Wow, how long has it been. Good news though, for anyone still reading, I have more time to work on this and the motivation now. Don't quite know where it came from, but I'm happy. This chapter will probably anger people or deeply confuse them, but I do have everything planned. Things may not make much sense now, but please understand that this is only about halfway through the story; things are going on that have not yet been fully explained. The next chapter is written and the chapter after that is about a quarter of the way done, so I've got things going now. Sorry for the delay and the shortness of this chapter. A new one will be out soon. Please forgive any mistakes, I am only human. Thanks for reading. Please relax and review.

Oh and I don't own anything except for this idea.

The Man in the Center

-a few weeks later-

As the sun rose, it carefully peaked its rays through the heavy branches of the forest. Still, Aragorn found it aggravating, the dull light piercing his forehead and eyes, going straight to the aching part of his head. With a groan, he tried to roll over, but a combination of pain and nausea stopped him before he was more than an inch off the hard cold ground. He couldn't recall how long he'd been sick like this. He knew he had been fine for a while. But then something happened. He'd lost something or broken it. He couldn't remember, but it was gone. Even after that he'd felt fine, but slowly he felt worse. Aches began to appear and tremors. Not even the darkest, coolest shade could ease the heat he felt. Then nausea had set in, forcing him to halt his trek. People came to see him, but they didn't help. Ada, Ellandan, Arwen. Not even she, his love, helped. Bari, Tudor, Emlyn, Yestin. They all came but only to mock him.

He'd left somewhere a while ago, though it'd appeared as a dream. He had walked around like a fox. It was dark, but he had a hunger, a thirst for something. He'd been a hunter for too long; he'd become prey. To survive he had to succeed. Trees had blurred in his eyes. He struggled to catch his prey. His hands hand felt webbed and heavy, but at last he'd caught it. The joy of victory threatened to flood his senses, but it was quelled by the fear of capture. He'd run, for how long, he didn't know. Time had all become one now.

A distance away, he heard a noise. A rustling of leaves, it sounded like. Heavy breathing and then something fell, swiftly but expertly in control. It was coming closer, but he couldn't get away. He moaned as he tried to move yet again, and once more failed.

It spoke a name, which he thought was his, but fever clouded his mind with a thick fog. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt like the heavy draperies in Ada's study. There were hands on him, thick but not rough. Like a healer's hands. One was behind his neck, slick from a feverish sweat. He sighed at the brief coolness. Just a quickly as the relief came, he was suffocated again by the unbearable fever. He could not tell how long had passed, but he no longer felt a dampness beneath him. After an interminable amount of time, he heard a steady chant. He allowed himself to drift towards the voice as he found no other anchor from his senses in the darkness. The words were familiar, yet meaningless to him. As quickly as the voice came, it disappeared.

When at last his senses returned, they began slowly. First, he heard a cry, much shouting, and a cool breeze. It eased the scorch of the heat. Sight was the last to return and came suddenly, revealing a terrible scene of warfare and battle. Mingled together were men, elves and orcs. Though he was close to their dueling, they paid him no heed.

Fiercely swung around and coated in thick sheens of blood, their swords barely flashed in the sunlight. Continually, numerous swords struck home in the body of an opponent, but it did little to end the battle, for more appeared where only one had fallen. Man and elf alike were surrounded, fighting a battle for their lives. Amidst the fighting, Aragorn found himself watching one man in particular. He looked much like them, dark brown hairs, stringy with sweat. His face bore a few cuts, but none too serious. His clothes seemed normal as well, a thick brown leather vest over a dirty white tunic leaving Aragorn to wonder why he found this man so interesting.

"Do you know this man," an earthy voice asked him. He searched for the owner of the voice and found, next to him, a lady. She looked old, but at the same time young.

"No," he answered. "He reminds me of a man, but I don't know this man."

"He is a powerful man," the ageless lady answered. "He has a family. A wife and a son. The son is small, but he too has power," she continued, in the same tone. "Do you know him now?"

"No. He is only a person, a nameless man. Is he a king?"

"Not yet and he will never become one. But it has been said that his son will be. Do you know him now?"

"No," Aragorn answered, growing frustrated at the insistent question. "Tell me who this man is!"

The lady paused for a few minutes. Aragorn's attention returned to the battle scene as he strained his eyes to see the man she told him of. Though he was completely surrounded, he continued to fight, fending off each attack with equal success. Elves fought nearby. All bore fierce looks of determination. Victory was within their grasps, despite the number of advancing enemy troops. Suddenly and with such quickness that it stole Aragorn's breath for a second, the man fell. Two elves exchanged a brief glance, though Aragorn could not read their identical expressions. Just a quickly as the man fell, did the tide of the battle tilt. Still the combatants hurled bloody swords at one another, their bodies straining under the heat of the high sun. How long passed Aragorn could not be sure, but the outcome was undoubted. A near massacre by the orcs. Despite their victory, the orcs ran away quickly as they knew the battleground contained no treasures of value. The losing survivors, rose from amongst their fallen comrades, crying aloud as they finally saw the great man in the center had fallen. The two elves, who had exchanged a battle field glance, stood away from the carnage, but Aragorn could still hear them.

"It is done," one of them said.

"At last," the other sighed.

"Go," the ethereal voice interrupted him. "Glance upon the great man for whom these men weep. Perhaps then you shall know him."

With some hesitation, Aragorn began to move, carefully stepping through the broken and bloodied bodies. A few, still bearing life, called for help, though he doubted that they called to him. Men still knelt by the one's side. Taking a step further, Aragorn saw the wound. A knife had been plunged deeply into his chest. Death was nearly instantaneous. Aragorn glanced up at the face of the man, finding, a face strikingly similar to his own. He bore the same sharp jaw line and bold nose. The face was older, creased with age and worry, but appeared much like his own.

"Arathorn…" someone muttered. Aragorn didn't hear the rest, as he instantly recognized the name. This man was his father. He'd seen his death, but wondered why. Elrond told Aragorn his father had died during an orc attack, shot by an arrow in the eye. But this was a knife wound, sustained in the heat of battle. Why would Elrond lie to him? He looked back to Arathorn's chest. The surrounding cloth and skin were not torn as it would be from an orc blade. Rather, it was a clean wound from a smooth blade, like that an elf bore. Thinking, he glanced at the two elves. They were taking in the sight while talking. About what he could not be sure, but he was sure they bore a satisfied look. Had they, he wondered as they cleaned their blades. In an instant, it became clear to him. They'd killed Arathorn. There was no other explanation. But something else struck him. These elves were identical, not unheard of among elves, but still not entirely common. He knew of only one set that worked with men: Elrond's sons. Anger rushed through his veins as he connected the final piece of the mystery. Elladan and Elrohir had murdered his father, but still he wondered why. Turning to the lady behind him, he silently asked her for an answer. She seemed to know everything. For a moment, she offered no answer.

"This you know," she answered cryptically.