Aragorn Gets Brainwashed – Chapter 5.343131 : The Results of Memory Blocking Turn Out Badly

by Mar 30, 2006Other News

A/N: This is a darling piece of humor in which the characters likely will not be anything close to canon. We don’t own anyone, except Siarl, Jo and Lisa.

Aragorn Gets Brainwashed
Chapter 5.343131 : The Results of Memory Blocking Turn Out Badly

Siarl caught Aragorn as he suddenly collapsed forward. “Aragorn! Aragorn are you alright?” All he got was coughs for his trouble. Carefully he helped his friend back into the chair. “You… okay?”

Aragorn looked around, gasping gently. “I…” He tried to sit up more, gasping again.

“You alright?” Siarl asked again, very worried.

Aragorn choked. “I–I–I can’t–“

Siarl helped him sit right.

The ranger put a hand to his head, looking lost. “It’s… it’s gone…”

“What is?” asked Siarl.

“Everything…my life…my memories…I can’t remember anything beyond the past two months.”

JUST GREAT! thought Siarl. He was stuck with a crazy, orange-haired freak and an amnesic ranger.

Speaking of orange-haired freaks: Sauron frowned faintly for half a moment, but quickly changed the expression to extreme concern. He rose and placed a kind hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “I could help with that, dear one, if you will let me.”

Aragorn wrenched away.

As impossible as it seemed to Siarl, he suddenly thought Sauron looked like the friendliest fellow he had ever met–someone who had nothing but a heart full of Care Bears.

“I only wish to help you,” Sauron said gently. “I can restore your memories, if only you will let me help.”

“No,” said Aragorn quickly.

“What have I done to you that I deserve such an ill manner from you?” Sauron asked, sounding hurt. “What have I done that you would dislike me so? Why do you hate me, Aragorn?”

“You–” Aragorn stopped, blinking.

“…Nothing? You can’t remember, can you? I was like a father to you, before Jo took you away from your home cruelly to make you entertainment for her and her friends, doing the same to many of your friends. I’ve long searched to find you and now you have returned home to me.”

Siarl was shocked. He’d never thought Jo would do such a thing. And he didn’t think Aragorn was Sauron’s son.

“No…” Aragorn struggled. “That’s…that’s…”

“It is the truth,” Sauron said assuredly. He looked over Aragorn with a sad expression. “She took you and placed false memories of me, and others whom you once loved, all to make herself look better.”

Aragorn shook his head numbly. “She…She’s not… gifted.”

“A lie that is, also. All to make herself look good.”

“I don’t…” Aragorn tried to think, but felt completely empty.

Sadly, Sauron said, “Come, we will restore your memory so that you can see rightly, again. Come, son.”

Sauron helped Aragorn to his feet. The latter cast a lost look to Siarl.

Don’t go, Aragorn! Siarl told him. Something in Sauron’s eyes reminded Siarl of a dragon we mentioned before, and he didn’t like it. He’s not–I mean–Jo wouldn’t do those things to you.

“Don’t listen to this imposter,” Sauron cut in, “her friend–Lisa–sent him, didn’t she? They’re in this together, and he only wishes to keep you from the truth.” Aragorn swallowed nervously. “Come,” Sauron insisted gently, “let us revive your memory.”

I Lhen na vi Eru… Thought Aragorn as he was lead out. He did not know what caused the thought–or even what it meant–but he suddenly had a feeling this was all very wrong. “No–I don’t want–“

Sauron paused slightly, sighing mournfully. “Dear son, they seem to have done more than I first expected. Come, quickly, for I fear that whatever they did will soon start its horrible work in your mind and body.”


“Come, please. I fear it might be fatal.”

Instinct still told Aragorn this was dangerous. “I…”

Sauron took his elbow and lead him along. “They’ve dulled you senses, I see. We must hurry.”

There was a noise behind them–Siarl’s voice crying out, “What–” and then a choking sound and scuffling. Aragorn half turned. “What’s that?”

Sauron continue to pull him along. “It’s nothing, just my men taking care of the trader Siarl.”

Aragorn blinked. “Siarl’s not…”

“He is, remember? He helped them capture you and even now–” someone was crying for help down the hallway “–is trying to bring you back into their grasps.”

“I don’t–think–” Aragorn tired again. This statement was actually very true, because Aragorn found his ability to think was very dull at the moment.

“But they’ve wiped your memory, dulled your senses, filled you head with false memories,” Sauron said convincingly. “Don’t be deceived now.”

Reluctantly Aragorn allowed himself to be led down the hall.

Abruptly Siarl shouted, “DON’T, ARAGORN! IT’S A–” There was a loud thud.

Aragorn whirled around, but he couldn’t see Siarl anywhere.

Sauron was pulling at his arm. “Don’t worry yourself over the enemy. Come.”

“But Siarl–“

“Is your enemies’ hand,” Sauron finished for him. “Come, hurry.”


“You will be free to visit him, of course, once we restore your memory. And we treat our captives nicely. It will not be any worse for him than it would be if he were back at his home.”

“Well, I–“

“Come along, these delays are unhealthy for you in your condition.”

Helplessly confused, Aragorn allowed himself to be led. He was taken to a white room, and Sauron whispered something to a man nearby. When he finished, he motioned to a chair. “Sit here, son.”

Aragorn hesitantly sat.

“This man–” Sauron explained, motioning to the man he’d spoken too “–was once one of your closest friends, and is now quite eager to help with your plight. I’ll leave you two alone.” Then Sauron left, after saying a few more words to the man.

“What’s–” Aragorn began.

“Don’t worry,” said the man (he was very white and kind of strange looking). “I won’t hurt you.”


“George, you once called me. We were great friends.” George gave Aragorn a sad look.


“Alright, now. Relax. This will only take a moment.”

“Okay…” Aragorn said uncertainly.

George fingered some tools on a table before setting them down and walking over to Aragorn. “All I need you to do is look up here, in my eyes.” Aragorn obeyed. “Now, see if you can clear your mind a little. It’s too clustered up for me to help as it is now. Just think about… a calm meadow, or something calming and simple.”

Aragorn pictured a nice meadow with white bunnies and daisies. He felt uncomfortable even while he was imagining it, and something told him that George was probing him. Then for some reason the meadow turned into Cerin Amroth (a hill in the middle of Lothlorien, which is where Aragorn and Arwen were engaged (though right now he didn’t know that)). But the memory was blurry and shaky, and the longer George pried the worse it got.

“Wait–” Aragorn tried.

The probing ceased a moment. “Hmm?”

Aragorn could see Lorien, and then himself with Arwen. Abruptly the probe dug deeper, and Aragorn lost the memory, choking against the otherness.

“This may be uncomfortable,” came George’s voice, “but just bare with me. It won’t last long.”

Arwen disappeared suddenly, and Aragorn began to panic. Something was wrong. This wasn’t supposed to be happening–

“Shh, hold still, this won’t take long.”

New memories–supposedly his “real” ones–began to appear: Aragorn, young, was sitting in Sauron’s lap and listening to a Dr. Seuss bedtime story, Numeorian countryside, and other things.

“Almost done.”

More things crowded Aragorn’s mind, like being mad at the Faithful and getting a rubber chicken for his twelfth birthday.

Then Aragorn remembered a time, years ago, when he and Legolas had sat in Lorien and talked about Eru. George tried to stuff the memory away, but Aragorn fought him.

Quite suddenly Aragorn blacked out.


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