As he reached the brow of the hill the rider reined in his mare and paused, turning to look back over the land he had covered. The fierce landscape of Middle Earth was beautiful to his eyes, the distant mountains a purplish haze hanging in the damp morning air. The fresh scent of spring was all around, and had this been any other day he would have rejoiced in the journey through the crisp, cool air. Yet his heart was heavy. He looked ahead once again. He could see Rivendell now, see the sunlight glinting on the rooves of the Last Homely House. Home. Over the past few years, since he had learned of his true destiny, he had become estranged from the quiet valley, from his foster father's family. It was not that they had made him feel this way, but that he himself wished the yoke of his unavoidable future, and all that came with it, to be removed from his shoulders. He wished he was riding North, to Mirkwood.

It was no good. He had put off this journey as long as he might; now he must face Elrond and do what was expected of him. He let out a resigned sigh and spurred the horse onwards. Strider he was no longer; as Aragorn, son of Arathorn would he be known to history.

---

As he drew near the edge of the Palace compound he sighted his foster-father riding towards him on a silver yearling.

"Hai! Estel!" Elrond raised his hand in a welcoming salute.

As they met both men sprung lightly from their horses, Elrond clasping Aragorn to his chest in a tight embrace. "It is good to see you, father." And it was - he could not deny that. The situation forced upon him by the laws of politics was not the fault of Elrond.

"Come," replied Elrond. "You look in dire need of a good meal." Aragorn grinned, noting the strength in the ancient elf-lord. "I think a good bathe is first on my list."

"I was trying to be polite, Estel, but since you come to mention it, your weeks spent in the saddle do show" retorted his guardian as they neared the House.

---

Aragorn shook the water from his drenched hair, spraying the panelled room with a shower of droplets. The steam of the bath had worked the tension that came from his long ride out of his calves and shoulders, and for a few blissful minutes he was content. But pulling on his breeches in from of the long mirror, he caught sight of the slim mithril ring that hung from a cord around his neck. Instantly a thousand memories dashed through his mind and he felt a wrench in his chest. Sinking onto the low stool by the fireplace he buried his head in his hands. Memories of days which now seemed an eternity ago flooded his mind........

---

Aragorn found official feasts dull at the best of times, not least those in Mirkwood. However, tonight was different. Legolas was horny and, despite the decorum necessitated by the company, managed to spent the evening playing the perfect cock-tease. If he wasn't running a hand over Aragorn's thigh under the feast-table, drawing maddeningly closer to his groin with each attempt, he was coquettishly toying with his hair, or persuading his lover to try some new sweetmeat by feeding it to him with his fingers. Aragorn felt he could take no more. Although he appeared to be listening intently to whatever Thranduil was talking to him about, he was in fact distracted by the sight of his elf, lounging on a couch on the other side of the room with the chief-of-the-guard. Legolas was, as usual, dressed flamboyantly in green and blue, making a shocking comparison with the soldier's sensible brown robe. His blonde hair hung shining over his shoulders, drawn back from his face to frame the delicate high cheekbones and deep blue eyes with their long, dark lashes. As he drew one leg carefully over the other, Aragorn noted how perfectly the tight leggings clung to his slim, muscular frame, the fabric shifting to show off his wonderfully taut buttocks and handsome bulge. The short tunic hung from his shoulders, its wide neck teasingly leaving a few inches of his shoulder-blade visible. How Aragorn longed to bury his face in that beautiful neck, touch his lips to the marble skin, gently nip the lobe of the elf's pointed ear. Evidently one of the two had made a joke, for the two men threw back their heads and laughed, Legolas waving one slender hand in the air.

"...and by so moving the furniture, we got an extra year's wear out of that carpet!" Thranduil was saying, obviously delighted with his thriftiness by the way he was thumping Aragorn's shoulder. "Um, yes, remarkable!" replied his victim, laughing in manner that conveyed admiring mirth to the mind-numbing king, and helplessly willing the blood to stop rushing to his cock. "Now lad, did I ever tell you about the time the cook found a mandrake root shaped just like a dwarf's member? I remember it quite distinctly, as -" he was cut off by his son returning to their corner of the hall "Good evening, father. May I beg Estel's leave? He is needed to settle a small bet." Legolas smiled seraphically at Aragorn. "Of course, of course, my boy," replied Thranduil amiably, "I was just thinking I must speak with Anadaen before he retires."

Legolas inclined his head, motioning Aragorn to follow him, and led him out of the hall and along the winding corridors to his rooms, a finger held to his lips to keep his lover silent. As the door of his chamber closed behind them he snaked an arm around the man's waist, pulling him close against him and running a hand down the side of his face. Aragorn melted into Legolas's arms, pressing his lips against the elf's. They kissed passionately, Aragorn barely parting his lips, sliding the tip of his tongue into Legolas' mouth and teasing him before he relented and opened his mouth to allow the elf to kiss back deeply. Legolas' hand slowly crept around Aragorn's back, the fingers sliding under the waistband of his leggings. The elf's touch on his skin was the final signal his body needed, and Aragorn felt the familiar warmth spread along his cock as it grew hard, the tightness of his clothes and the snugness of Legolas's hipbone against him fueling him to fever pitch. Legolas moved slightly, so that his own erect member pressed against Aragorn's.

Aragorn drew back, one hand caressing his elf's face. "So, my beautiful Legolas, what is this bet of which you speak, hmm?" he murmured, his breath soft and deliciously warm on the elf's neck. "I'm afraid I am guilty of luring you here under false pretences, my love," the elf replied, a smile playing about the corners of his lips. "Thank the gods you did, love, else I'm afraid I may have just had to tear your clothes off then and there," grinned Aragorn as he nuzzled Legolas' ear."

"I don't think father's guests would have approved of that."

"I wouldn't be surprised if they'd been so wrapped up in their deathly chatter that I could have got as far as spreading you on the high table and sucking your cock, my gorgeous elf." Legolas let out a dirty laugh. "Well, I'm sure we can make good the suspense..." He slid a hand between the man's legs, gently squeezing his balls until Aragorn gasped with pleasure.

Suddenly, Legolas had one arm under Aragorn's knees, the other around his shoulders and was bearing him in his arms towards the bed. He dumped the man unceremoniously on the springy mattress and surveyed his prize. Aragorn began slowly to unbutton his shirt, eyes fixed on Legolas, who watched delightedly as his lover slowly stripped off his clothes, wriggling to remove them from his horizontal body. His eyes drank in the tanned, lean figure; his firm, flat stomach, strong arms, dark nipples which were as stiff as his huge, thick cock. Aragorn sprawled naked on the bed. "Your turn," he ordered, sweetly. Legolas eagerly began to remove his tunic. "Ah, ah - slowly, Legolas," Aragorn chided, his hand straying to his crotch to hold his cock as he watched the elf strip.

When he was fully naked, Legolas sat down on the bed, running his finger down Aragorn's chest, before swinging his slender legs over the side and lying half beside, half on top of the other man. They kissed lazily as their hands sought one another's cocks, soft moans escaping their throats as they began to stroke and pull one another into ecstasy. Legolas turned Aragorn onto his back and moved on top of him. Then he slid his head downwards, lingering at his stomach before lightly touching his tongue to the mortal's straining member. He slowly licked up and down the shaft, bringing forth gasps of delight from his pinioned lover. He drew back before closing his lips around the tip of Aragorn's beautiful cock, gently pushing back the skin and swirling the tip of his tongue around the opening there. Then he took the whole burning thing deep into his throat, firmly holding it's owner's bucking hips to the bed. "Ohhhhh," Aragorn groaned, arching his neck to thrust into the elf's throat. The tightness was wonderful and he grew rock hard in Legolas's mouth, drops of liquid beginning to escape from his cock. Swift as a fish, Legolas turned his body around so that his own cock now lay close to Aragorn's face, not once breaking the rhythm of this strokes. He felt Aragorn's mouth against the soft skin of his crotch, felt the silky touch of the other's tongue on his balls. "Estel," he gasped, "please?" And then he was taken into the man's throat, Aragorn's tongue sweeping side-to-side around his shaft, his lips tightly enclosing it. "Ai!" Aragorn could hold no longer, and Legolas felt his cock begin to pulse as jets of hot liquid filled his mouth. This was enough to bring the elf to his own climax, muffled groans coming from him as he forced his cock up to the hilt in Aragorn's throat and found his release.

When finally they were calm once more, Legolas knelt and re-oriented himself to lie alongside Aragorn. They held one another close and they kissed languidly. Aragorn broke the kiss, delighted (if a little surprised) to find that the elf was hard once more. "Sadly, there are benefits to being an elf that I cannot enjoy," he remarked. "Ah, but you can enjoy it my love," teased Legolas. "Let me show you how?" As an answer, Aragorn wrapped his legs around the elf's waist and rolled onto his back, pulling Legolas on top of him. Suddenly Legolas pulled back, leaving a confused Aragorn staring longingly up at him. "You must ask, Aragorn. Tell me what you want, and you shall receive it." Aragorn wriggled under the weight of his lover into a more comfortable position. "I want you to fuck me, Legolas," he began, stroking the elf's hair forwards so it fell in a golden waterfall over his chest. He grinned salaciously, looking directly into his lover's eyes. "I want to feel your cock thrusting into me. I want to feel you come inside me."

Legolas inserted first one finger, then a second, into Aragorn's tight opening. He worked slowly in and out, scissoring his fingers as the muscles relaxed to prepare Aragorn for the act. Aragorn shivered in delight as the elf's fingers hit his sweet spot. Then Legolas removed his fingers and began to work his cock inside his lover. Aragorn spread his legs and raised his hips as the elf filled him. "I am ready, love," he whispered. Legolas took the man's hips and pulled him forwards, impaling him on his long, straight cock. He drew back and thrust hard into him, thrilling at the wonderful tightness of the man's body. As Aragorn lay back he began to thrust more roughly, the head of his member pushing against Aragorn's sweet spot with each movement. Aragorn gripped the shaking bedstead to hold himself in place, to let the elf enter him as deeply as possible. Legolas was mad with lust, his eyes roving over Aragorn's glistening body as he drove home faster, faster. He cried out as he felt waves of pleasure course through his body, felt his cock explode with white heat as he blew his load deep within his lover. Finally he flopped own, spent, onto Aragorn's broad chest. As he wrapped his arms around the man's shoulders he felt Aragorn's soft kisses on the top of his head. They lay in contented silence, Legolas still inside Aragorn.......

---

His reverie was rudely broken by a tap on the door. "Come," he called. A solidly-built elven warrior entered as he glanced upwards. "Haldir! I thought you were still in Lorien?"

"And miss seeing you? It's been a long time, my friend," smiled Haldir, as he gripped Aragorn's hand. "We must make an appointment with a good case of elven wine," suggested the ranger. "Fine idea!" His companion assented. "But now you must come and eat. Your return has caused something of a stir, but Elrond has decided that, as you're bound to be tired, a rather muted feast would be best."

---

They reached the dining hall as Glorfindel approached from the opposite end of the corridor. He bowed his head in greeting and swept Aragorn in through the great door. Evidently Elrond's idea of "muted" was quite different from his own. Some twenty elves of his kin and his closest advisors and friends were already seated at the long table. Glasses were raised as he took his seat between Elladan and Elrohir, exchanging friendly greetings with his foster brothers. "Where in Middle Earth has Arwen got to?" Elladan wondered aloud. The future King of Gondor stiffened involuntarily. He didn't notice the sharp kick Elrohir administered to his brother under the table.

"Ai, my daughter! Come, now I have all my children about me." He heard Elrond exclaim, and turned to see Arwen enter the chamber with another elven woman. She embraced her father and sat beside him. She did not look at Aragorn. This made the object of her disregard frown in wonder, but he was distracted by Elrohir asking about his journey.

The rest of the meal was passed by swapping news with his neighbours, but he couldn't help thinking about Arwen. She studiously avoided making eye contact with him all evening, refraining from making conversation. At last the table was cleared and Aragorn found himself being swept off by Elrond. "I think you and the lady Arwen have much to discuss, Estel -" he broke off as he spied his daughter beginning to leave the hall via the delicate spiral staircase leading up to the gallery. "Arwen! Come and walk with us." Arwen turned, smiling, and came towards them. "With pleasure, father. I assumed Estel would want to sleep off his travels." But in that instant before she had turned, Aragorn was sure he had seen troubled glances being exchanged by the lady and her companion.

---

Sister. Wife. He could not reconcile the two. As they strolled though the grounds of the Last Homely House, Aragorn was acutely aware of the gulf which had appeared between himself and Arwen. Though polite, Arwen's green eyes rarely met his own, and when they did one of the pair immediately resumed staring at their feet. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally returned to Aragorn's chambers, where Elrond produced a jug of wine and a basket of pastries, bid them enjoy, and retired to bed.

All that was left was the incredible silence between them. "Arwen.." he did not known what to say. He reached out to touch her arm, but she flinched. "Don't."

Her eyes met his, but if either of them saw the turmoil written in the other's face, they were too preoccupied with their own feelings to notice. "It's politics, Aragorn. Nothing more. There can never be anything more." Quickly, she rose and left, leaving Aragorn confused. He had assumed that she would be overjoyed at the prospect of wedding him, that he would have to pretend all was well, play the role of the loving husband. He stared into the fire, locked into his own inner world as he watched the flames licking up the chimney. Gradually, he drained the jug of liquor. I need to clear my head. He touched two fingers to the mithril ring, running his fingertips over the runes carved into the underside of the metal, and rose from the chair.

---

The velvet darkness of the night was almost tangible, broken only here and there by lanterns strung in the slender mallorn trees. He did not known where he walked, or for how long, but his mind began to clear as he reached a state of semi-sleep. Suddenly, his quick ears caught a sound. He moved towards it, feet padding silently on the soft ground. There, a flash of white against the darkness. Arwen was sitting on a fallen tree trunk, slumped against a second figure. He narrowed his eyes, straining to make out the features of the other woman. Gradually, he realised that it was the golden-haired lady-in-waiting who had accompanied Arwen to dinner. She stroked Arwen's hair gently as the other buried her head in her shoulder. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but the stranger seemed to be trying to soothe her, although tears glistened on her own white cheeks. Elrond's daughter pulled away and sat up straight, shaking her head. She leant her forehead against the other woman's shoulder. Then Aragorn had to blink rapidly, for he could not believe his eyes. His foster-sister drew the fair elf close to her, and their lips brushed. No... But yes, there was no doubt about it - they were kissing. Realisation dawned, shortly followed by a queer sensation of elation. "So it does not have to be this way, after all" he whispered soundlessly.

---

The next morning he awoke refreshed. That's the beauty of elven wine - no lingering after-effects, he thought as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. Arwen was not in her chambers, but a maid drawing water from the well in one of the House's many courtyards informed him that the mistress usually arose early this day of the week, and rode out to hunt.

He mooched around the House until he heard pounding hoofbeats approaching. He walked towards the main gate to see Arwen galloping towards him, her cheeks stung red from the bite in the air and a longbow slung across her back. A brace of rabbits swung from her saddle.

"You have not lost your skill, Arwen. Though I doubt you'll ever better that shot you pinned your dear brother to the stable door with..." She let out a chuckle despite herself. The ice was broken. "I'll never forget the look of surprise on his face - nor on the face of the maid he was rolling in the hay with." They laughed, and it seemed that this memory of one of their more wilder youthful exploits begun to return them to the allies they once were.

"We were close friends, you and I," began Aragorn, "t'would be a shame if we were to lose that because we could not deal with this problem." She looked at him squarely, nodding. "Come, let us talk, brother."

---

They settled into the comfortable surroundings of Arwen's rooms. Neither knew quite how to begin. "I cannot marry you, Aragorn," she said resolutely. "I know. I have known you since I was a lad of eight summers, and you already a woman. Neither of us could wish to find in the other more than kinship." She placed a hand on his forearm. "But there is no way we can avoid this, Estel. We do not have a choice."

He tried to find the right words for what he must say. Finally, they came. "Even if we were not kin, neither of us could wish to marry the other." She looked at him quizzically. "But perhaps," he went on, "such a marriage could be a blessing. We would be freer than either of us is at present. If we can make our union appear complete on the outside, we may do as we please without fear. I have a lover, Arwen, from whom I would not be parted and so, I think, do you. Yet many would view relationships such as ours with bitter prejudice, and would not allow us to live as we choose." He paused. "Within a marriage, we would not be bound to one another, but would give one another the chance to be free. Would it not be expected," he went on, "that I should have a friend in the palace of Gondor, and my queen her lady-in-waiting - what could suit us more?" He asked

The incredulity in Arwen's face had grown as he spoke, and she was speechless for a moment. "You... you know? You know about Saiale? And you...?" Words failed her once more. Aragorn felt dizzy with relief. "If Saiale is you pretty friend who accompanied you to dinner last night then yes, I know. And I am happy for you. If you two are as content as I and my, aah, companion, shall we say, then I am glad, Arwen." Suddenly both were laughing hard with the bizarre turn the situation had taken. Impulsively Arwen took Aragorn's arms and the two hugged closely.

"If I had dreamed this I should have thought myself touched," she said, still shaking her head in wonder. "Oh, Estel! It would have been terrible had this torn you and I apart - not to mention the unhappiness it would have caused." She stopped. "How did you find out?"

"Ah," he replied. "I am afraid I am guilty of a little inadvertent eavesdropping. When one is engaged in an amorous encounter out-of-doors, one should always stay alert," he teased. She raised her hands in a mock gesture of exasperation. "Stop! I don't wish to hear what you saw. It matters not now. Any matter, I am about to die of suspense if you don't at least hint at the identity of your chosen one."

"Legolas of Mirkwood. But none know of this."

"Of course," she nodded. "And none shall through me."

"Your affair is likewise safe," he agreed.

And so Arwen and Estel, relieved beyond belief, finally began to make good the years they had spent apart. By sundown they were brother and sister once more. Then Arwen departed to break the glad tidings to her lady, on the agreement that they should announce their betrothal once Aragorn had sent word to the prince of Mirkwood. In the years which were to follow, none but their most trusted friends were to know the truth behind the most celebrated union of the Third Age.