The road between Edoras and Helm's Deep was brutal, tiring. Aragorn sank to the ground thankfully, glad for the gathering dusk that promised a few hours rest at least. With his back against a sturdy, albeit very uncomfortable, boulder, Aragorn watched the people of Rohan mill around him. He marveled at their adaptable natures, their ability to find strength even in the depths of their impossible situation. Wives fussed over children who, given a moment's leniency, rushed away from their sweeping arms to play at games and warble in high, sweet laughter.

He could feel someone's eyes on him. Eowyn. She was a short distance away. He turned to catch her staring. He offered her a polite smile, and she looked away, hiding behind a flurry of hair. He could see Legolas' lanky form standing away from the group. Beside him, the much (*cough*) stouter Gimli. They were engaged in conversation. No doubt an argument. Aragorn's last thought before his head lolled to the side and he relaxed into blissful unconsciousness.

"Go to sleep." A distant, husky voice that he couldn’t place. Aragorn's eyes were still closed, but the surface on which he was lying had magically altered. No longer were there pebbles denting him, nor an uneven boulder-headrest giving him a nasty neck-kink.

"I am asleep." He could tell without opening his eyes that he was somehow back in Rivendell. The pillows under him had a texture that only nimble elf-hands could achieve, and the air had that unmistakable freshness. "This is a dream."

He opened his eyes, blinking to clear them of their sleep-induced blur. His favorite chamber in the house of Elrond, balcony and huge, open window. Slender elf-figure standing with back to him in silhouette, silky hair touching the tops of bare shoulder blades. Not who he was expecting. No. Most definitely not his Arwen.

Figured turned, and in a split-second was placed by Aragorn in his mind as Legolas. More specifically *shirtless* Legolas. Shirtless Legolas approaching him silently on light, bare feet.

In the moment before Legolas sat down beside Aragorn's lounging frame, the man caught sight of the very defined ridge of one ivory hipbone above the waistband of tight green leggings.

"Then it is a good dream." Deft hands pressed Aragorn's shoulders back into the soft pillows as Legolas tilted his head down to press their lips together, stunning Aragorn into shocked rigidity. Every part of his body was turned to stone.

Legolas broke off the kiss, but his face stayed just a hair's-breadth away from the man's own, their eyelashes brushing together. His eyes were dancing with wickedness, his breathy laughter more a tactile sensation to Aragorn than an audible one.

A roguish wink from Legolas elicited just the response he was looking for: the beginnings of a small smile on the part of Aragorn, an eyebrow raised in tentative curiosity. The elf seized his opportunity valiantly, nimble tongue slipping out past impossibly white teeth to very leisurely trace Aragorn's curled lower lip. The man's chin raised almost imperceptibly, his half lidded eyes losing their wariness and gaining a sinful gleam as he pressed forward.

This kiss was rougher, all fighting tongues and nipping teeth, no pretenses left in it. A kiss that would never be allowed in the real world. Ended when neither party could hold their breath any longer. Aragorn panted as he watched Legolas do the same, the elf's tongue now playing in the corner of his *own* mouth.

Legolas suddenly broke the gaze, raising a hand and with fascinating concentration laid it palm-down on Aragorn's chest, layer of cloth separating it from warm flesh. Moving lazily, he traced a wide, meandering path down, finally sliding it into the cleft between Aragorn's bent legs. His fingers curled and stroked inquisitively over wear-softened leather. The flicker in his eyes conveyed his obvious delight at the hardness he could feel developing under his attentions. He tugged at the lacings of the breeches without stopping his massage, sliding one cool hand under the fabric and shocking already hot, moist skin.

And the fantasy evaporated as Aragorn found himself once more leaned against a boulder. The night had grown quite a bit cooler, his crystal breath visible in the moonlight.

"Damn! He hissed in the back of his throat. "Damn damn damn!" He grated his teeth, bending his neck back to look at the stars, noting the overt tightness of his breeches accompanied by a throbbing, unfulfilled ache.

He could see the silhouette of Legolas, on a patch of higher ground standing stock-still. The ever-watching sentinel. Ears cocked to every almost-imperceptible sound. Aragorn shifted, trying in vain to comfort his yearning body. He reflected that it was probably a good thing that the elf could not read minds.