8. Palantír: The Ring

The picture changed. The fire in the hearth grew, swallowed everything. The palantír was filled with flames.

Long he has prepared this moment. Ages of study and magic lore - gûl…

The golden metal flowing into a form - simple, and yet so intricate. Hot, shining with inner light. Beautiful, delicate. Perfect.

Words of Power, living lines imprinted into the smooth surface.

A ring.

His Ring.

His power, the control over hearts and matter. A ring, more powerful than the crown of any kings. His standard, as he rides in force through the night.

His Precious.

Take me! The Ring seemed to call to Aragorn. Take me! I can give you power unimaginable! I can give you everything you long for! They taught you you can't control me, but I sense the strength of your will. I will bow to you as to my Master, and obey you. You can do good with me, much good…

No! Aragorn thought resolutely, imagining himself clad in dark iron and crowned with flames. I will not take you!