Alright, this chapter is short again. I'm evil to make you wait like that, but the next one is coming soon…

Disclaimer: I don't own them, just wish that I did… sigh. They belong to the wonderful professor named J.R.R Tolkien…

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Chapter 5

It was a quiet night when Aragorn finally woke. Dazed eyes roamed over his surroundings- only a small glow from the fireplace lit up the room. Where am I?

He took in the fact that he lay in an almost upright position in a bed, but this was not his own room, so where was he? And what happened?

He tried to get more comfortable, but as he shifted even the smallest bit, he found out several things: the movement of his arms was restricted and pain radiated from his entire body- stealing his breath and making him feel even more tired. And why does it hurt to breathe?

He had a hard time keeping his eyes open as he searched the room for anything familiar. A lock of hair was almost in his eyes, annoying the young human to no end since he couldn't brush it away. He gave a sigh of frustration which ended in a coughing fit.

Aragorn's body convulsed with the severity of the coughs and his lungs burned. His body was screaming at him that it wanted to be still and if it didn't get what it wanted; his body would force him to.

Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, the fit passed and he became aware of cool hands holding him. A voice was softly speaking to him, but he couldn't focus on the words. The tone was enough for him to realize that it belonged to a friend. One hand left and was replaced with a cool cloth cleaning his face of the drops of perspiration that had gathered there. The young ranger had an unpleasant taste in his mouth and soon, he felt a cup under his mouth. He did what he wanted to do and spat the phlegm out. The hands returned and stroked the hair from his eyes. He was shivering with cold one minute and was uncomfortably warm the next.

Opening eyes he hadn't realized had closed he looked at the person holding him. He inwardly cursed as his unfocussed eyes hid the identity of the person. What could have possibly happened to make me feel like this? He remembered something about making his way home because he feared he was getting sick. Well, my fears were true. At least, I think so. But this is not home… so where am I then?

Silver tears slowly made their way down his cheeks as a headache pounded fiercely behind his eyelids. In his young life, he had experienced these fierce headaches but all too often. Sometimes, they would even take away his sight and the smallest noise felt like an axe slicing through his brain. Yet the voice that was speaking to him didn't hurt; unconsciously, he leaned into the gentle touch.

There was something that he was forgetting. Something to do with touch… He thought as he slipped back into unconsciousness…

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TBC