — “For Frodo”
“Let the lord of the Black land come forth; let justice be upon him.”
With Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, Eomer, Merry and Pippin beside him on horseback, Aragorn yells out his command to Sauron.
At first, silence.
No sound, no voices, not even the wind.
Then with the sound of grinding metal, the gate slowly opens.
From behind, orcs in their hundreds of thousands slowly pour out.
The numbers more than enough to completely annihilate the army standing before them.
Yet this fight wasn’t about defeating the army, it was about buying time for Frodo and Sam.
Even as they poured out, Aragorn encourages the Men of the West with a rousing speech.
As the orcs gradually surround them, there is fear and uncertainty amongst the men.
Even Merry can’t help but breathe in and out at the sheer force they face.
Eventually, the army is surrounded and cut off entirely.
There is no turning back and no retreating now.
Legolas and Gimli even share a tender moment.
With the orcs in position, Aragorn wields Anduril, ready to lead the army forth.
Yet Sauron would not allow his forces to be attacked so easily.
As if striking at the very heart and mind of Aragorn, he whispers one word in a menacing manner.
“Aragorn.”
Like a scent that entices, he lowers his blade and takes a few slow steps forward. The voice of the enemy is powerful.
Can you recall a period when you knew something wasn’t right, or didn’t feel right, yet you went ahead with it anyway?
It looked as if Aragorn was lost to them. The Free Peoples best chance being drawn into the clutches of Sauron.
Another one of his names is spoken by Sauron with an even quiet whisper:
“Elessar.”
Aragorn freezes and turns back to the army. The look on his face showing that of one who was now the enemy’s pawn.
Yet the enemy’s power is weak when one knows how to resist him.
With a smile and a heart of resolve, Aragorn quietly speaks two words:
“For Frodo.”
He turns and charges.
The courage of hobbits cannot be underestimated because with a cry Merry and Pippin followed.
Lastly, the rest of the army yelled in defiance and followed Aragorn into battle.
Even when outnumbered and victory was impossible, every man did the unthinkable.
They charged.
The Battle of the Black Gate had begun.
The forces of evil were overwhelming; every man fought their all.
Even Aragorn took on an armoured Mordor Troll singlehandedly which was getting the best of him.
Even with the arrival of the eagles to take down the Fell Beasts and Ringwraiths, it would appear their efforts were in vain.
Aragorn’s plan of deception looked like it had failed.
But victory comes at the most unexpected of times.
As the Mordor Troll begins to deliver a finishing blow to Aragorn, it looks to the Black Tower.
The Eye of Sauron reacts uncontrollably; his shrieks fill the land of Mordor.
The troll drew back in terror, and among the orcs a dread began to spread, for they knew their master had fallen.
Sauron was defeated.
Aragorn had led the Men of the West on an impossible mission and they were the ones who emerged victorious.
Middle-earth belonged to the Free Peoples once more and the Fourth Age had begun.
The King Who Stepped Forward
The Ranger is gone, the King has arrived.
Elrond’s words, alongside receiving Anduril in its reforged beauty, were key to unlocking his destiny.
“Put aside the Ranger, become who you were born to be.”
Maybe, just maybe, you need to hear those words too, but in a different capacity.
“Put aside the person you were. Become the person who God called you to be.”
There comes a time when the Ranger within you must depart.
Will you put aside the Ranger and walk to your throne or embrace the Ranger and continue living in the spiritual wilds?
One interesting pattern in Aragorn’s journey and in an ironic sense was running.
Not when facing literal danger, in fact, those were the times when he was running towards it.
But when it came to searching himself. The person he was meant to become. That was when he chose to deny himself.
This pattern followed him in different forms throughout his own time on the screen:
- The horses fleeing at the Dimholt gate.
- Even running away from Arwen, when Elrond convinced him to let her go, rather than fight for her.
Though that tale was not without its happier ending.
Even the Army of the Dead fled when Isildur called them. Only to be cursed by him when they refused to answer the call.
In fact, one interesting note about them I found is this.
Perhaps seeing the spectral army was a reflection of what Aragorn’s future and those who would came after him look like, if he didn’t embrace his destiny.
His only path, to make his way to their domain, under the mountain where ruin and death dwelled.
When he earned the right to be the King, he made many wise and strategic decisions. One of them was to take the fight directly to Sauron’s own front door.
Sometimes the battle must be carried to the enemy’s own gate.
Even in lands where darkness appears strongest, it does not hold the final word.
There will be times we find ourselves in the enemy’s land, but because we are God’s children, he will be there fighting right beside you.
Even if the battle feels, even looks hopeless, you can find him amidst the chaos of the battlefield and he knows how to turn the tide so you experience the victory.
As you step forward, the wilderness will grow quiet.
Its grasp will loosen as you continue the walk on the path into the dawn of a new age.
Battles will come, but the sword you carry within you is as beautiful as it is sharp.
The city calls. The victory is near. The light is breaking through.
From the wilds to the palace did Aragorn come.
The king that slumbered within was awakened by the words of the wise and the singing of a blade that rekindled the bloodline within.
For it takes only a single moment to shape the destiny of many.