A/N: Ok, this isn't much (or any) plot, but I wanted to write something and this appeared in my notebook during bio lab the other day. It's only a beginning analysis of 'What the #&% was Aragorn thinking?'

That, and I'm in the middle of writing a lovely little screaming fit.

Thanks for the reviews, oh ye few but faithful.

Interlude: (Aragorn's Thoughts)

I should be keeping track of these plans. Theodan and his people are depending on my assistance, as though by my birth I should be a great tactician and commander. But my mind keeps returning to Legolas.

Legolas. My staunch supporter throughout, ever since we met. And to have repaid him thus…

My face remains impassively attentive, even as I wince inwardly. I vaguely hear myself contributing to the discussion as my memories return at full force. The heavy cloud over my mind is only a faint memory, but the actions it hid multiply each night in my dreams. Memories of what I did – what we did. The knowledge that all my actions seemed reasonable at the time…it truly frightens and disgusts me what I am capable of. That I would assault a friend for any reason horrifies me. Gandalf tells me that much of it can be attributed to the effects of the Ring, compounded through my newly formed bond with Boromir. He does not blame me entirely, but Gimli does. As do I. And I cannot know what Legolas thinks, because…

I'd like to be able to soothe my conscience by blaming the Ring. I'd like to claim that Boromir instigated it, and I was too spell-wrapped to object. I would like to be able to do so…but I cannot. I cannot foist responsibility for my actions onto someone – or even something – else. I should have been stronger, should have resisted. Should have resisted his first approaches.

Boromir approached my first in Imladris, proffering friendship and apologies after his actions at the Council…with hints that he would not be adverse to something more. I accepted his first advances, and turned down the second, discretely mentioning my relationship with Arwen. I would have thought that her memory, and the pendant I wore, would be enough to protect me. I was wrong.

It was less than a week later when his attempts overcame my averrals…and only two days after that came the first assault.

For a long time I had only hazy memories of the incident. We were in Rohan before I could clearly see what we had done. Now, I can remember every second, remember the joy I felt in dominating the helpless, beautiful creature below me. Only a creature.

I remember leaving him hurt and alone.

I will always be thankful to Gandalf. His actions saved Legolas' life and sanity, both that night and in the days after. At the time, and I have to force myself to admit it even to myself, I was happy merely that our plaything was still available. The wizard's loss in Moria was a blow to our party, while being a silent relief to us – he was keeping far too close an eye on Boromir and myself.

The second…incident…was essentially stress relief for the two of us. We had taken our ease in each other several times over, especially in Lorien where we knew we would be under close scrutiny. By the time we left, we were both impatient, and wired from fear Galadriel would find us out.

Perhaps we were overhasty, indiscrete. I noticed Gimli's glances for days after, though he never approached us. Unfortunately, so I thought at the time, he also prevented Legolas from approaching us, and vice versa.

That was the last time the two of us had together to 'play'. He was killed only a few days later.

I knew incoherent rage, and I knew it was aimed at Legolas. And then I knew nothing more until I was helping him back to camp and telling painfully obvious, even to me, lies to the third member of our trio.

That night the cloud over my memories lifted, and for the first time I knew all of what I had done. In the now empty hall I remember the shock of that night driving me to my knees, causing the loss of all I had eaten in the last day. That shock stayed with me for days, through Rohan, through to the gates of Helm's Deep. It was painful to see Legolas recoil when I had to help his breathing that night.

His total withdrawal in Edoras confused us all. I have my suspicions now, although no way to repair it. Gandalf's account of the night suggests that Legolas sensed or saw the Mordor presence and fled, either from it…or from me. I shudder uncontrollably at the thought, knowing just how close I came to being possessed again. If Gandalf hadn't been there…

When Legolas slammed the door behind him, the wizard woke. Gandalf was able to dispel the evil with little trouble, thanks to that door. Legolas indirectly saved me that night.

Which reminds me now that I have yet to thank him. Theodan gave me access to his healing stores; I head there to make a more potent brew that should heal the remaining damage to Legolas' throat, compounded by his screaming last night.

As I watch the pot of herbs simmer, I am forced once again to think over all of this, and come to one simple, if slightly selfish decision: the Ring must be destroyed. Not only for the benefit of Middle Earth, but also for myself – I cannot risk taking my throne under such control. The results would likely be disastrous.

The pot begins to boil, and I take it off to cool, then bottle it. With luck, this will be enough to repair some of the damage I inflicted.

Now I need only summon the courage to deliver it.

As I walk, I send a silent prayer to anyone listening. 'Let him recover.' Not even 'Let him forgive me,' I don't deserve that.

Simply, 'Let him be well.'