I'm back!!! After some how managing to survive my first semester of college and make it through finals, I'm back and ready to finish off this story. So here's the chapter you've all been waiting for, I hope. Oh and check back often, I hope to have a couple of updates throughout the week.

Warning: brief violence in the first paragraph. Um, if you're not fond of the stuff, just skip it. (It's really short and quick.)

Disclaimer (Because as a college student I own nothing): see chapter one, whatever it was called.

Please read, relax, and review. Happy Holidays!!

'The crownless shall again be king'

A cool wind stung his chaffed wrists as he swung the sword in one fluid downward motion, but his opponent dodged the blow, twisting his body to the right to avoid the dangerous blade. He took another swing at his opponent, wincing slightly as the motion once again stung his wrists, recently freed from the rough rope that had bound them in front of him. This time the sword made contact, deftly slicing through the man's shoulder bone; the useless limb fell to the ground with a barely audible thump, life quickly fleeing from it. His opponent was in shock, and he used it to his advantage, piercing his sword through the man's chest. The man's eyes grew wide in shock and he started to cry out, when he heard a voice behind him.

'Estel,' the voice called to him, 'what are you doing?'

Estel froze as his opponent vanished as his did forest he stood in. He looked down, his wrists were free of the red marks that had stained them earlier and his clothes were clean; the satiny fabric caressed his skin as he stood.

'How many times have you been told not to come here?' the voice stood before him. A hand reached out to take the sword he held in his grasps. 'And especially not to touch the sword, it is very dangerous. You could very easily be cut.'

Estel looked up at the voice, as he placed the sword back on its pedestal. It paused for a second before turning to face him again.

'Master Haldir?' Estel questioned.

'Yes Estel?'

'What are you doing here?'

'Saving you from your father's wrath,' Haldir chuckled as he placed a hand on Estel's back, gently leading him out of the room and into the gardens that shrouded the opening.

'But ada won't be back for a few days yet,' Estel told the elf. 'He's still in Lothórien.'

'Yes, he is,' Haldir led the boy into the house and up the stairs into his study room, 'and when he returns he will be very unhappy to find that you have not kept up with your studies. Now, I want you to sit here and finish your history. By then it will be midday and you can come down for the midday meal.' Haldir left the boy sitting at the desk, staring at the book in front of him.

'Master Haldir?' the elf turned to face the boy.

'Yes Estel?'

'Why does ada keep a broken sword?'

Haldir paused for a second; there were things, certain events that were not to be told to Estel. Some things about history that were not to be revealed to him and Lord Elrond had warned him several times what would happen if those things were revealed. But he had warned the Elven Lord that a time like this would come. When curiosity would get the better of Estel and some things would have to be revealed to him.

'Master Haldir?' Estel tried to get his teacher's attention.

'The sword is a family heirloom,' Haldir broke his silence.

'Did it belong to ada?'

'No, he is taking care of it for a while, just until the family comes to claim it again.'

'Oh,' Estel's lips formed a circle, as he nodded in understanding. 'Who did the sword belong to?'

Haldir gave another pause; what should he reveal to the boy. He would find out everything sooner or later, whether it be in a book or by mouth. But too much could be revealed, he debated within himself.

'Master Haldir,' Estel called for his attention again. Haldir looked at the boy's eyes; he was concerned for his teacher, wondering what was wrong that he hesitated to tell him.

'It belonged to,' Haldir made the decision to tell Estel the history, nothing more. After all, there was nothing that connected Estel to the owner of the sword; Estel was not the heir so desperately sought after by the evils of this world, 'Elendil, last Lord of Andúnië.'

'How was it broken?' Estel interrupted.

'Elendil fought in the last great battle of this world in which Sauron was defeated. And it was there that he fell at the hands of Sauron. Narsil, his sword was called, dropped to the ground. Isildur, Elendil's son, picked up the sword, but Sauron stepped on the blade, breaking it into six pieces, but Isildur picked up the hilt and used the jagged edges to defeat Sauron.'

'But why keep a broken sword?' Estel questioned; he did not recognize the importance of such names.

Haldir hesitated again, familiar lore coming to mind, foretelling the future of Middle-Earth and the fate of one generation destined to carry a burden greater than any other had or would ever. 'There is a prophecy,' he started, still unsure of what he was doing.

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

A soft, airy voice replaced Haldir's earthly tone, finishing the prophecy. Strider looked around; his study room in Rivendell was gone, replaced by trees that stretched beyond the sky. He looked down, his wrists once again were marred by angry red marks and his clothes were tattered from the day's beating, or was that today? Where was he?

'The crownless again shall be king,' the voice repeated. 'Aragorn Elfstone, that is your destiny, you cannot escape it.'

'Where am I? What happened?' he turned to look at the source of the voice; it was the woman from the Old Forest, who'd come to him to tell him that he would be king no matter what he did.

'You are safe as is your body. You need not worry,' she told him.

'What happened,' he reiterated his second question, the one she had not answered.

'You need not worry,' she repeated. 'Everything has been taken care of, all is safe.'

'Where was I?'

'I sense the weariness in your soul; your body has endured much,' she ignored him. 'But you must not give up Aragorn; you must continue on and fulfill your destiny.'

She was right, he was tired, his soul was tired and he desperately wished for it all to end. He could feel someone calling for him, asking him to comeback he could feel them pulling on the frail tethers that bound him to his earthen body and if they tried too hard, those ties would snap and he would be lost forever and that was what he wanted; what he was hoping for. Just to let him go and forsake everything. He didn't care any more about what happened; it was not worth it.

'Aragorn,' the soft voice penetrated his selfish thoughts, but he chose to ignore her; she would only remind him of what he was giving up. 'I know you seek to ignore me, but you cannot.' He willed his mind not to answer, not to give into the temptation to throw back some retort. Instead, he stood where he was, keeping his eyes closed as he tried to forget.

'Aragorn,' she lifted his chin up until their eyes met. 'You cannot escape your destiny, you know this as well as I do,' she reminded him. He'd heard that before, every path he took would lead to the throne of Gondor and the golden crown that marked its king.

'I can't do it anymore,' his announcement broke the silence. She opened her mouth to speak, 'No,' he stopped her. 'I'm not denying what I have to do, what I've been destined to do. But I've been given another path; I've seen another way.'

'You already know, all paths lead to Gondor. There is no escaping your destiny,' her voice was calm, almost daring him to defy her, to prove to her that there was a way out.

'I choose death,' it was more than a statement, it was a declaration to the world; Aragorn Elessar was tired and wished for nothing more than death. He would not be king; the people of Middle-Earth were doomed.

'Death is not for you, not yet. You must wait; hold onto your heart for you are bound to this earth until you fulfill your destiny.'

'Why.'

'What?' she seemed surprised, an uncharacteristic tone of shock filtering through her voice.

'Why must I fulfill my destiny?'

'It has been laid out, from before you were born, before your parents were conceived. It was decided at the beginning of time, as was all that has happened.'

'Everything? This was already decided? Why?'

'It is the way it was to be,' her answer was simplistic. 'But that is not your concern Aragorn. Your concern is the role you are to play in this and you have a great destiny to fulfill for your role is one of the greatest set out, there are but two others who have a greater destiny and in time they will have to come to accept their own paths. But you Aragon, you must go on for two cannot do what requires three.'

'I do not care anymore,' Aragorn forbade his mind to waver. 'Allow me to pass from this life into the next.'

'This I cannot do,' she told him. He let out a sigh lowering his head to gather his wits before he began to fight for his right to choose, but when he looked up again, she was gone. He turned around, looking for any sign of her, but she was gone.

'What am I to do then?' he shouted, hoping that she was there, but that he could not see her. When he received no reply he tried again, 'What am I to do?'

'Return to your earthen body,' a voice spoke; it had the same softness to it as the lady's had, but it sounded more earthly than hers. Aragorn turned to find the source of the voice. Behind him stood a tall man, wearing full armor as if he were prepared for battle. He looked not more than thirty years old, but the strands of gray that littered his otherwise brown hair spoke of his true age.

'Return and follow the path laid before you, the path that your forefathers unknowingly followed.'

'Tell me, why am I bound to this?'

'All are bound to the decisions of the Valar. Not even the elves can escape it.'

'Then I am but a pawn,' Aragorn questioned.

'One of three who will control the fate of this earth and if one fails then all fail.'

'Why,' his tone was sharp and accusing.

'Do you really wish to die, Aragorn?' the man ignored his question.

'Can you give it to me?' Aragorn countered; he was tired of his questions not being answered, but he was willing to sacrifice answers for his chance to choose.

'No,' Aragorn's shoulders slumped at the answer, 'death is not in my power to grant for I am but a guide.'

'A guide?' Aragorn wondered aloud. 'A guide for what?'

'For whom,' came the cryptic answer. 'Come,' he beckoned, 'take a look.'

'Why,' Aragorn countered again, unsure of what the man wanted to show him.

'Before you forsake all that has been granted to you, you must understand the true nature of things; you must see the world as it is.'

Still Aragorn refused to move, but that mattered not for with a simple movement of his hand, they were both enveloped in a sphere of white light. Aragorn shut his eyes as the intensity of the light pierced his eyes and sent waves of stabbing pain to his mind. Through his eyelids, he saw the bright light fade and darkness once again returned to him. When he opened his eyes, though, he was surrounded by a great forest and was standing upon a single slab of rock.

'What is this place?' Aragorn asked. 'Where have you brought me?'

'It was much grander when it was first built, but the years of carelessness and hopelessness have not been kind to it. The people do not expect to see their king again, they are a desperate people. Go to them Aragorn,' the man finished, but Aragorn did not understand. Rather he looked at the man in confusion.

'This is Amon Hen as it is known today. Long ago, they called it the Hill of Sight, though as I remember it, it was the Hill of the Eye. Go to your people Aragorn,' the man explained.

Cautiously, Aragorn walked to the southern edge of the rock and looked out into the forest, straining his eyes to see his people, as the man said, but he saw nothing.

'Close your eyes and empty your mind of the doubt that hangs on it,' he instructed Aragorn. Silently, Aragorn did as he was bid. 'Now reach within you and grasp the power of the Númenor. Use it to see what is beyond sight.'

Aragorn let out a breath as he again did as he was instructed. Through his blinded eyes he began to see a white city. He saw peasants struggling to survive under the careless rule of the caretaker of the city. In their eyes he saw despair and heartache; they were suffering under the rule of the Stewards. Every night they prayed for deliverance from their plight and every morning they awoke to a hopeless future.

Unable to witness anymore, Aragorn tore his eyes away from the people, opening his eyes to see the same trees as before.

'Why do you wish for me to see this?' Aragorn demanded, but the man simply waved his hand again and they were transported to a similar slab of rock.

'This is Amon Lhaw, Sight of Hearing. Look to the east to listen to your people. Feel their plight, Aragorn.'

'No,' Aragorn stated.

'You are their king; will you not listen to the cries of your people?' the man asked. 'Will the king forsake his people?'

'I am not their king,' Aragorn told the man.

'You will be; listen to their voices.'

Despite his wishes, Aragorn found himself walking to the eastern edge of the rock and once again staring out into the forest. From the last time, he remembered to close his eyes and clear his mind. In a matter of seconds his ears were bombarded with thousands of voices all mingled together in a cacophony that made his head swarm. Out of the thousands of voices, though, he discerned a single one; that of a mother getting her children ready for bed.

'And when you wake up, I'm sure your brother will be home,' she tried to hide the worry in her voice, but it was near impossible. Aragorn didn't think her children believed it either; they'd gone through this before. First had been their father and then their eldest brother; both killed by orcs that attacked the kingdom. She didn't believe herself either, but it gave her hope; hope that one day all of this would be over and her children could live in a peaceful world.

Next was a young boy, no more than five. He was sitting at the grave of his parents. At his side sat his dog, the only one left to him in this world. His village had been burned by evil men. Mother told him to run; take Dillon and run to the nearest village. And he did, until he smelled the smoke. When he stopped and turned to look at his village it was in flames. He ran back, he had to save mother, father had told him to look after her while he was away. But it was too late, the evil men were gone and so was his village. When the flames died, he found his mother's body and buried it himself, father would be proud. They were together at last.

Aragorn turned away, covering his ears with his hands to block out the voices; their grief was too much; all depending on him to end their suffering, to bring peace back into their lives. It was too much, a greater burden than one man could bear or should bear.

'Why do you torture me with their troubles,' Aragorn turned to look at the man. He stood silently behind him, in the same spot as before. 'There is naught I can do for them.'

'Perhaps not,' he stated. 'But their troubles are not unique. Aragorn evil is growing; even the blind can sense it. There will come a time when the people of this earth will be ready to unite under one banner for one king and you must be there when they are ready, to accept your destiny and begin the line of kings anew.'

'Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad.'

Aragorn recognized the voice, but refused to believe it.

'What's happening? Where am I?' he tried to force answers out of the cryptic man before him.

'You have a choice to make Aragorn Elessar, the Elfstone. You are the son of Arathorn, fifteenth Chieftain of the Dúnedain of the North and the sole living heir the throne of Gondor and Arnor. As thus you have but two options lay before you, the crown or death. I implore you not to make light of your decision, for more than just your life hangs in the balance; an entire people are dependent upon your decision and while that may seem like a terrible burden to place upon one man's soul, the Valar are not cruel. You, Elfstone, are stronger than you know, in time you will come to understand. Look deep within yourself; call upon your heart to make your decision,' and with that the man disappeared.

'Wait,' Aragorn called out in desperation. 'Who are you?' he asked, but he knew the man was gone and he was left to choose between life or death. The latter seemed the most obvious choice, that was what he had wanted all along, but why was it so attainable now. Why was he now, allowed to give up? What had changed?

But he couldn't get the voices and images out of his head, there were people who needed his help and he'd never backed down before. Their problems were over though, done and he couldn't do anymore than the next person.

They were still calling for him, asking for him to come back. He knew who they were, but why? What had happened; why did Yestin not come for him? His stomach twisted as he remembered Yestin was dead, killed as he was dragged off by some cloaked man. Where was the man? What were the clashes and shouts he had heard before loosing consciousness? His head swarmed with questions, yet the one fact remained he was a dead man for he had done what he couldn't.

Well, what did you think?

Reviewer's Responses:

lindahoyland- thanks, honestly I'm just as curious as you are as to who these attackers are (no I don't know either ;)

sielge- well, I apologize for the wait, but this was a really hard chapter to write and with school and all, there was just no time. But now I have the time, so you won't have to wait much longer, I think.

Poppa Jon- thanks, I take extreme pleasure in torturing characters.

Strider's Girl- wow, I think you'd match up pretty good with that villain, save Strider and wisk him off to safety while nursing him back to health.

grumpy- well, his hands are defintately off now.

Nefhiriel- and if you think chapter 18 was difficult, just try this one. But here it is, after a month and a half of thinking and not being able to work.

viggomaniac- I'll take any review, it means that people are actually reading.I can't believe it's gone this far, it was just a three page story! By the way, I like the title, that's probably what they're thinking while they're being beaten and tortured.

horsiegurl- you can figure it out if you want, take a guess, be my guest.

Well, thanks to all those who reviewed and those who read the story.