"Aragorn?" The whisper came from the darkness, soft and soothing.

The man awoke suddenly, breaths coming in quick gasps. "Arwen?" He had awoken from darkness to darkness, and was little comforted at the voice of his wife, which he dreaded to hear.

"I am here, beloved." An elegant lotus-pale hand grasped his own hard brown one. The king of men stared blindly about him, his deep eyes seeking light. White moon beams scattered down upon the balcony, light softly veiling the night's blacker face.

"All is well, Aragorn. What do you fear?" Her voice was calm and soothing. Her beloved's worn face was contorted in fear...and something unnamed.

Aragorn shook his head in great distress. "I had a dream, Arwen, a dream of terrible things I cannot say to you, lest I sully your ears." His heart was still pounding hard in his chest, and sweat had broken out on his body.

She smiled. "These pointed elven ears can take much, and they hear the cry of a husband in distress, and not from a wife's chattering."

"I cannot say," he said again, agitatedly rising and pacing beside their tumbled bed. "For I do not know myself, nor the cause of such horrible events."

"Lay down," she commanded gently. "Sleep. I will watch over you. "She drew him down beside her and spread a warm covering over him.

Pride rebelled at these words and actions. "If aught is wrong, should I not muse over the trouble, and right it?"

"Of course," she replied. "After you rest, my lord." Her flesh glowed in the dim light as she lay beside him, looking at him in loving expectancy. A breathtakingly beautiful, generously curved, soft white body reclined next to him. Aragorn was overcome with sudden nausea.

After a brief struggle with himself, he surrendered. There was no arguing with the beautiful elven lady, the Evenstar of her people, and his wife. His wife, yes. The elf-woman he loved.

Aragorn closed his eyes, but rest did not embrace him, though waking dreams clasped him in their shadowy arms. The night could not bear the silence.

---

"But you are no more beautiful than others of your fair folk," Aragorn mused.

"And at times, my friend, it troubles me that I cannot distinguish you from your orc kindred. Although you may, after ranger journeys, appear filthier."

Aragorn could not laugh, as once he had. There was no jesting in him now, only a kindling fire that could not be quenched. Loud in its silence, the night neither approved nor alleviated his wants. He stepped forward, so that Legolas was placed between him and the cold stone behind.

The king pressed his parched lips to those of the prince, and his hands found the flat plane of elf's stomach. The lithe body, trapped against the wall, tensed.

"Is this a game you play, Aragorn?" The words teased, but the soft voice did not. Strong slender fingers came to his chest.

For a moment Aragorn recollected his senses, lost as they had been in the wild, intoxicating taste of the elf.

"Nay. Only...I only..."

"You forget yourself, Elessar. Your queen. And what of your son?"

"You...you do not know..." Aragorn mumbled, stumbling back.

"Arwen knows, Estel." The elf's face was tightly drawn in perturbation. "So why do you do this thing?" The words fell from his mouth, heavy as lead, permanent as the black ink strokes of his signature, forever marking the parchment to his damnation.

"Because I desire you."

These and such other disastrous scenes enacted themselves before Aragorn's unwilling eyes, and steadily, the performance worsened.

---

"Aragorn!" an elf's merry voice called. "Come see this block of stone Gimli claims is the beauteous Lady Galadriel!"

"Fool of an elf! I said it will be in the form, an inferior shaping, of the Lady Galadriel."

The king strode forward, uneasily smiling at his friends. "Is that so?"

The dwarf grumbled into his thick beard as Legolas leapt lightly from the limbs of a tall tree, where he had been seriously scrutinizing the block of stone. "Blinded by leaves, it is no wonder that he cannot see rightly."

"Unable to see how he ought, what with his short stature, it is a wonder he can view anything at all."

Though often he had laughed at their exchanges, Aragorn did not react this day, except in a startled gesture of surprise as the elf appeared beside him.

Gimli frowned. A sense of wrongness wafted through the air with the teasing breeze. "It is not like you, Aragorn, to be astonished at an elf's antics, especially the play of this one."

"Play, dwarf?" Legolas asked, inclining his head questioningly. "And what is it that you call grubbing about in the dirt and rock, as a child?"

Aragorn pressed calloused hands to his eyes. "Please, do not say such things," he groaned.

"Aragorn?" Gimli demanded in confusion.

Blood pounded in his body, tracing lines of fire. "Nay!" the king shouted. "I will not succumb to you or your lures!"

"Aragorn! To whom do you speak? Who tempts you to darkness?"

The once-ranger opened his eyes to perceive the fair features of Legolas looking at him in concern.

"Nothing," he ground out. "No one."

"You growl as a warg on the fields of Rohan, to no one, to nothing?" Gimli inquired in disbelief, his craggy face furrowing.

"It is of no matter," Aragorn muttered, refusing to meet the worried gazes of his friends. "I must...I must be about my business."

"Wait, Aragorn. Let us aid you in your need."

"There is no necessity! Unlike others who loll about the day with no duties, though they are lords of their lands, I am king of Minas Tirith."

"You remind us, as though such knowledge were not ours," the elf murmured.

"Or is it that perhaps men require more care than dwarves and elves, Aragorn?" Gimli exclaimed in vexation.

---

The grass glittered vibrantly green, pearled with the morning dew. Far above, the heavens shone in the faint blush of dawn.

"My love? You appear much disturbed this morn."

Aragorn smiled at his wife reassuringly. "I worry of nothing. How could I, with you by my side, ready to do battle?"

"I would assist you in any way, only I am not dressed for the occasion," Arwen laughed gaily, her long dress billowing as she rode.

The countryside beckoned enticingly to them, showing mutely the wonders outside their walled stone city. "Legolas would be much fond of this light journey," Arwen remarked after a peaceful silence.

Here Aragorn says "argh"

"Aye," he agreed, grimacing slightly. "But let us not speak of things besides ourselves. I experience a most selfish feeling this day."

"As do I," she returned, smiling. "Come. I shall race you to yonder tree!" a slender white finger pointed.

Aragorn chuckled loudly. "The ground already trembles in anticipation as I approach first!"

"No doubt it shakes in laughter at your boastful claim!"

After Arwen had won, Aragorn leisurely reclined on his lady's legs, as he could not lie on his lap as of old because of her advanced pregnancy. "Ah, I hunger so that my belly seems to clap against my back!"

"Such a condition is not becoming of a king," the queen reproved. "Therefore, it must be remedied at once!" She reached into the basket beside them and drew out a cluster of grapes, tangling them tauntingly over his mouth.

"Arwen!" He playfully sought her hand and seized it, roaming down her arm with kisses. How he loved this elf-woman! With this thought and the sweet taste of grapes in his mouth, Aragorn nearly drifted to sleep.

"Aragorn, truly, what troubles you?"

Making a sound of protest, Aragorn looked into her frowning face. "My love, it is nothing you need worry about."

To his annoyance she rose. "I know not why you wrap this shroud of protection about me. I have no need of it, nor desire it."

"It is no shroud...but a veil. A sheer one," he said weakly.

"I am not naked, that you should clothe me so."

"But you do carry our child, and I would not care for any mishap."

A mindless bird twittered its happiness, but the two were silent. "Do you run quickly, Aragorn?" Her lips twitched.

He lifted a dark brow, unable to fathom the jest. "When time presses, I suppose."

"Beware, for your prize breeding mare stands angry!"

Aragorn grinned. "Will a hard ride pacify her fury?"

"That will surely quench it." When Aragorn's smile widened, she lifted a halting hand. "But only after words to soothe her ire."

"Very well," Aragorn sighed. "I fear of news that comes from beyond our fair walls."

She looked at him expectantly. "Yes?"

"And I will tell you all—when my mare is of a better temperament."

Arwen snorted indelicately. "I will hold you to your word—master."

---

"Aragorn? Have you fallen asleep once more?" His Steward's lips curved in amusement. "Dinner has been served, but none may eat because the king has not yet arrived to take his place at the table."

He struggled to sit up. "My regrets, Faramir. I have been weary of late."

"My lord, weariness is well without the royal rights." He bowed. "I shall have food sent for you, and inform the queen of your plans."

Arwen! No, he could not face his wife, not alone. "No! I will...I will join you," he said in a forcedly jovial manner.

He followed Faramir down the steps, tiredly preparing himself for the ordeal to come. When they arrived, everyone was expecting him, and some were looking pointedly at his empty seat, saliva nearly dripping down their jowls.

"Please," the king gestured, "Sup, my friends." They fell to the meal with relish.

"As your eyes devour, your mouth does not eat," Faramir warningly laughed. As he was following Aragorn's fixed gaze, the king quickly tilted his head to look at Arwen.

The queen was radiantly beautiful this night, lustrous dark tresses spilling over her shoulders. The round curve of pregnancy was artfully draped by her soft white garments. The light of the elves was wondrous indeed.

Legolas...ai! Elbereth help him. The prince had bowed his blonde head in silent laughter as Arwen remarked on the creation of a particular confection. "Sweetly made to the sweetest of tastes; surprising, as I know well the sour disposition of the maker."

"Surprising it is that it survived even to makes its fair appearance upon this table, as I know Gimli was eyeing in a threatening manner ere it entered the room."

"I protest the slanders this elf has thrown upon my reputation, my queen," the dwarf growled.

"'Twas no slander, Master Dwarf," Arwen laughed kindly. "More eyes than yours have ravished these poor dead creatures."

"I would have thought that rock-and-dirt grubbers would consume stone and ashes."

Gimli made a strangled noise of affront. "You believe us to eat the works of our hands, the sweat of our brow?"

"Unappetizing fare, surely," Arwen smiled.

The poor dwarf looked beseechingly at the lovely Evenstar. "My lady, please do not conspire with my enemies."

"Do not the dwarves feed from marble, then?" Legolas spread his green-clad arm expansively. "The entire White City is open to your large appetite, my friend."

With a sly grin, Gimli grumbled, "Aye, though the veins of such rock pulse with more vigor than those of rooted wood elves."

Aragorn forced himself to swallow the food before him. There was nothing to fear. His mind taunted him. And to no one may you confide.

Arwen? Nay! He could not bear the disgusted expression that would certainly twist her ethereal features. Legolas? Nay! A thousand times nay! He would rather brave a cave troll alone, and then deal with the orc hosts of Mordor. Gimli? The stalwart dwarf would stare at him in horrified shock, shock for Arwen, horror for Legolas, and in all likelihood give chase with an ax.

Nay, he would bear this alone. The words echoed hollowly in his heart.

---

"I do not like this, Legolas. Orcs and men, together?"

"Separately terrors in their own respect, but in concert..."

"This is no time for jests," the king said sharply, immediately regretting his words. The silent, solemn elf of the Fellowship had since lightened his heart because of new friendships. It was not Aragorn's place to deprive him of that happiness now.

Subdued, the elf lowered his head. "My regrets, Aragorn. I recognize the severity of the situation, and will follow, as always, your command."

Aragorn sighed, passing a hand over his eyes. "'Tis I who should apologize," he countered. "I have been overborne, and know not of what I speak."

"What do you advise we do, Aragorn?" Gimli asked, his voice coming from somewhere within his helmet.

The king exchanged a humorous glance with the elf.

"I propose that we send scouts to affirm or no if the sayings are true."

"Allow me to go, Aragorn," Legolas said suddenly. "This is a mission such as one elf can do."

"But not this particular one," the dwarf parried. "You have gone soft, elf, in this White City."

Legolas stared at him. "And what of yourself, Master Dwarf? Portly as you have become, I can only marvel that you would say this to me. For the long years before you were ever conceived, I fought in battles against the threats of the Woodland Realm."

Aragorn stood silent. Legolas whirled on him, his elven gaze searching. "What say you, Aragorn? Do you wish to test me in this, as well? Shall you pick a mark, so I may pierce it with an arrow? No? A pillow then, so I may tear it to pieces with my butter knives?"

"I fear that in sharpening your wit, you have neglected your weapons," Gimli interrupted hurriedly before the king could respond, for in any way he did he was sure to lose his royal life. "It is not I who purports to see to these rumors, dangerous as they may be."

"I will go with you," the king said decisively.

"Nay!" both elf and dwarf cried.

Aragorn blinked in astonishment. "You do not mean to say I too have lost my skills?"

"Certainly not—"

"—it is only that you are king, and—"

"—no disrespect meant, not at all, we simply assumed—"

"Yes?" the once- ranger asked dangerously. "Is there aught you would say to me on this matter?"

"Nay," they finished soberly. Gimli then threw up his stout hands. "Ai! Is there no one to speak sense in this room? Will no one admit that the years have changed us?"

"We? Who are these collective people you refer to, Master Dwarf? I have aged not at all."

"Legolas, at the penalty of offending you, I must inform all present, if they know not already, that you have passed back to your elfling days."

"Gimli," the elf gritted out, " if there lay a neck on those thick shoulders, Imaldris, Minas Tirith and the Golden Wood entire would have to pry my dead fingers from—"

"Enough!" the king interposed. "We can none of us go, my friends."

Legolas bowed his head, but a determined glint remained in his grey-blue eyes, warning Aragorn that all was not over. The dwarf, being of an inadequate height, could not see the commutation.

---

"Would you be wondering of my whereabouts?" Legolas said quietly behind him.

"Yes," Aragorn agreed before spinning around. "Legolas!"

The elf looked at him wryly. "Yes, that is what I am called."

"I...I thought to wander the palace, because I could not sleep—"

"Into my rooms, Aragorn? You do not knock, my lord? What if I had been bathing in a ridiculously large bowl of that terrible concoction served last night, the soup?"

The king swallowed. "Is that...what is normally done in these apartments?"

"Did you come to see for yourself? Do not worry, Aragorn," the elf assured him, tucking a last dagger into his boot. "I mean to leave these chambers to your full, kingly inspection."

"Legolas! I thought we had settled—"

"You decided, my lord. Not I."

The ranger straightened, unfastening his cloak and meeting the other's bright gaze directly. "As you may have perceived, prince, I too have come prepared. What say you to a journey together?"

---

"Aragorn," Legolas called softly, his face grim. "Here they walk."

The ranger joined him on the outstretched limb, gingerly balancing himself. "I see them," he replied, biting back a groan. So it was true. Orcs and men prowled together about the glade: clearly not bosom-friends, but apparently not foes.

He cursed, fluently, in Elvish.

He looked at the somber elf, feeling sorrow that this fair creature should cease his laughter because of these hideous monstrosities.

The deviousness of men with the slyness of orcs...what were they planning? What did they want? Sauron and Saruman had gone. Who was their master?

An arrow whistled through the still air, pungent with the smell of unwashed bodies. Aragorn jerked back and it thudded into the tree's trunk.

Legolas laid a long-fingered hand on his arm. "Nay, Aragorn. They aim not at us." It was true. A passing squirrel had been the target of a man's ill-planned shot. They had not been seen, with their green and brown wayfaring garb.

"Yes, but easily it could have been my head," he hissed back.

---

His dreams grew darker, as they though a pleasant interlude could not long last. Nothing had meaning, only humiliation and pain.

"Should one attempt to escape, I will kill the other," the man taunted, grinningly hotly at his orc companions.

"What is it you want from us?" Aragorn asked, not for himself but for Legolas. He met the elf's gaze and knew Legolas feared the same for him.

Heiken chuckled. "You come to spy on us, then dare to demand things of us? Your blood, if you want to know."

The orcs shrieked in laughed, while the uruk-hai grinned wolfishly, their teeth shining yellow in the bright sunlight. What evil power protected them, that the light bothered them not?

"A human and one of the Firstborn have come amongst our midst. A fortunate catch for us this day," the man purred. "A Firstborn..." he murmured, dark lust in his eyes. "My friends and I have long awaited this moment."

"Let me suffer," Aragorn shouted in alarm, straining against his bonds. "Please, I beg of you—"

"Keep your pleas until the end," the man ordered. "You will need them."

"Aragorn—" Legolas said warningly. Violence he already anticipated.

"Undress him," Heiken said huskily, reaching out to touch the elf's soft skin. Legolas flinched, and his face drained of color.

Aragorn stared at him in anguish, despising the slow throb of arousal that heated his cheeks as he saw his friend shy back in fear. That such strength should be afraid, such courage daunted by a simple touch...

"Do it!" the man snapped, his control wavering between the desire to take the elf himself or to see his friend despoil him. "Or if you will not, I turn you both over to the orcs, after I have finished." He motioned to the seeming leader of the uruk-hai.

"Wait...I...we will do as you say."

The elf's head quickly turned to him. "I would rather die," he said clearly. "Slay me, if you wish—I expect no mercy—but my friend—"

"Too easy, elf. There exists no choice here."

Aragorn closed his eyes, wishing desperately that this were a dream—a terrible dream, surely not of his making.

"Do not make me wait," Heiken counseled coldly.

The king's eyelids opened. "Legolas," he murmured. "Be still, my friend. It will go easier."

Legolas raised his head, uncertainty and rage, not at Aragorn, but at the horrific circumstances, in his face.

Slowly, Aragorn reached to undo the lacings of the elf's tunic, gently placing his mouth against Legolas' compressed lips. Legolas started like a wild creature and the orcs jeered.

"Where now is the courage of the elves? Can you not take a mere kiss?" Heiken laughed.

Surely the elf could feel the heat between them. Aragorn caught his breath. He had enjoyed the feel of Legolas' defiant mouth beneath his, relished the furious beat of his heart as he pressed his hands to the elf's chest.

"I cannot do this," Legolas faltered. "'Tis wrong."

"Yes!" Heikan hissed. "That is why you must do this."

The urku-hai leader growled. "Finish what you have begun, little human, or we will do it for you."

Aragorn quickly stepped forward and, curling a hand into the unwilling elf's tunic, nearly dragged him closer as he kissed him more insistently, not allowing Legolas to escape.

The slight but strong shoulders tensed, although Legolas did not move away. Aragorn rapidly dispensed with the rough fabric of his tunic to reveal the silky flesh beneath.

Aragorn slipped his tongue into Legolas' mouth. The elf quivered at his unwelcome touch.

This was not Arwen. There was no gentleness, no delicate contact. It was glorious and freeing.

"On the ground. Now!" Heiken snarled.

Aragorn swept his feet to the elf's ankles, knowing as he did that whatever happened, Legolas allowed him.

Legolas fell, and the king followed him down, sucking harshly on his throat, breath coming in short pants. His hands, long called those of a healer, reached down between them to the fastenings of the elf's leggings.

Instantly Aragorn found a knife from his side at his throat. He stared, breathing heavily at the sight of Legolas' wide-eyed, betrayed gaze looking at him.

"You want this," the elf said softly, disbelievingly. There was no laughter in him now.

Heiken clapped his hands. "Very good, elf!"

---

"By Elbereth, awake, Aragorn!"

The king shouted in wordless agony. Thank Elbereth for that, he thought. Wordless agony. Better than voiced pain.

Rough hearty features stared up at him, and he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. "What is the meaning of this?" Gimli demanded angrily, seeing the dark shadows under the king's heavy eyes. "You shouted as though to bring down all the city!"

"My husband," Arwen murmured, "What is the matter?"

This was some horrible jest, for Legolas stood before him, frowning, the table between them. "Aragorn, what do you see that frightens you so?"

I desire you.

You want this.

"By Eru, what is happening to me?" Aragorn asked in a whisper, his voice shaking. Arwen is my beloved, Legolas my friend. My beloved. My friend.

"Did you dream of Gimli, Aragorn? Does that thought bring such terror to your eyes?" The elf's words were light, attempting to lift the suffocating darkness from the room, but in his countenance was true concern.

"My love," Arwen said quietly, "Look at me."

He dared not. Mayhap she had received her grandmother's gift, and could see into his mind, see the filthy desires of his heart.

"Please," he moaned, shaking his head. "Please, leave me, all of you."

"Aragorn—"

"Legolas!" he winced from uttering the name. "Do not disobey me in this!" Sudden heat pooled in his belly at the words.

"Aragorn!" Legolas caught him by the shoulders as he stumbled. "Dear friend, how may I be of help?" The king jerked away at his touch as though it pained him.

"I will not be responsible for what I do if you do not leave!" The king flailed his arms, clenching hands finding purchase at the window.

Those present shouted in apprehension. "My love," Arwen asserted calmly. "Tell us in what way we may help you. All here love you, Aragorn. Can you not see that? We wish to ease your distress."

Tell you? That I lust after the dearest of friends, forsaking the touch of the best of wives? "No!" he backed up further, a hand fisting on an inkpot on his table.

Legolas gently pulled the queen away. "Arwen, the king is not himself. He does not know what he does. In such a state, he may not consider—"

Arwen smiled tersely. "I know well your meaning, my friend. Still, do not think I will depart from this place unless it be on the arm of my husband."

A crash tore their attention to the wall. There was a spreading black stain on the brightly colored, richly sewn tapestries.

"Arwen, please," Legolas murmured so only she could hear. "Please. I will ensure his safety. Naught will happen to him, I swear." Their troubled eyes met. "I love him as you do. Trust in me."

Tears slowly coursed down her face. "I do," she whispered. "Save my husband from this madness, that steals his rest and darkens his days."

"Yes," the king hissed. The right of conquest is mine. To the victor come the spoils. "Leave me. Legolas," he called out, his voice dark with an excitement he sought to conceal. "I mean to speak with you."

"My brother, if I in any way may assist you, I will do so," the elf said solemnly.

"Aragorn, if you think I will allow you to be so foolish as to talk of state matters now—" the dwarf began furiously.

Arwen looked between Aragorn and Legolas, and slowly, though grudgingly, began to understand. "Beloved, I do not think it wise—"

He turned to her menacingly, and she became silent. "You do not think it wise that I do what, Arwen?"

The queen blanched, as he had never raised his voice to her in all the years they had loved one another. "My lord," she said, nearly inaudibly, and left, her long dress rustling. Bristling, the dwarf did the same, shutting the door behind him.

He and Legolas were alone

The elf looked at him quizzically. "Why do you stare at me in that way, as though I were a strange beast?" demanded the king, loud to even his own ears.

"I have never---will never—gaze upon you in such a fashion, Aragorn. You are my friend As such, I worry for you."

"I am your king!"

The light feet backed a step. "My lord?"

"Yes! And you will acknowledge me!" A storm surge of lust swirled in his body as he saw the elf's hesitation, the suppressed strength beneath his hands as he grasped Legolas' arm.

The ancient eyes looked into his own, unwavering. "I acknowledge you, Aragorn, as my dear friend. In what other way would you have me recognize you?"

"No," the king muttered. "'Tisn't enough. More...I must have more, or I shall die!" With an incoherent cry, he lunged forward.

Legolas tore his arm from Aragorn's grip. "Aragorn, what ails you? What can I do?" No fear shone in the elf's bright eyes, only confusion and a yearning to help his friend.

"Let me show you," Aragorn mumbled, hooking his fingers in the elf's belt and nuzzling the pale neck, feeling the pulse beat against his lips. Legolas shoved him away, and the longing grew stronger as he perceived the elf's restrained power.

"You do not know what you do, Aragorn!"

"I know," the king said thickly, reaching for the elf again. Legolas knocked his groping hands away. "Do you see the beast within me now, Greenleaf?"

Legolas stared at him. "What is this, Aragorn? I do not understand."

"No?"

"If you wish to strike me—if you find release from this torment no other way—" Clouds had gathered about the shining golden orb in the heavens, but a single ray pierced through and lent light to the present darkness.

"Would you free me from this suffering, Legolas?"

"I do not know what you want of me, Aragorn."

"I think you do." Without warning, his fist slammed against the elf's jaw. Legolas had raised his arm to fend off the blow, but in such proximity it still partially connected. A dark bruise immediately bloomed on the elf's fair skin.

He touched his fingers to his mouth, and they came away crimson from where he had bitten his lip. Legolas looked at him in sorrow. "Is this, then, what you want? My blood?"

Mesmerized, the king followed the scarlet drop as it slid down the white chin. "You see, I have already dominated the others," Aragorn said, a strange smile twisting his lips. "They left because they were afraid of my wrath."

"Your wife and friend departed so that you might do nothing to regret for all your short mortal life!"

"But you," the king continued, as though he had not heard. "I have yet to break." In slow, measured steps, he advanced.

Legolas looked at him warily, eyes flickering to every movement.

Aragorn made no answer, only continued stealthily as though stalking prey, smiling hotly at the sight of Legolas torn in misery and indecision.

He struck the elf again, the blow rocking him off his feet. As Legolas staggered, Aragorn threw himself on the elf, spinning him around so they both fell to the ground, Aragorn knee's pressing down between his shoulder blades. Legolas grunted in surprise.

Aragorn felt the strong impact on a booted foot slam against his back, and he fell forward over the elf's head. He rolled while Legolas attempted to rise.

"Aragorn, please! You are not yourself!"

"On the contrary," the king grinned, getting to his feet, "I am more myself than I have ever been. I have been the foster-son of an Elf-lord, the supplicant lover of an Elf-woman, the ruler of Men, and now--"