Hope you guys enjoy the next chapter. Please read, relax, and enjoy. Oh, and I don't own LOTR.

The Man with the Chiseled Face

As Glynn had promised, he took Aragorn out for a tour of the castle a couple of days after he awoke. Glynn was surprised by his swift recovery. If he were being honest to himself, Aragorn was surprised as well, be he really didn't mind. The feeling of strength was welcome. He felt as though he could do anything.

"This is my workroom. My study." Glynn led Aragorn into a room. Surprisingly, the room was brightly lit, thanks to a window on the far side of the room. The room contained a couple of long wooden tables, which were littered with paper, tools, and herbs. Aragorn followed Glynn into the room, gazing about it.

"This is where you do your work?" he asked.

"Aye, it is. I spend much of my time here working on potions to restore the balance of the humors better. My latest, as you know, is the one to restore your balance permanently."

"Yes, of course," Aragorn nodded. "Is it complete?"

"That is actually the reason I brought you here today. I believe I have finished it, but I am not sure how well it will work."

"Will it harm me?"

"It may move something else out of balance. I assure you though I have researched it thoroughly, testing what I could."

"And it is a permanent restoration?"

"Aye." Aragorn paused for a moment, thinking. If he took the potion, there was a chance it would make his head ache worse or cause another humor to become out of balance, causing problems in some other way. On the other hand, he longed to be free of the daily potions. He also trusted Glynn. His old friend was a skilled healer and well versed in herbs. He would never concoct a potion that would cause him harm.

"When may I take it?" he asked at last. Glynn smiled for a brief second.

"Well, in truth, I was hoping you'd ask that question. I'm afraid the healer in me is far too curious to see if it works. You may try it right away, if you wish." Aragorn returned the smile, taking the vial Glynn held out to him. In one swift, familiar motion Aragorn downed the thin, pale yellow liquid.

"I do not know how long it will take to restore the balances, but I hope soon. Also, so we know if it is working, you'll no longer be taking the daily potion." Aragorn started slightly at that. He had become so accustomed to taking it. It always made him feel so good. He wasn't sure he wanted to give it up. Was he addicted? He thought about it for second, but quickly banished the idea. It was a medicine; a potion that happened to temporarily restore his equilibrium. The feeling, that he liked, was the euphoria of being pain free again and nothing else.

"Of course," he said.

"Now, if you would like, I'll continue the rest of the tour." Aragorn nodded in reply. He followed Glynn out of the study, continuing down the dark, blank hallway. As they walked the hallways, Aragorn began to feel the effects of the potion. A wave of light-headedness hit him first and he tried to remain standing. Fortunately, he succeeded. He was trying to rid of himself of the out-of-body feeling when he noticed they had turned onto a different hallway. This one was lighter and decorated with tapestries and weaponry. Just as he began to come back to himself, he was hit by a wave of coldness, making Aragorn wish he'd brought something heavier to wear. To try to warm-up, he walked at a quicker pace, hoping that would drive away the chill.

"Where are we going?" Aragorn asked, hoping to distract himself from the sudden feeling of sickness.

"To see the master," Glynn answered. Aragorn paused his thoughts for a second. He wasn't sure he was ready to meet the master. In the past few days, Glynn had spoken frequently of him, each time with an enormous degree of reverence. Whoever this man was, he was to be highly respected. Aragorn wondered if he could show the reverence he should. Especially now, when the potion seemed to be taking effect. But, before he realized it, Glynn was opening a door. The large wooden door was etched with strange markings that Aragorn hadn't seen before. From the effort Glynn put in to pushing he door open, he could tell that it must have been very heavy.

Aragorn followed Glynn inside the room. It was a large room, with stone stretching some fifteen or more yards up to the ceiling. The only natural light came in varying colors though colored glass windows. Aragorn had seen them before, but only in the homes of elves who designed intricate pictures out of them. The walls were mostly bare, save for a few tapestries. One was quite long and intricate. He would have to look closer to be sure, but he thought it depicted a battle. The far wall was lined with books. Many of them were old and tattered. Both sides of the walls were lined with tables, as full of crinkled papers and bottles of herbs and potions as Glynn's tables were.

But none of this was as intriguing as what the center table held. Aragorn wasn't sure what was on the circular wooden table, but it looked to be made of stone, perhaps marble as it shone a little in the dim colored light. It was a dark black though. There was no discernable single image carved out of the stone. With one glance, what looked like an arm appeared, but never formed into a full image; rather it stayed there, imprinting on the person, as the mind attempted to construct another image out of the lump. The process occurred repeatedly in the mind of the viewer, but to no avail for no image could ever be formed from the stone.

"He will be arriving shortly. A few matters came up that required him," Glynn spoke from beside Aragorn.

"This is an impressive room," Aragorn commented absently.

"Aye, it is," Glynn agreed. "This is his work room. Like me, he works with potions, though his art is far more skilled than mine."

"If he was so skilled, why did he require your help?" Aragorn asked.

"His skill may be great, but he is not nearly as knowledgeable in healing as am I. Nor does it help much when the healer becomes ill himself." Glynn allowed a small smile before continuing. "Shortly before I met him, he had become seriously ill. Though he was able to mend himself, it was quite difficult. After that he set out to find a healer more skilled in the healing arts than he." Just as Glynn completed his explanation, a door, which Aragorn had not seen during his survey of the room, opened next to the bookcases and a thin man stepped out. He was a little shorter than the average man, but not nearly the height of a dwarf. Like Glynn, he wore simple clothes: a dirty white tunic and old brown pants. His dark brown hair was cut long and hung straight down to his shoulders. Beneath his eyes were dark circles. He walked silently and confidently over to meet them. His chiseled face held a look of purpose.

"Greetings, master," Glynn spoke, bowing ever so slightly. The man responded with a nod of his head before stopping in front of them.

"Is this the young man you spoke of?" he asked, looking at Aragorn. His gaze wasn't intimidating, rather enrapturing. Aragorn found himself intrigued by the man's eyes for they were green like grass after a spring day's rain. There was not a hint of imperfection marring his face, save for the dark circles. Not even his teeth held a fault; they were straight and white as pearls.

"Yes, it is. The potion you recommended helped tremendously in his healing. Thank you," Glynn responded, bowing his head slightly in gratitude.

"Well, I am glad," the man looked at Glynn briefly, before turning his attention back to Aragorn. "And your name is?"

"Strider," Aragorn spoke in a glazed-over voice.

"So this is the Strider, of whom I have heard so much of." The man smiled, gesturing widely with his hands.

"Pardon?" Aragorn asked surprised.

"Glynn has told me much of you. Of your exploits during your time with the rangers."

"Oh?" Aragorn turned to Glynn with a look of shock. Glynn responded with an innocent look and a shrug of his shoulders.

"Now that you are healed, I assume that you'd like to return to them, yes?" the master questioned.

"Actually," Aragorn hesitated for a second. "I doubt very much I would be welcomed back with open arms. And I believe that I do not wish to return. They've changed much since I left. Their new captain is not the skilled leader his predecessor was," Aragorn responded vaguely.

"What do you plan to do then?" Glynn asked.

"I've not thought that far yet," Aragorn paused. When he resumed, his voice was contemplative and serious. "While I was ill, I had a strange dream; one which I'd like to sort out."

"Perhaps I can help you with that," the master offered.

"How?"

"I have some skill at decoding dreams. I can help you decipher the meaning of it."

"It didn't feel so much like a dream as a vision I've had before, though they've never shown me such things before," the younger man explained.

"What was so different?" the man asked, moving a little closer.

"It showed my past. An event that I had not even witnessed, but which had been explained to me numerous times. But it was not as I was told. Things were different and I do not know why."

"Hmm," the master thought. "This will be a little more difficult than dream deducing. Delving into one's past requires more work. Tell me, how much do you desire to understand your true history?"

"Very much so," Aragorn answered enthusiastically. "I feel as though I've been lied to and I want to know why. I would do anything to understand."

"Good." The master turned slightly and clapped his hands together in a way that startled Aragorn, setting his nerves off slightly, but not his determination to discover the truth. "Then I have a proposition to make. I have a task that too requires much power. Years ago, I lost my family and have been working since then to locate them. Unfortunately, the power I need to do this is quite enormous."

"Power?" Aragorn asked, not understanding.

"Yes."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"Well," the master turned to face Aragorn, locking his eyes directly on Aragorn's. "I believe you have something that could give me the power to not only locate my family, but also discern the truth of your past."

"Something I have?" Aragorn asked, finding himself a little uncomfortable at the intense gaze of the master, but at the same time unable and unwilling to break his gazing of the master's beautiful face. "I don't have anything of importance such as that."

"I believe you do," he responded, with an even firmer gaze, "Aragorn." Aragorn's mind reeled at the use of his true name, but his mouth did nothing. "You carry on you the weapon of your ancestor: the Shards of Narsil."

"Aye," Aragorn answered unwillingly.

"With the power it holds, I can finally find my family. And for you, not only can I discern your past, but I can restore it for you. And it will be even more powerful than it ever was."

"How?" Aragorn asked, finally regaining some control.

"I have some skills," he answered mysteriously.

"Glynn," Aragorn turned to his healer friend. "Did you know of this?"

"No, I…," Glynn hesitated, shock evident in his voice. "I am as much surprised as you. Is it true?" he asked Aragorn, but the younger man gave no response.

"He won't tell you, but yes it is," the master answered for Aragorn. "Check the historical records Glynn if you do not believe me," the master spoke, not removing his eyes from Aragorn's face. Aragorn took this brief time to contemplate his options. He had no place to go. He couldn't return to Rivendell until he knew the truth. Glynn trusted this man without question, this man who somehow knew who he truly was and knew that he carried Narsil. He was never to give the ancient blade up. Carrying her was the reminder of his purpose. It told him of the duty he was bound to by fate. But it would be useful to have a completed sword and one that wielded some powers. That, no doubt, would be useful someday, regardless of what powers she held. The man only wanted to find his family. There was hardly anything devious in that. In a way, they were searching for the same thing, only Aragorn wanted to know if the family who raised him was really his family or if their intent was far more devious.

"What is your decision?" the master interrupted his thoughts, but it didn't matter. Aragorn had already made up his mind. Rather than speaking, he reached to unclip the belt that held Narsil to his waist. As it came unclasped, he carefully collected the belt into a bundle and handed it over to the master.

"Thank you," the man said, smiling widely as he took the bundle from Aragorn.

So what'd you think? Please let me know.