Here's the full chapter, finally. I've been sitting on it for a bit now, trying to get it just right and I don't think I've quite succeeded. I'm working on the next chapter right now, it should be ready in a couple weeks. Please read, review, and relax. Oh and I promise the next chapter will have more excitement and intrigue.

Oh, and as usual I don't own LOTR (drat!). I tried to catch everything, but as I'm only human I know some spelling and grammar goofs slipped my eyes, so please kindly point them out and I'll fix them.

Tempest of the Mind

The man lunged after the elf, determined to take his revenge. As the stronger of the two, the elf easily controlled the fight, grabbing hold of the man's upper arms and flinging him to the side as a child might toss an unwanted toy.

Though winded and slightly dazed, Aragorn pushed himself off the ground with surprising ease. Lunging at the elf, he quickly realized, would only do him more harm. In hand-to-hand combat, he clearly was not the stronger. He needed a weapon, he grumbled to himself. Glancing about the cave, he found little of use. There were rocks, but none large enough to do the damage he desired. In this distracted moment, he failed to notice the elf gaining on him. As the man turned, Legolas thrust a fist into his stomach. Aragorn doubled over, gasping in pain and giving the elf the chance to bring his fist up, hitting Aragorn square in the face.

In an instant, Aragorn found himself on the hard, cold ground again. Cursing the elf, he wished for a knife that he might bury it in that elfling's heart. Once more, Aragorn found himself easily rising to his feet, but this time, he grabbed hold of a rock he'd deemed ineffective just seconds ago. Before the elf could make another move, Aragorn lunged, the hand holding the rock raised, ready to strike his opponent hard. A second later, his fist hit a clothed mass and he felt a warm wetness splatter onto his outstretched fist. The prince gave a small cry of shock before he fell lifelessly to the ground, a short metal hilt sticking out of his chest.

Aragorn awoke with a gasp, not from shock over having killed, but over the suddenness of it. One minute, he remembered, his hand held a small rock that he hoped would do some small measure of damage and the next it wielded a sharp knife. If only it were that simple, he thought. Cursing under his breath, he chided himself for not taking care of the elf when they first met, when he had the chance. Why the rest had failed to see the error in Bari's decision, he could not understand. Yestin would have never made such a decision. These were men older than him; they were supposed to have more knowledge of these things; of the world. Clearly, this was not true. Sighing slightly, he resigned himself to having to help them see their wrongs. He would have to help Bari and the rest see their mistake. First, however, he would need to regain their trust; convince them that his humors were not out of balance as Bari and Tudor had explained to him last night.

Aragorn still found himself aghast at the berating Bari gave him last night. But considering the new leader's misconception concerning elves, he could understand, though it still did not make him happy. Not only were his humours to be restored to balance, but Bari decided it prudent to punish him by assigning him the tasks of an errand boy. As he silently fumed, Aragorn had heard little of Bari's reasoning; he said something about teaching him respect and a little humility. Aragorn assumed he thought these would be good for his character. Feeding horses, fixing meals and cleaning camp were not the tasks of a ranger. It was humiliation. All would remember what he did when they saw him performing such duties.

With a grumble and a curse, he forced himself off his bedroll. Impulse told him to disobey, but logic reasoned cooperation might be best for the moment. Perhaps if he cooperated, he would get his flask of medicine back. That had been the final humiliation of the night, when Bari took the flask from him and before he was allowed another dose. To his dismay, one dose was no longer staving off the headache as he found himself taking it twice a day just to be able to function. Missing that dose last night was already beginning to have an effect for as he stood, he felt light and unsteady. The forest turned for a few seconds before righting itself and coming back into focus. The lightheadedness dissipated only to be replaced by a sudden pounding behind his left eye. A headache was developing and that only served to make him angrier about the events of last night. The current situation obviously was not working out and there was no way it was going to, that much Aragorn saw easily. The hard part would be righting the wrongs.

The forest back to its normal position in his eyesight, he made his way to check the wood collection for the fire. To his dismay, there was far less than would be needed to start an adequate fire for the morning meal. Grumbling about the laziness of his fellow rangers, he set off into the forest to collect the needed wood. Though the headache had not grown much, the empty feeling it gave his head left him slightly off balance each time he bent to pick up a fallen branch of wood. He could not wait until after he finished his duties to seek Tudor out for the medicine. At the same time, he knew he had to get it back. They did not know about his new dosage and he did not want them to know. He knew it would only cause him further troubles. No, it could not stay with Tudor. But he would have to wait to get it, when he knew of its location. Perhaps after nightfall, when all were asleep.

Cursing under his breath as a piece of wood dropped from the bundle he now had, he bent to pick it up. As he righted himself, the trees shifted once again and he felt his head sway and his stomach churn. To make matters worse, once these had normalized, another ache began behind his other eye. Grimacing at the new pain, he caught himself from dropping the wood and forced himself to walk back to camp.

He would get Tudor to give him the medicine this morning. He'd tell him it was time for the next dose. Tudor was a boy, not even of age yet. He'd lived but sixteen winters. The child would be none the wiser. Then he could get rid of his aching head and find out the location of the bottle. Yes, he grinned, that would work. Not only would he get what he wanted, but they would think he was cooperating.

Coming into the camp, he made his way to the fire pit, laying down the wood and setting about making a fire to cook the porridge. By now the sun sat on the horizon, shining its bright light into the forest. The trees, for their part, took turns absorbing the warm light, allowing it to peak through in areas, but blocking it in other areas. This was Aragorn's favorite part of the day. The forest about him took on an ethereal feel, making him feel as though he stood in the midst of one of the famed gardens of Imladris, raised and tended to as only elves could. As a child, he enjoyed running through these gardens, hiding in the leaves of the weeping willows from his brothers. As he grew, he found he, like the elves, enjoyed them for the natural beauty they had and took to spending hours of time basking in nature in them.

Now, he cursed, he was not permitted to spend such time in the first rays of sunlight. Instead, he had to prepare the morning meal. The fire now hot enough, he set a large heavy pot filled little over half way with water into the hook above and left the pot to boil. If he remembered correctly, he had about enough time to clean up his bed roll and arouse the men before the water would reach a boil. Though he brooded, he gave little thought to anything as he completed these tasks. He didn't realize this, however, until he returned to the fire, adding in the correct about of grains to make the porridge. Coaxing the fire further from the pot, he covered the pot and allowed it to simmer.

Everyone was slowly rising from their bed rolls. With no great need to move from this site, there was no urgency in rising. All that would need done today, was a simple hunt so that they might have food and not have to take from their stores until necessary. It would also allow them to build their stores as they would dry out some of the meat for their packs, a task which was left to Aragorn. As a true errand boy, he would not be allowed on the hunt, but instead would be left behind to prepare to take care of the meat. He was a good hunter, and Bari knew that; in fact he supposed that he was better than most of the men. He'd seen him in action several times last year. If they'd let him go, he'd have them the best meat in less time than it would take them to string their bows. But far be it for him to suggest to Bari the reasoning of it, the new leader likely wouldn't comprehend the logic of it all.

As he rose from stirring the pot of porridge, he felt his head explode. It seemed as everything had rushed out of his head, leaving him off balance. Simultaneously, his senses faded, his vision narrowing to a small point, while sounds faded far in the distance. As his body evened itself out, restoring both senses and equilibrium, the pressure in his head increased tenfold. It took a great amount of effort, but he managed to keep his response to a low moan, low enough he doubted anyone had heard. He didn't want to let them know. He needed to convince them he was ok. Still something had to be done about the headache and he couldn't wait.

His balance now regained and his mind settled, he made his way to the other end of camp. When he arrived, he saw Tudor had woken and was cleaning up as he waited for the porridge.

"Morning," Tudor said softly.

"Morning," Strider answered, his voice a bit gruff.

"How're you doing this morning?"

"That's actually what I've come to speak with you about. More than a day's past since my last dose. I've tried to make do without it, but the ache has grown to where I can no longer bear it."

"Are you sure it has been more than a day?"

"Aye, it has, otherwise I would not ask. Do you really believe I want to take this? I hate that I am forced to take it. I despise it, but nothing else has eased the ache like this."

"Are you sure the ache comes daily?"

"Now it does," Strider answered. He waited as Tudor thought. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Tudor reaching into a nearby bag, removing from it a familiar little vial. Strider knelt down, allowing the young healer to give him the dose. As he swallowed the few drops of liquid, he could feel a wave of coolness spreading from his heart to the rest of his body. Once again, he sighed, but held it half way, feeling Tudor's watchful eyes on him.

"Thank you," he said, rising slowly to his feet. "The ache should fade soon."

"If it doesn't, come back. If not, return when you have finished your duties and we will discuss your treatment to restore your humors."

Aragorn nodded in understanding before heading back to the center of the camp to check the porridge. As he walked away, his mouth turned up a bit in a smile. Tonight he would reclaim his control and prove himself right.

So, what did you think?