Author's Note: And here is the second chapter. The plot thickens! Don't forget to give me some feedback!

. . .

The Winter Soldier had been able to find a long sleeved jacket with a few dark stains, some pants with holes, and a tattered baseball cap outside of an establishment entitled "Thrift Store". Decent food had been harder to find, but after about twenty minutes of searching, the Soldier at last found enough nourishment to suffice as a meal. Now he sat beside one of the large compartments of trash, wondering where he could find information of the kind he sought.

There was no point in asking someone for facts. They could report him, and anyway he would never manage to effectively carry on a conversation with a civilian. Instead, the Soldier considered trying to find a place with unrestrained access to a search network. He did not know what such a place would be called or where it would be located, but there was little risk of his being apprehended, even if he took to the streets. With his change of clothes and grown facial hair, he would probably not be recognized.

The Soldier nonchalantly walked toward the sidewalk and merged with the flow of pedestrians. He felt uncomfortable being near so many different men and women, if such a feeling were possible for him at all. He evaluated the potential threat each one posed to him, but he soon noticed that this made them cautious, so he only stole quick glances at people when they were not focused on him.

He passed by many different buildings, each with a description or title on its front. The Soldier entered a few places, but none offered what he was searching for. After he had been walking about an hour, a large board atop a tall pole caught the Soldier's attention. It had a picture of Captain America, and right below the photograph was a short paragraph describing a historic exhibit in the captain's honor. The Soldier was curious, for Captain America had claimed to know him, and perhaps learning about the captain would cause him to remember something or at least acquire a reasonable goal. Taking note of the directions to the exhibit's location, the Soldier began walking with a new purpose, following the signs when they appeared.

The city was large, and it took more than an hour for the Soldier to reach the huge building where the exhibit was housed. The area was crawling with people, some with uniforms, and at first the Soldier hesitated. It would be hard to get inside undetected, especially with the several cameras placed at advantageous angles throughout the entrance.

Just when the Soldier was about to turn around, he spotted a group of about thirty people exiting a bus and walking toward the building. An idea came into his head, and he quickly jogged over and mingled with the crowd as they came into the door. The man at the head of the throng spoke with a guard, gesturing occasionally to all behind him, and in a few moments, the group was allowed to pass.

The Soldier separated from the crowd as soon as he was safely inside. He was able to find a sign detailing the exhibit on Captain America, and he made his way as inconspicuously as possible to its location. At last he arrived, and as he walked into the small area, he felt his internal fortresses against emotion begin to retreat as his heart thumped loudly in his ears.

Every picture on the wall seemed to make his mind reel. He somehow knew the people in the pictures. He knew the names on the plaques. He knew the uniforms on the mannequins. He could not place memories with names and pictures, but he was sure that he had seen most of these things before, and he was sure that they had been important to him.

He stared at most images and words only a few seconds, finding the pain of half-remembering nearly unbearable. However, soon his eyes fell upon a large glass display with a face pictured beside a paragraph of information. When he saw the picture, he felt his jaws part. It was himself. The name on the plaque was Bucky Barnes.

The Soldier stepped up to the display and remained transfixed, reading and rereading every detail on it. His mind drank up the information, storing it away like a well regulated machine. Not one piece of the information in the paragraph could be forgotten. Some of it was familiar, some of it was hazy and confusing, but all of it was eagerly received by the Soldier's brain almost as if it belonged there.

It was not until someone bumped into him that he realized he had been standing there a long time. He restrained his instinct to lash out at the clumsy person, knowing such an action would bring guards. Instead, he began making his way toward the exit as quickly as he could, not knowing why he wanted to leave—only that he did.

Before he reached the door, the Soldier noticed a strange sensation. He lifted his human arm, and as he pulled back the sleeve on his jacket, he saw that his hair was standing on end. This would normally indicate a cold temperature or electric field, but after a careful look around, the Soldier could not find any such cause. Then, very suddenly, a dark abyss opened in front of him, and he was sucked in by a powerful force. All went black around him, and the Soldier lost consciousness.

. . . . .

No matter how often he was engaged in travel, Aragorn always found it pleasant. During the past eighty years, he had always appreciated walking and riding over long distances, and even when necessity and difficult circumstances were added to the mix, he found journeys enjoyable. As the sun set behind the hills, its rays painting many colors on the clouds above, Aragorn found himself sighing in contentment.

It would be so nice to return to Imladris. It was in that fair valley that Aragorn's heart always dwelt, although he did bear a small, bitter pain while he rested there. The doom laid upon him by his love for the immortal elven maid, Arwen, caused him sorrow. One day either Lord Elrond would lose his daughter or Aragorn would lose his love. Still, the ranger pursued the hope that he would wed the beautiful descendant of Lúthien, and it was her lovely face that kept him going in dark times.

The Aragorn rode on, even as the darkness thickened. He did not push himself to the point of exhaustion, for he was not in any real hurry. When the shining moon came out, almost full in shape, Aragorn dismounted and looked for a place to rest. The moon's light revealed the summit of Weathertop to the northeast, and Aragorn veered from the road and turned towards it. He soon found a group of shrubs clustered tightly together, and he decided to sleep there.

Aragorn tied his horse's bridle loosely to a branch and prepared a makeshift bed with a blanket. He ate a morsel of dry food, drank a few sips of water, and nestled down in the tall grass. He fell asleep easily, for the uneven ground did not affect him, and his sleep was peaceful.

The next morning, he awoke at dawn and resumed his trek. The horse he rode was bred for travel, and it did not have a hard time going at a decent pace all day long. The terrain changed slowly, and there were no travelers on the road. The hours passed by, and once again Aragorn saw the sun sinking and the moon rising. He turned aside and found a hollow in which to sleep, but he did not receive the peaceful rest he had experienced last night.

Aragorn was restless and uneasy, tossing and turning as he slept. His dreams were foreboding, though it was a strange kind of dark feeling. To Aragorn it seemed that great anguish was near, yet not necessarily his own. Throughout half the night, Aragorn struggled in his dream, but he saw nothing except darkness. Then, at last, the dream changed, and a blurry vision met his eyes.

Aragorn saw a red light, probably a fire, flickering behind trees in the distance. He was suddenly closer, and he could see shadows flashing back and forth, though he could not make out their owners. There was something shining in the light, as if there were a pool near the fire, or perhaps a person clad in silver raiment. The sound, which was muffled at first, grew louder, and Aragorn realized that there was a fight going on between at least two things. One appeared larger than the other, but before Aragorn could see anything else, the vision faded.

Aragorn awoke with a start. He sat up quickly and felt for his sword, even though he had nothing to fear in the waking world. His breathing was hard, and sweat was on his brow. He turned and looked at his horse, which grazed without care or fear. When he had assured that all was well, he stood up and patted his steed's neck.

"I suppose I am in a more desperate need of decent rest than I had thought, dear fellow," he said quietly. The horse took no notice of its master, but Aragorn still smiled. "If I am to get this rest, we must be off again."

With no appetite, Aragorn packed up his belongings and mounted immediately. He tried, but he could not shake the dream from his mind as he journeyed that day. It had not been clear, but it had been real. Aragorn was by no means afraid, but kept his bow close at hand as he continued traveling down the path.

. . .

Please be sure to review!