The last section has been updated in preparation for adding the next story.

See chapter one for disclaimer because I don't own anything.

A bitter wind swept over him; in the distance he could hear someone talking.

'We found him in the forest, ada.

'He was tied up; someone beat him up pretty good,' another person added.

'We had to fight off some men to get to him, but I do not think they are the ones who did this.'

'He was unconscious when we found him; we tried to wake him, to call him back, but he was too far for us to help.'

'So we brought him back here. We did not think you would mind,' the person was nervous, even in his drowsy state Strider could sense it.

'Did you find him,' a deeper voice queried.

'No, there was no sign.' Strider heard a low grumbling, someone had muttered something under their breath. He was in the House of Elrond, that was the only thing that made sense and they were looking for him. Elrond wanted him, that was the deeper voice he rationalized. His mind was racing, what was he to do? His nightmare was coming true, or perhaps this was yet another dream. Perhaps he was still lying in the forest, dying a slow death and no one was going to come save him from his fate.

'Ada,' one of the twins questioned, Strider guessed that it was Elrohir for the elf was not as proficient in reading his father's moods; Elladan had always been better at it. He had always known what his father was thinking, even if his father wasn't there. Strider could remember his first hunting trip. Elladan and Elrohir took him out on his twelfth birthday. They were tracking a couple of deer when he tumbled down a hill. As he regained consciousness, the first thing he saw was Elrond, but he knew that the elven lord had not come on this trip; it had been Elladan, the elf had inherited his father's looks, every single one.

'It is nothing Elrohir,' Elrond eased his son's concern. He let out a sigh, pausing for a second as if to think and then he made a move; he was coming to the bed, Strider could sense it. Panic swept his thoughts, erasing them as he tried to figure out what to do. Feigning sleep was impossible for even as a child, Strider had been unable to fool Elrond. And he knew that he would not be able to escape, for he felt the weakness in his body and doubted whether he could even stand unaided. His only option, it seemed, was the one he feared the most, lying and waiting for whatever fury Elrond unleashed on him for he could never fool the elf. He would know the child he had raised; the man who had elected the path of exile rather than accept his fate as it was. He could sense Elrond nearing; he had to be still, totally still and then perhaps Elrond would leave him alone. Perhaps he wouldn't bother him, letting him rest for a while longer.

'You do not have to fool us,' Elrond sat on the edge of the bed. 'An elf has extraordinary senses, even as elflings, my own sons could not fool me. You can open your eyes, we will not harm you,' he spoke gently.

Strider thought for a second before slowly allowing his eyes to open. Instantly he was assaulted with lights that burned his eyes, causing his head to flare in pain and he shut his eyes once again.

'Elladan,' Elrond called to his son, 'close the curtains on the balcony. I am sorry,' he turned his attention back to the man before him. 'I did not think the light too bright; we elves are accustomed to it, it brings us much joy. Try opening your eyes again. The light should be more tolerable now.'

Through his closed eyelids, Strider could see that the room was indeed darker; no longer did the light intrude upon his eyes, filtering through the thin skin that covered his eyes. Obeying Elrond, he once again opened his eyes, slower this time though, for he did not wish to repeat his last experience; he could still feel the ache in his head from it. Elrond was right, the light was indeed more bearable now; it was not dark rather lightly lit enough for him to see that Elrond sat no more than two feet away from him.

'How are you feeling, sir,' Elrond asked, a hint of concern in his eyes. Strider was prepared to answer, when he stopped. Elrond had just called him sir; the sense of déjà vu was frightening. Did he not recognize him? Had Strider finally managed to fool the elf or was Elrond simply trying to lure him into a relaxed stated only to smite him down later when he was not expecting it.

'Elrohir, fetch a cup of water for our guest. His throat is probably dry from his illness,' Elrond didn't turn to see his son walk quickly from the room. 'You have been quite sick. My sons found you in the forest nearly a week ago.'

'Here, ada,' Elrohir returned quickly with a cup and a pitcher of water. Strider studied Elrond as he poured some of the water into the cup and set the pitcher on a nearby table.

'Elladan,' the younger elf stood on the other side of the bed, 'help me to lift him up so he can quench his thirst,' Elrond instructed his son. Elladan quickly moved closer, gently putting his hands under Strider to move him into a semi-sitting position. Elrond put the cup to the man's lips and tilted it until the water was gently flowing into his mouth. Suddenly Strider wanted the entire pitcher if only to sooth his aching throat; he hadn't realized exactly how sore it was until now, but the water helped. Elrond kept leveling the cup, allowing just a little water to pass his lips.

'I think that is enough for now,' Elrond took the cup away, setting it next to the pitcher as Elladan lowered him back to the bed. 'Do you think you can talk now?' his voice was gentle still, but Strider refused to let himself be fooled by it; he would not allow Elrond to catch him off guard; not this time. Strider nodded.

'Good,' Elrond's voice picked up a little, 'then perhaps you can answer my first question. How are you feeling,' he repeated the question.

'Sore,' Strider's voice was harsh.

'Well that is to be expected,' Elrond chuckled, 'you were nearly dead when my sons found you. I am quite surprised at your recovery, you are very lucky considering how badly wounded you were. But I have mended what I can, though I doubt you will be moving anytime soon.'

'What,' Strider croaked; he had never fully realized the extent of his injuries. 'How…' he started, but his voice caught in his throat, sending him into a coughing fit. Elrond moved quickly to ease him into a sitting position, easing his cough until it faded to a harsh breathing. Strider leaned heavily on Elrond; he was weak for the coughing had taken his breath away from him and he tried hard to catch his breath as Elrond lowered him on the bed again.

'You developed pneumonia from sitting in the cold rain; it was much worse when you arrived; you could barely draw a breath,' Elrond told him. 'You also had a break in your collarbone. Your nose and a few ribs were broken as well, but those have been set and will heal without a problem,' Elrond mentioned nothing of what the cloaked man had done to him, perhaps, Strider thought, he had done nothing. 'Your wounds will take some time to heal, but do not worry, you are welcome in this house. You many stay until you are healed,' silence filled the room as Strider wondered how to respond. Though he knew he should reveal his identity; that he should do the honorable thing, he was frightened. If Elrond was going to kill him, he reasoned, then revealing his identity would not help for the elf would be irrational in his thinking, not considering that he had not returned willingly.

'Can you tell me, sir,' Elrond broke the silence, forcing Strider to look at him, 'what is your name?' Strider paused, at a loss as to what to say. 'That is okay,' Elrond saw the look in his eyes, mistaking it for fear of not being able to remember, 'your name will come to you in time. Your body has been through a traumatic experience, it is not uncommon to forget some things. You should get some rest though,' he stood, looking to his sons. 'Come,' he beckoned them with his hand, 'we should leave him to seep in peace.' Elladan and Elrohir nodded as they led the way out of the room. Elrond was close behind them, when he stopped, turning back to the man on the bed.

'Do not hesitate to call if you are in need of something,' he advised. 'Elves have great hearing; we will hear your call no matter where we are.' Strider nodded in understanding. Elrond shut the door quietly as he left the room, leaving Strider alone to think. But the man found it near impossible as the darkness was beckoning him into sleep, calling for him to close his eyes and drift into the blissful abyss. He fought it, but the temptation soon overpowered him and his last thought was that this must be real.

A week later found Strider in the same room, sitting on the balcony. He was tired of lying in bed and though he was still weak, he had forced himself to get out of the bed and move painfully to the balcony. He knew that there was a chair out there; Elrond had made sure that every balcony had one for the elves loved the fresh air and often liked to sleep out there amongst nature. During the week Elrond had come back several times to check on him, each time asking if he recalled his name, but Strider kept up the charade Elrond had instigated.

From his seat on the balcony, he heard the door open. Elrond would not be happy to find that he had taken it upon himself to get out of bed; he never did like it when his patients decided that they were well enough to move.

'Sir,' Elrond called when he didn't find the man in bed.

'I'm out here,' Strider revealed his position. Elrond had done nothing but care for him; he hadn't shown a single sign of anger or aggression towards him. Strider was beginning to think he had misjudged the elf; his deception was eating at him. He had lied when he was a child, but this was different. He was violating a direct decree from Elrond; a deception that he knew would continue building until it all blew up in his face, leaving him at the mercy of Elrond with not a single bit of honor to his name.

Elrond parted the thin fabric that concealed the balcony and looked down at his patient, 'You should not be out of bed, especially not on this balcony in this weather. The cold is not good for your health, you are still recovering from a serious case of pneumonia; do you want to send yourself back into a coma?' This was the first time Elrond had even hinted at what had truly happened to him, as he rattled on scolding the man for his lack of care for his health. 'Honestly, I will never understand men,' he sighed in desperation. 'Come, I want you to get back into bed and rest. You must keep your strength up if you want to heal properly and…'

'Master Elrond,' Strider cut him off. The elven lord stopped, startled by his sudden decision to speak. 'I have deceived you,' his conscience had gotten the better of him as he realized that to die with honor is better than to die without it. 'My name is Aragorn Elessar.'

'I know,' Elrond was not surprised.

'Huh?' Aragorn rose in surprise; the elf lord had known all along and not done a thing; he had allowed him to deceive him. 'Why,' he asked.

'Why did I not kill you the moment you returned?' Elrond guessed the hidden meaning of the question. 'You cannot fool an elf. It is true that you are not the man you were when you left, but elves can sense things; you know that as well as I do.'

'What will you do, now that I have returned? Will you…' Strider broke off.

'Will I kill you now that you have confessed?' Elrond finished the question. 'That is yet to be decided.' Strider looked up at the sky; the stars were shining brightly tonight. He saw the Disappointment of Man; the House of Elendil he thought, that was what it was once called, before the line of kings was broken. It reminded him of why he had left, the conversation he had had with Elrond just a day after his twentieth birthday. He was the son of Arathorn, descended from the line kings living in exile for many hundred years.

'When you told me of my heritage, that Arathorn was my father and I was descended from a long line of kings, I couldn't believe it. I wanted nothing more than to live with you, with the family I loved. I just wanted a normal life. I cursed you, the entire elven race. I thought you had brought this upon me; I thought that you had robbed me of my life,' Elrond listen as Aragorn spoke to him.

'I didn't care about the banishment, if you hadn't given me a choice I would have left anyway. I just wanted to get as far away from you as possible and never see you again,' Strider paused, running his tongue on his lips before he continued. 'You came to me in a dream I had, I thought you had come after me and were going to ask me to come back. But you didn't, you left me there to die. Some time later a band of men found me and they accepted me into their group as an errand boy. To them I gave myself the name of Strider. They were rangers,' Elrond's eyes widened in surprise.

'They weren't the Dúnedain, but held the same beliefs as the northern rangers. In time I was invited to join them formally as a ranger. During the ordeal, when I was near death a lady came to me. She told me that it didn't matter what path I took, that every path would lead me to the throne of Gondor. She came to me again in the forest where I was found. I begged her for death, for though I'd considered her words I still thought that there was a way out. But then I saw my people and heard their pain.'

'Lord Elrond,' Aragorn paused, 'I wish to be their king, the one that can remove these torments form their lives, but I do not believe that I am able. I am not the man they seek. I do not understand this prophecy, but I know that by my lineage I am Aragorn Elessar in name though not in spirit or strength. I cannot yet be their king.'

Elrond sighed, smiling a little at the man's modesty, 'And you do not yet have to be. Your time with these rangers has taught you much, but you still have much more to learn before you can command a kingdom. You will learn more during the years you spend with the rangers and your people, then, when the time is right, you will have the strength and knowledge to be the king you were born to be. Until then, you shall remain Strider.'

He paused, looking at the man before him. He thought of the little boy brought by his mother eighteen years ago. Then he was frightened by having seen his dead father, now he was frightened by his own future. Perhaps he had misjudged Aragorn; he was already wise; he knew what he had to do, but recognized that he was not yet able.

'Come Aragorn,' Elrond pushed aside his thoughts much like he pushed aside the curtains, motioning for Aragorn to follow him into the room. It was now lit by a few candles, but there was still no one there. 'I have something of yours.'

'You do?' Aragorn asked curiously as he followed Elrond over to the dresser which he remembered was empty for this was just a guest room. But now a cloth rested on it, protecting something for it was loosely wrapped around an object, but Aragorn couldn't figure out what it was. Elrond picked it up gently, turning to face Aragorn as he unwound the cloth.

'In the year 1976 of this age, when Aranarth took the title of Chieftain of the Dúnedain, the heirlooms of Arnor were entrusted to me for me to safeguard until the time was right and an heir of Isildur should come forth to accept his responsibility, claiming his place in the Line of Isildur,' Elrond had now fully unwrapped the object, revealing a sheath and in the sheath was a sword.

'These are the Shards of Narsil, the sword carried by Elendil and forged by Telchar in the first age, broken in 3441 of the second age when, at the hands of Sauron, Elendil fell. His son, Isildur picked up the sword and used it to cut down Sauron. Isildur picked up the shards that lay next to his father, carrying them until he passed them onto his esquire, Ohtar, telling the man to guard it all costs. The shards, never forged anew, were passed among the line from father to son until Aranath placed them under my protection and I have cared for them until now. Aragorn, you are the thirty-ninth heir of Isildur, the line of kings has been maintained.

'I now give you the shards of Narsil. They alone will not make you a king, but will help you on your journey to that end. Use them as a reminder of those who have come before you; listen to the advice they give you as you make your way. In time, you will come to understand Aragorn. Until then all you have to do is what you are able and what you know in your heart to be just,' he placed the sword in Aragorn's hands, but did not let go.

'But I also give you a warning of caution. Evil is growing, Sauron has begun to gather his forces in Mordor; a second great battle will come to this earth before the ending of this age. You will be hunted for there are many who do not wish to see the line of kings restored. You must be cautious not to reveal yourself before the time is right, when you know it is right,' with that Elrond removed his hands from the sword, for it had now been claimed by an Heir of Isildur, who would rise up against Sauron and deliver his people from their plight.

'But for now,' Elrond continued, 'take rest for you are still weary for your journey.' Aragorn looked down at the sword in his hand; Elrond's words had not registered in his mind yet. 'Estel,' he spoke softly. Aragorn looked up, startled by the use of his childhood name. 'Set the sword aside and take rest, for there are many battles ahead of you.' This time Aragorn set the sword on the dresser and allowed Elrond to lead him to the bed. Aragorn winced as he climbed into the bed, but tried not to show it as Elrond pulled the covers up. It was as he was lying down that Aragorn realized Elrond has called him Estel.

'Lord Elrond,' he started, 'why do you yet call me Estel though I am your son no longer.'

'When you came into this house, I raised you as though you were my own and it will not matter how old you are for even when you are king I shall call you Estel for you are my son. You have given hope to a forsaken people,' Elrond finished and a silence fell over the room. But he didn't allow it to last for having made sure that Aragorn was comfortable, he moved to the door and was prepare to shut it when he heard Aragorn.

'Hannon le, ada,' he said as Elrond shut the door and darkness drew the Heir of Isildur into a dreamless sleep.