Title: Of Shadows In Your Eyes
Author: Estel Baggins
Author’s Email: macfal1219@comcast.net
Pairings: Aragorn/Halbarad, Aragorn/OC, Elrohir/Glorfindel
Summary: Can being raped help someone heal?
Warnings: Non-con, rape, mpreg
Disclaimer: J.R.R. Tolkien owns all of these characters, and I’m not 
making any money from this.

Chapter One: Courage and Fear

	Elladan kissed Estel's forehead. "I love you, little brother," he 
murmured. His voice broke slightly, and Estel stared at him.
	His older brother's eyes were troubled, as though he feared 
something. Knowing that elves could be blessed with foresight, Estel 
asked, "What is wrong, Elladan?"
	The son of Elrond shook his head. "Tis nothing Estel… Aragorn. 
You are a strong man now; don't concern yourself with my childish fears."
	"You've never been afraid unnecessarily," Estel pursued, taking his 
brother's hand now in earnest. "What troubles you?"
	Elrond suddenly stepped forward, and put his hand on his elder 
son's shoulder. "It is nothing, Aragorn, only long-ago shadows. Please, the 
sun is set; you must leave here in secret. Only then can you hope to avoid 
all unfriendly eyes. There is no moon tonight, so now is your safest time. 
Journey to Bree, as we discussed, and find the Dunedain there. They will 
help to teach you what you must learn." He smiled. "I know you will 
prove yourself a hundred times over before our next meeting." He touched 
Estel's forehead in blessing with the tips of his fingers, and Estel blushed.
	"I shall try, Ada," he replied in Elvish.
	"And remember to use the Common Speech," Elrond admonished 
gently, switching to the human tongue himself. "The Dunedain know 
Elvish, but to deal with men, and to conceal your bond with the elves, you 
must remember to speak as other men do."
	The young man- who still seemed like a child to Elladan- squared 
his shoulders. "I will make you proud of me, Father," he responded 
confidently in the Common Speech. He had forgotten Elladan's troubled 
gaze, and the older twin had stepped away to join Elrohir and Glorfindel 
where they stood, having already given their farewells. Aragorn bowed to 
his foster father, then turned and walked briskly into the darkness.
	When he was safely away, Elrond turned towards Elladan, and saw 
that both Glorfindel and Elrohir were holding the shaking elf. Elrond 
stepped close to them. "Elladan," he whispered, "the Dunedain are not like 
the Southern men you met."
	Elladan's eyes were filling with tears now, and he shivered. "I 
know," he answered almost inaudibly. "But others are like them. What if 
he is cornered? Men are strong and hunt in packs-"
	"They are not wolves," Glorfindel told him firmly. "And for a 
while, until Aragorn learns more about men, the Dunedain will protect 
him. He is one of their own, after all, the Hope of Men. They will not let 
anything happen to him."
	Elrohir grasped Elladan's shoulders and faced him squarely, 
making his twin meet his gaze. "Come walk with me," he commanded 
gently. He cast a look at Glorfindel, who nodded his understanding, and 
Elrohir led his brother away.
	Elrond looked also to Glorfindel after the two had vanished. "What 
does he mean to do?"
	Glorfindel blinked. "Elrond, I-"
	"Elrohir is your lover, Glorfindel; you have known him better than 
I since he reached his majority. Tell me."
	The elf-lord sighed. "He will take Elladan somewhere private, and 
he will sleep beside him, as they did last time." 'Last time' meant when 
Elladan had been rescued from the Southern men, who had enslaved him 
and used him as a whore for eight days. "He will help Elladan, as he did 
before, reminding him that his family is here for him, and they will never 
disappear."
	"And what will you do?" Elrond asked, shaking his head slightly. 
"Is it all right with you that they do this?"
	"They won't be having sex, as you well know," Glorfindel 
answered a little angrily, "and I can certainly do without Elrohir for one 
night, or however long it takes for him to bring Elladan back to full 
strength."
	Elrond blinked at the aggression in his old friend's voice, and then 
he smiled sadly. "I didn't mean to accuse them of that." He put his hand on 
Glorfindel's shoulder. "I will miss Estel, too; and do not let Elladan's fears 
affect you. He will surely be safe among his own people."
	Glorfindel nodded, his expression relaxing. "I know."
***
	Elrohir wrapped them both in his cloak and arranged himself so 
that Elladan's head was on his shoulder. "Shh. Sleep. It's just us here; I 
could never hurt you."
	Elladan shuddered. "I can still feel them."
	"I know," his brother breathed, "but I won't let anyone hurt you." 
He began to sing an Elvish song that their mother had sung to them when 
they were children. He had to sing and talk and soothe for nearly an hour 
before Elladan at last gave in and slept.
	But Elrohir refused to let his eyes grow vacant. He rubbed 
Elladan’s back and stroked his hair and murmured to him. When Elladan 
began to cry in his sleep, Elrohir was ready, comforting. His voice was 
slightly hoarse, and he wished he had thought to bring a flask of water 
with him.
	Then he heard soft footfalls and turned his head quickly. He had 
chosen this place because other elves came here seldom. What if Elladan 
awoke, and was frightened? Elrohir thought he would do almost anything 
to spare his brother shame. “Who’s there?” he called sotto voce. “Come no 
closer! Elrond’s son commands you!” He hardly ever used his birthright to 
get orders obeyed.
	“Elrohir,” came Glorfindel’s answer from a little distance away, 
“please let me approach. I have water for you, and a blanket and pillow.”
	Elrohir blinked, but then smiled. Glorfindel always knew what he 
needed. “Yes, come, but quietly.”
	Glorfindel moved to his side, his eyes shining in the dark. He 
handed Elrohir the water, then put the pillow under his lover’s head and 
covered the two brothers with the blanket. Then he rose, touching 
Elrohir’s cheek briefly.
	Elrohir caught his hand, and he seemed to need the companionship, 
so Glorfindel sat down beside him, rubbed Elrohir’s hair as his lover was 
doing for the sleeping Elladan.
	Suddenly, Elladan screamed, and yanked out of Elrohir’s arms, 
trying blindly to crawl away. Elrohir caught his brother gently in his arms 
and began to rock him, speaking softly into the darkness, his voice low. 
When he risked a glance up, he saw that Glorfindel had gone, moving 
completely silently away from them. He turned his attention back to his 
brother and calmed him until he slept again.
***
	The next morning, Elladan awoke slowly, and stretched. He felt 
the warm body close to him and turned his head, feeling the safety that 
body promised. Elrohir’s eyes were focused and smiling kindly. Elladan 
returned the smile and felt Elrohir clasp him more firmly for a moment. 
Then he remembered that an entire night had passed, and his smile faded. 
“Elrohir, did you tend me all night?” A stupid question, perhaps; he 
already knew the answer.
	“How could I not?” the twin answered.
	Elladan sat up, drawing the blanket around him. “You shouldn’t 
have. I need to learn how to deal with these fears alone.”
	“And so you did for many years,” Elrohir responded seriously, also 
sitting up. He touched Elladan’s arm, and his brother gazed at him 
mournfully. “I will not let their acts drive you from Middle-Earth. I need 
you to stay here, Elladan; please, please stay here. I can not let you leave 
as Mother left.” His own fears came into his eyes now.
	Elladan shook his head, and his voice was gentle. “Elrohir, I will 
not leave until we all depart together. I promise. Besides, how could I 
leave my little brothers and baby sister here alone? They need someone to 
show them right from wrong, and to tell them when they’ve eaten too 
many sugar-leaves.”
	Elrohir’s eyes twinkled. “There is no such thing as “too many” of 
those!”
	Elladan stood, and Elrohir with him. “Seriously,” Elladan 
murmured, catching Elrohir’s eye, “thank you. Does Glorfindel know 
where you are, or does he think you’re cavorting about all over 
Rivendell?”
	Elrohir grinned. “He knows… but a good cavort sounds-” he 
struggled for a moment, then yawned- “good this morning.”
	“Only after you sleep,” Elladan responded. “I’ll go try to make my 
apologies to Ada, and you must go back to bed. And don’t let Glorfindel 
talk you into three or four hours of wild sex before you sleep.”
	Elrohir laughed. “You know him well, Brother! And you know 
me.” Still chuckling, he led the way back towards the house. In the back of 
his mind, the knowledge that Elladan wasn’t completely healed nagged at 
him, but he put it aside for the moment.

Chapter Two: The First Ranger

	Aragorn watched the man cautiously from across the common 
room at the Prancing Pony. The man drank and ate steadily, never turning, 
or glancing to the side, evidently not realizing he was being observed. ‘Or 
maybe he knows I am staring and is ignoring me.’ But Aragorn couldn’t 
help his gazing; this man had the look of one of the Dunedain, and now 
that he was away from Rivendell, Aragorn felt a desperate need to find 
one of his own people. At last, as the man was nearing the end of his meal, 
Aragorn feared he might lose his chance. The common room was quite 
noisy just then, and very crowded. Aragorn hoped he wouldn’t be noticed. 
He rose, bringing his ale with him, as friends would between tables, and 
approached the stranger.
	When he was near enough to hear the man’s quiet breathing- about 
six paces away, thanks to his Elvish training, he stopped and hoped the 
man would notice him. Then he realized that men didn’t stand so far away 
from one another, and he moved a little closer. He had debated with 
himself how to approach the man, wondering if he should just ask him 
straight-out if he was Ranger, or maybe make friends first, then ask, ‘or 
maybe I’m supposed to be able to tell,’ he thought sourly. Now, though, 
his need to know overcame him, and he whispered in Elvish, “Are you one 
of the Dunedain?”
	The man didn’t look up, but he answered in like kind, “I am. Sit 
down with me. Who are you, and how do you know Elvish?”
	“I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” the young man answered with no 
little bit of pride. “Lord Elrond sent me to find my people.”
	“Then you have found them,” he said, switching abruptly to the 
Common Speech and speaking normally. “It is a pleasure to meet you, 
Strider. I am Lone Wolf.”
	‘What a name!’ Aragorn thought, but he schooled his features to 
hide his opinion. He understood the need for the code name in his case, 
but why did this man also need one? Surely the Dark Lord didn’t know 
every name of every Ranger that roamed the Wilds! “I am glad to meet 
you also.” Aragorn tried to get a good look at the Ranger’s face, but the 
other kept his head lowered, and he was eating more slowly now.
	‘Well, I’ve found a Dunadan… now what?’ He remembered his 
father’s words when he’d learned that he must go into the world alone: 
‘They will help you find your way; trust them, and they’ll tell you what 
you need to do, and what you must learn.’ He shifted restlessly, eager to 
be on his way.
	“So full of energy!” Lone Wolf teased, his voice a mere murmur. 
“We’ll have to teach you patience.”
	Aragorn blushed. He wanted to respond that the elves had taught 
him plenty about patience- Glorfindel had once made him sit in one place 
for six hours and watch two finches build their nest- but he thought 
anything he said would sound childish, so he waited for the Ranger to 
speak again.
	“Tell me of your skills, Strider.”
	Aragorn blinked in surprise, unsure if his words would sound like 
boasting, but decided he needed to do as he was told. “I am an 
accomplished swordsman, and I am able to hunt with a bow and arrows. I 
need more practicing with knife-throwing and wrestling, though,” he 
added, thinking he wouldn’t sound so boastful if he added what he wasn’t 
good at yet.
	“You only mention war-like talents. Can you read and write?”
	“Yes, in Sidarian, Quenyan, the Common Speech, Dwarvish and 
the language of Rohan.”
	“Ah, you’ve been studying.”
	Aragorn wondered why the older man sounded so amused.
	“Can you figure in all of these languages as well? And what do 
you know of history?”
	“I can figure in all of the languages, yes, and I know the histories 
of Elves and of the Men of Numenor and Gondor’s more recent history.”
	“There are gaps we’ll have to fill,” the Ranger commented dryly. 
“What do you know of commanding men?”
	“Very little,” Aragorn admitted, feeling that he was missing 
something, either in the man’s words or body language, and he wished he 
knew what it was.
	“I’ll have to teach you about give and take, then,” Lone Wolf 
answered, and he shifted in his chair, arranging his legs under the table. 
He chuckled, and his laugh was as dry as his voice. He stood abruptly, left 
a gold coin on the table, and said, “Come with me. Your training begins 
now.”
	Seeing the coin on the table reminded Aragorn, who said, “In one 
moment,” and he went back to his table, leaving his half-full glass there 
with a coin of smaller value, since he’d ordered only a little bread, cheese 
and ale, his stomach unused to man-food. Luckily, it had proved to be 
much like elf-fare, though a great deal richer and thicker.
	Lone Wolf was waiting for him at the entrance to a passage, and 
Aragorn followed him into the shadows. Lone Wolf stopped at a door, 
took out a key and opened it, gesturing for Aragorn to follow him. “We’ll 
talk in here for a bit. Do you have a room of your own?”
	“No; I was hoping to meet one of the Dunedain today, and planned 
to only get a room if it seemed absolutely necessary.” Aragorn closed the 
door behind him, then, remembering the caution he must take now that he 
was out in the world, he locked it.
	“I’ve heard some elves are stingy as dwarves with their gold. Is 
that how it is with you, foster son of Elrond?” Lone Wolf laughed as he 
went about, removing his cloak and laying it across a chair, then sitting 
down and taking off his boots as well. “Make yourself comfortable, 
Strider. We’ll be here for a while, at least until morning.”
	Aragorn did as he was told, and sat down in a chair a little distance 
from the bed. Lone Wolf was undoing his shirt laces, and Aragorn thought 
suddenly, ‘Do men sleep naked?’ Most elves did, but only with their 
husbands or wives. Unsure of what to do, Aragorn settled from removing 
his cloak and taking off his boots. He studied the calluses on his fingers 
with satisfaction. At least he couldn’t be accused of never working a day 
in his life.
	The silence was quite long, and so Aragorn, who was still staring 
at his hands, and didn’t want to answer the question about being stingy, 
said, “How much do you know about dwarves? Have you ever seen one? 
I’m only seen sketches.”
	“Come over here, Strider. I want to show you something.”
	Aragorn looked up, and his jaw dropped. Lone Wolf was standing 
with his back to him, and Aragorn was favored with the man’s round ass 
pointing towards him as Lone Wolf bent over, seemingly searching for 
something. How could his father have neglected to warn him about this?
	Lone Wolf sighed, and he sounded disappointed and a little angry. 
“The first thing you’re going have to learn is how to take everything in 
stride. I named you Strider for two reasons: your long legs, and for how 
you need to behave. You must learn to accept things and move on. Now 
come over here.” He turned around, and his eyes flashed.
	Aragorn jumped up so he could keep his eyes on the man’s face, 
and he walked towards him.
	“Take your clothes off and lay down on the bed.” Lone Wolf had 
something in his right hand, but he kept it hidden. He walked to the other 
side of the room and began to straighten things, folding his cloak and 
Aragorn’s, then setting their boots to one side.
	Aragorn felt a twinge of unease, but he felt guilty for not doing as 
he’d been told, and so he obeyed the orders, slipping beneath the covers. 
This satisfied his modesty a little.
	Lone Wolf turned and smiled. “Ah, Strider, you’re shy. Well, the 
next lesson you’re going to learn is that the Dunedain know everything 
about each other. That’s the only way we can really take care of each other 
to the degree that we must out here.” He walked to the bed, set the thing in 
his right hand on the floor silently, and climbed into bed. “The world is 
full of dark, ravenous dangers, Strider; how can we protect you, and how 
can you learn to lead us, if you don’t know every inch of us, inside and 
out?”
	Aragorn had never been in charge of anyone before, and so he 
couldn’t answer.
	Lone Wolf rolled onto his side so he was facing Aragorn. He put 
his fingers on Aragorn’s cheek and explored his face slowly. “I can tell 
just by touching you that you want to be a good Ranger, that you want to 
serve your people in every way possible, so that they will stay away from 
darkness.” His fingers moved down to Aragorn’s neck. “And I know now 
that you are a good student. We can learn much from each other. There are 
certain Elvish things that I would ask you.” His fingers journeyed down 
Aragorn’s left arm and stroked his hand. “You’re very tense; I can feel 
that, too. Please try to relax. Be like a wolf, not a deer. Be composed and 
ready, yet not tense as an old oak.”
	Aragorn opened his mouth to say that oaks weren’t tense at all, but 
now Lone Wolf’s hand was on his flat belly, and going lower. The 
younger man froze for an instant, then came back to life, catching Lone 
Wolf’s hand. “That is a practice only among lovers,” he said sharply, his 
voice jumping half an octave as his body trembled with a slight need. 
      Lone Wolf sighed again, but now he sounded only sad. “Did the 
elves tell you it was wrong?” He shook his head. “Ah, Strider, I thought 
you would understand. This is a different culture, and so we have different 
customs.” He pulled his fingers from Aragorn’s weakened grasp. “Lay on 
your back.”
	Aragorn obeyed, again reminded of his place. ‘I am not a chief yet; 
I must act like the apprentice I am.’
	Lone Wolf straddled him, letting the blankets and sheet fall away. 
He commanded, “Close your eyes.”
	Again, Aragorn obeyed, then felt the most wonderful, wet and hot 
sensation on his manhood. He moaned helplessly.
	The Ranger laughed softy, triumphantly. “Do you like this?”
	“Yes…” Aragorn answered breathlessly as the older man licked 
him again.
	“I’m glad. One thing you will learn is that we Rangers have little 
or no joy in our lives, and we’ll take whatever we can get.” He went back 
to his task, and Aragorn was lost.
	After a few minutes, Aragorn felt as though he couldn’t hold on an 
instant longer. He groaned, shuddered- and Lone Wolf drew away. “I 
won’t bring you to your pleasure until you’ve done what I want,” he 
whispered. “It’s only right; a chief should give to his men first before he 
takes for himself. Isn’t that so? Is that not what the elves teach?”
	“It is,” Aragorn panted. “What would you have of me?”
	“I want you to pleasure me as I just pleasured you. Will you?”
	Aragorn sat up as Lone Wolf climbed off of him. “Yes.” He 
wanted desperately to climax, and yet he knew, as he’d been taught, that 
he must help his friend first. When Lone Wolf had lain down, Aragorn 
began the ministrations he’d been enjoying. Soon, Lone Wolf was 
groaning deep in his throat, and he was trembling all over.
	Aragorn sucked, wanting to bring the man to his orgasm.  But as 
Lone Wolf came, Aragorn was shocked by the taste of his essence, and he 
choked spitting it back out onto the man’s belly.
	When Lone Wolf was at last spent, he lay panting for a moment. 
Slowly, he regained his wits. Then he sat bolt upright and slapped Aragorn 
stunningly hard. “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled.
	Aragorn, his hand on his cheek, which was throbbing slightly, 
stared at him in bewilderment and a little fear. “I-I don’t understand. What 
did I do wrong?” He couldn’t even think of words to express his surprise.
	“You spit my own cum on me!” Then Lone Wolf seemed to gain 
control of himself. He took a deep breath, and let it out in a whoosh. 
“Strider, don’t you understand that spitting a man’s cum at him is the 
greatest insult one Dunadan can give another?”
	“I-I didn’t know!” Aragorn exclaimed, horrified. “I’m sorry- I 
didn’t know- I didn’t mean to dishonor you- please forgive me-”
	Lone Wolf put a finger to Aragorn’s lips. “Hush,” he ordered, his 
voice gentling. “You didn’t know. What I did was an automatic response. 
Please get me something to wipe up with.”
	Aragorn went at once to the basin in the corner of the room, and 
wetted a cloth. He brought it back.
	“Will you do the honors?” Lone Wolf asked.
	The young man, wanting to make up for his earlier error, complied. 
When he was done, he took the cloth back and came back to the bed. Lone 
Wolf had climbed out of bed and was rummaging in his pack. “Please lie 
on the bed, face down,” he commanded, his back to Aragorn. “I’ll be there 
in a moment.”
	Lone Wolf straddled the young man again, but this time he put his 
full weight on Aragorn’s lower back. The young man gasped. “It will only 
hurt for a moment,” Lone Wolf purred as he took rope and swiftly bound 
Aragorn’s wrists to the bed.
	“What-what are you doing?” Aragorn whispered, his voice 
quavering.
	“The Dunedain have very specific retaliations for such insults, 
Strider.”
	“But I said I didn’t know!”
	“Yes, but what if you don’t remember this incident? The chances 
are greater that you will remember it if you endure a light punishment.”
	Aragorn knew what punishment was. Under Elrond’s roof, it had 
meant being sent to bed without supper, or having to scrub pavestones. 
What sort of punishment would befall him while he was trussed up like an 
orc? “What are you going to do?”
	Lone Wolf got off of him, and bound his legs so that he was 
spread-eagled on the bed. “It won’t hurt,” he murmured, and then he 
moaned.
	Aragorn twisted his head as far as he could, and squinted at Lone 
Wolf, who was stroking himself. His manhood was hard once again.
	“What-?”
	“Be silent, Strider, or you will never learn,” Lone Wolf snarled. He 
stopped touching himself and grabbed the soiled cloth Aragorn had used 
earlier. He stuffed it in Aragorn’s mouth.
	The young man’s eyes were wide with horror.
	Lone Wolf went to his pants, and removed his belt from the loops. 
Turning back towards Aragorn, he said softly, “If you want to become a 
true Ranger, worthy of the title Dunadan, close your eyes and lay still.”
	Aragorn fought with himself for a moment, then complied. He’d 
seen the belt; he thought he knew what was coming, and it frightened him. 
‘The Dunedain are different from the elves,’ he whispered to himself, 
gritting his teeth against the first blow. ‘I must learn their ways if I ever 
hope to fulfill my destiny.’
	The belt cracked though the air and ripped at his perfect skin. 
Aragorn had been bitten by an orc once, and the pain was similar, though 
more widespread. The belt fell twenty times, each time worse than the last 
as Aragorn struggled not to whimper or move. ‘I must become a good 
Ranger, I must become a good Ranger, I must-’
	Lone Wolf stepped back, and he was panting. “You take-” gasp “-
your punishments-” gasp “-well.”
	Aragorn turned his head, and saw that Lone Wolf had spilled 
again; his hand was covered with it. The younger man looked quickly 
away.
	Lone Wolf was staggering towards his bag. “I’ll be with you in just 
a minute, Strider,” he mumbled as he wiped himself up. Then he stood 
with his back to Aragorn, and the young man had the distinct impression 
that the man was getting himself hard once more. His suspicions were 
confirmed as the Ranger turned around and walked back to the bed.
	Then Lone Wolf was on him again, and he grunted, “I would have 
used some oil to ease my way, but that is an amenity you have forfeited 
with your foolish, insulting act.” He positioned himself and drove into 
Aragorn as hard as he could. The virgin was so tight that Lone Wolf 
almost screamed with pleasure.
	There came a sharp pounding on the door. Lone Wolf swore and 
pulled out. He rushed to his clothes, yanked them on, seized his pack, 
leapt to the window, and departed.
	Through a haze of pain, Aragorn thought, ‘He is hunted.’ The 
thought made no sense to him; even though he didn’t know it, he had just 
had his people’s gift of foresight visited upon him for the second time in 
his life.
	The pounding was repeated, and then, with a crash, the door burst 
open. Aragorn, whose vision was blurred with tears, tried to pull out of the 
ropes or spit out the gag, but he failed on both counts. He moaned.
	Hands were releasing him while a man’s voice called from the 
direction of the window, “We missed him, Halbarad. I could track him…”
	“Nay, his victim needs help.” The man called Halbarad bent close 
to Aragorn. “Can you hear me? It’s all right; you’re safe now.” He 
removed the gag, and swore at it. “Filthy bastard!” he roared.
	Aragorn flinched.
	“Not you, not you, I didn’t mean you,” Halbarad continued, his 
voice soft again. “I meant Raydir, the one who raped you.” The ropes at 
Aragorn’s wrists and ankles eased, and the young man acted instinctively, 
curling into himself.
	A blanket was put over him, then, and Halbarad knelt beside the 
bed. “It’s all right; you’re among friends.”
	Too terrified to think, Aragorn responded in Elvish, “Please… I 
want to go home…” Nothing like this- nothing beyond getting bitten by an 
orc, in fact- had ever happened to him while he was with his family. And 
if all Rangers were like Lone Wolf, he didn’t want anything to do with his 
people.
	Halbarad stared at him. Then he answered in Elvish, “I’ll take you 
home if you tell me where it is.”
	Aragorn shook his head. “I can get there,” he answered, 
determined to protect the secrets of his foster father’s house. “I-I just need 
to heal.”
	“I can help you with that, too, if you wish.”
	Aragorn shrank from him. “Give me the herbs and I’ll do it 
myself.”
	The other man appeared at Halbarad’s side, and he was holding 
Aragorn’s pants. “If you put these on, Halbarad will see to your back.”
	‘I can’t trust them… they’re men… are all men like this? If the 
Rangers are like this, how terrible are the rest of them? I wish I was really 
an elf, and not the heir to the throne of Gondor… I just want to go home… 
I’d rather fight orcs… Still,’ he had to admit, ‘I can’t reach my back 
effectively…’ After putting his pants on under the blanket, he stood up, 
struggled over to his cloak, removed a knife, then returned to the bed and 
laid down again.
	Halbarad nodded. “I’ll be as quick and gentle as I can.” As he 
worked, he asked, still in Elvish, “How are Elladan and Elrohir? I haven’t 
spoken with them in several months.”
	Aragorn sucked in his breath. How could this man know his 
brothers?
	“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to press so hard.”
	He’d misunderstood Aragorn. The man was grateful for this. He 
thought quickly. If this man knew Elladan and Elrohir, he was probably a 
Ranger, since the sons of Elrond didn’t ride with any other men. He might 
be a friend of Lone Wolf… but then why would the two men be chasing 
the other? “Who are you?” he demanded.
	Halbarad seemed to consider the question. “My name is Halbarad 
Dunadan, son of Halbareth, who was a friend of your father.”
	Aragorn gaped, then collected himself. “Who do you think I am?”
	“I don’t think; I know. Your name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, 
Heir of Isildur, and the Hope of Men.” He hesitated, his hand on 
Aragorn’s shoulder, then he stepped back. “You’re healed. Malacai, can I 
have his shirt?”
	Aragorn sat up and accepted the shirt. He watched Halbarad as he 
knelt near the single chair on the opposite side of the room. He seemed to 
be studying something. “Malacai, do you see-?”
	“He was definitely by the stream yesterday. Those were Raydir’s 
tracks we saw, which means he killed the deer and left it.” He made a 
noise of disgust. “We should have banished him before this.”
	“We all thought he was still teachable.”
	Aragorn stood up slowly, and realized that the pain in his back had 
retreated to a soft grumble. “Thank you,” he whispered.
	Halbarad glanced up, and the furrows on his forehead smoothed 
out as he smiled. “You’re welcome, Aragorn.”
	The young man paused, then asked, “Isn’t it dangerous to use my 
name? The servants of the Enemy might be listening.”
	“There’s no one here but us,” Halbarad answered. He looked 
impressed. “You think well, though, like your father, or so I was always 
told.” He stood and picked up Aragorn’s cloak. He handed it to Aragorn. 
“We can use our proper names among ourselves. We need to remember 
who we are, and why we are hunters of the Enemy’s servants.”
	Aragorn dressed completely and felt safer once he had done so. He 
sheathed his knife, feeling slightly silly for taking it out, but he knew he’d 
had to protect himself.
	“Do you still want to go back to Rivendell?” Halbarad asked. “If 
so, we can escort you; we’ve been to its borders several times, though 
never in Lord Elrond’s halls.” He smiled slightly. “He didn’t want us to 
chance meeting you and raising strange questions.”
	Aragorn nodded, understanding this. “I need to go home… just for 
a while…” He blushed a little, but refused to back down. He needed help, 
and these men, kind as they seemed, weren’t deserving of his trust, and 
certainly couldn’t talk with him about what had just happened. He needed 
his father, Glorfindel, and, most of all, his brothers.
	Suddenly, he yawned, unable to stop himself. Fear was very tiring.
	Malacai said then, “We should stay the night.”
	Aragorn shook his head. “No.” He didn’t want to fall asleep with 
these men in the same room.
	“We’ll stand guard outside, in case Raydir tries to come back, 
though I think he won’t dare,” Halbarad told him. “You can lock the door-
” he glanced at it, then sighed. The door was hanging drunkenly on its 
hinges. “Well, maybe you can’t. You can stay in our room, then, and I’ll 
go try and make a bargain with the innkeeper… How much gold do we 
have, Malacai?”
	“Ten pieces. I can fix the door, though.”
	Halbarad nodded. “Good. Do that. You and Aragorn stay here and 
I’ll go wax poetic and apologetic. Give me what gold we have, just in case 
he doesn’t want to listen.”
	Malacai tossed him a small, leather purse drawn together with a 
string. “I’ll fix the door and keep an eye on things. If Barty’s in a good 
mood, ask him for a little mead.”
	Halbarad laughed softly. “You never like to be dry, do you?” Then 
he left.
	Malacai went to work on the door, and Aragorn retreated to the 
chair, drawing his cloak tightly around himself.
	“We’re not going to hurt you,” Malacai said without turning. He 
was setting the door back up, steadying it with difficulty. “The Dunedain-”
	“Lone Wolf was a Dunadan!” Aragorn snapped.
	“‘Lone Wolf’? Is that what he called himself?” He snorted. “His 
name is Raydir, and you’re right; not all the Dunedain are trustworthy. I 
shouldn’t have said that. But doesn’t it mean anything to you that 
Halbarad knows your foster brothers? I’ve met them twice, but Halbarad’s 
ridden with them dozens of times. They used to ride with his father, so that 
they could learn about Arathorn, and about you. They wanted to know 
everything so they could take care of you.” He grunted as the door swung 
again, throwing him off balance.
	Aragorn stood, strode to his side and helped the other man to 
steady the heavy door.
	Malacai glanced at him, and smiled a little. “Thanks.” He began to 
hum softly as he worked. The song sounded faintly Elvish.
	“What’s that?” Aragorn asked.
	Malacai moved the door a little, then shoved it back into the 
hinges. There was a loud click. “Hold this monster thing really steady, 
okay?”
	“All right.”
	“It’s a Dunedain song that we adapted from the Elves. It’s about 
the springtime coming after winter. Every child among us learns it at an 
early age. It’s used frequently as a lullaby.” He removed a small hammer 
from his pocket, and banged on the hinges until they held the door fast and 
Aragorn relaxed his hold.
	Tense as he was, Aragorn was beginning to feel very sleepy, and it 
was getting harder to fight it. He yawned.
	Malacai murmured as he tested the door to make sure it turned 
well, “You can sleep, you know. I only wield my sword with one hand- 
the left one.” Aragorn frowned at that, and Malacai, realizing he didn’t 
understand, explained, “I don’t like men,” he explained. “I forgot that’s a 
Dunedain expression, and of course Elladan and Elrohir wouldn’t tell you 
that sort of thing; trying to shield your innocence, probably, especially 
Elladan. Halbarad says he’s a lot like his father.”
	“He is,” Aragorn agreed, and yawned again. He stepped towards 
the bed hesitantly. “What’s the phrase if you’re a man liking men?”
	“Wielding your sword one way with your right hand,” Malacai 
answered. He went and sat on the chair, taking out his bow and an arrow.
	“What are you doing?” Aragorn sat on the bed, but refused to lie 
down quite yet.
	“This is just in case Raydir decides to show himself.” Malacai 
shrugged, set the two things on the floor beside the chair, then took out a 
folded shirt from a larger pocket of his cloak, then removed a needle and 
thread from his belt, and set to work, the needle flashing in and out. The 
effect was quite hypnotic, and Aragorn found himself yawning very 
widely. “I’ll guard you tonight,” Malacai continued, his eyes focused on 
his work, his soothing voice little more than a whisper. “Please try to rest, 
even if you don’t sleep.” He began to hum again, and this time it was an 
Elvish lullaby. Aragorn could not resist the temptation of the bed any 
longer, and he slumped over onto the mattress, closed his eyes, and slept.

Chapter Three: Journeying with the Dunedain

	When Aragorn woke, he could hear someone murmuring and 
snoring. He became aware instantly, and opened his eyes. Both Rangers 
seemed to be asleep on the floor; Malacai lay flat on his back, his cloak 
used as a pillow for his head, his mouth gaping wide. Aragorn shifted his 
gaze, and saw to his surprise that Halbarad wasn’t asleep at all, but was 
watching him. The Ranger smiled at him, and, before he could stop 
himself, Aragorn smiled back. He wanted to ask a question, but decided he 
didn’t want to get up. It was too comfortable in the bed, and he knew he 
had to whisper, not wanting to wake the other man.
	Halbarad rose, absolutely silent, as though he, like Aragorn, had 
been raised by elves. Aragorn watched him cautiously, but all Halbarad 
did was come and sit on the floor beside the bed. He sat cross-legged and 
straight-backed, gazing at Aragorn intently.
	“What?” the other asked somewhat nervously.
	“What do you want to ask me?”
	Aragorn blinked, then murmured, “I wanted to know what 
happened with the innkeeper last night.”
	Halbarad laughed softly. “He’s all right, Barty is. I explained that 
we’d broken the door, and that Malacai had fixed it. He came, blowing up 
here, but hushed when he saw you were sleeping. He’s very polite- I like 
him, despite the fact that he doesn’t trust me. He examined the door, 
acknowledged that we’d fixed it all right, but demanded two gold pieces in 
case the door broke again because of the damage we caused.” He grinned, 
and his eyes sparkled. “I doubt he would have let us go without paying 
something extra, but I think he mightn’t have noticed if I hadn’t said 
anything. Still, we have to be honorable.”
	“Why?” It was out before he could stop himself.
	“We’re the people of Numenor, Aragorn; if we don’t act 
differently from other men, we’ll become just like them. And that is the 
best way for the Enemy to destroy us.”
	It came to Aragorn’s mind that he liked these men, especially 
Halbarad, and it occurred to him to ask with which hand the other man 
wielded his sword, but he realized this might be considered rude, or worse, 
as a sexual interest.
	“This one’s an embarrassing question?” Halbarad asked, and he 
smiled reassuringly.
	Aragorn demanded, more angrily than he intended, “Are you 
reading my mind?”
	Halbarad looked surprised, and his eyes dropped to his hands, 
which lay in his lap. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t be doing that to you. It isn’t 
fair. I can read what you’re thinking because your eyes look just like 
Elladan’s when he’s trying to ask something delicate. I’ve learned how to 
read them both very well because we’ve been riding together since I was 
fifteen.” He snorted softly. “I’m sure they know me through and through, 
and know more than just what I show with my expressions.”
	Aragorn hesitated, then decided this was the only way he’d ever 
know. “I-I wanted to know if… well, which hand you… wield your sword 
with.” He blushed.
	“Malacai talked to you about that?” He laughed again, then his 
eyes grew serious. “I wield my sword with my right hand, but don’t 
worry; I won’t hurt you. Your father and mine were very close; my father 
was second-in-command. I’ll take that place, if you want me to.”
	Aragorn wasn’t afraid. This man seemed, well, honorable. ‘Not 
that I know how to tell one type of man from another.’ He felt a rush of 
homesickness.
	“I’ll wake Malacai, and we can leave for Rivendell.”
	Aragorn smiled thankfully.
***
	They walked for four hours. They’d left before sunrise, and had 
made it out of Breeland within two hours. But as they walked up a hill, 
Aragorn began to feel a stabbing pain coming up from his backside. ‘Well, 
I was raped; of course it hurts.’ Or that was what he’d told himself at first, 
before the pain began to build. At last, he couldn’t ignore it anymore, but 
he wouldn’t let himself admit it.
	Malacai glanced at him, and his eyes darkened slightly. “Aragorn 
are you-?”
	Suddenly, the pain flared so high that Aragorn couldn’t push it 
back, and he staggered slightly. Malacai and Halbarad both caught him.
	“What is it?” Halbarad asked urgently. Then he glanced down, and 
seemed to realize exactly what was wrong. “He raped you. I forgot.”
	“Lucky you,” Aragorn grunted more harshly than he intended.
	Halbarad didn’t seem offended. “Please sit down. I need to take a 
look and see how badly he hurt you.”
	Aragorn hesitated. If the two wanted to rape him, this would be a 
perfect opportunity. Still, he was in a lot of pain, and didn’t think he’d be 
able to walk much further without some sort of healing. Raydir’s attack 
hadn’t made him bleed, but his insides felt raw. He did as he was asked, 
actually lying down on his stomach.
      Halbarad knelt beside him and pulled his britches down slightly. 
He muttered a Dwarvish curse, and said to Malacai, “The bastard took 
away his inner skin.” He was fumbling for something in his cloak; 
Aragorn could hear the rustling of cloth, then Halbarad whispered, “I’m 
going to heal your skin inside, if you’ll let me. This will keep out infection 
and also ease your pain.”
	‘Infection!’ Aragorn paled slightly. An infection in that area would 
be… rather inconvenient. “I’ll let you.”
	Halbarad eased his finger into Aragorn’s abused hole, gently 
rubbing a cool liquid into the flesh he found there. His probing finger 
touched off a spark of pleasure, and Aragorn pulled away as though he’d 
been stabbed.
	“I’m sorry; I’m being as gentle as I can,” Halbarad murmured, as 
he recorked the bottle. “I’m finished now; you can pull your pants back 
up.”
	Aragorn did so and rose hastily.
	They continued on their way. An uncomfortable silence had settled 
between them, but the Rangers both knew that Aragorn needed to be 
handled gently, and so they forced no conversation on him.
***
	Twelve days later- the three of them had barely rested- Aragorn, 
Halbarad and Malacai crossed the ford of Rivendell more or less together, 
but when they were on the other side, Aragorn sprinted up the path, 
leaving the other two far behind.
	Malacai moved as if to run, too, but Halbarad caught his arm. “Let 
him be; he needs to be alone with his family right now.”
	“We’re supposed to become his family,” Malacai argued. “How 
can we do that if we don’t try to stay near him when he’s so afraid?”
	“We’ve been trying since we found him,” Halbarad answered. 
“Clearly, he’s not ready to add us to his family yet. We need to be 
patient.”
	Malacai scowled. “I know patience is a Dunedain trait, but I feel as 
though I can barely hold onto it with my fingernails.”
	Halbarad chuckled softly. “Yes, you’re more inclined to act first 
and think later- and in that way you’ve saved my life six times, and so I 
don’t begrudge you such a habit. Between us, with your impetuous 
behavior and my careful thought, we’re balanced.”
	“Too bad we don’t always travel together,” Malacai answered, and 
he smiled slightly, though there was a sad tinge to it. “My wife balances 
me just the same way. I miss her.”
	Halbarad twirled his hair around his finger, and his voice was 
suddenly very high. “Malacai, my darling, stop skipping about in the mud 
with the Ranger-lings and come have your dinner!”
	Malacai raised a hand to punch his friend, but then he froze, hand 
half-raised, and stared at the golden-haired elf who stood before them on 
the path. They hadn’t heard or seen the elf approach.
	“Halbarad,” the elf said, and he nodded slightly in 
acknowledgment of the other’s rank among the Dunedain. “As welcome 
as ever you are here, Lord Elrond requests that you go to him and explain 
Aragorn’s return.”
	The Ranger bowed fully, and then gestured to his companion. “I 
will hasten, Lord Glorfindel. This is Malacai Dunadan. He and I found 
Aragorn.”
	“Don’t tell any more,” Glorfindel answered. “Follow me; you can 
explain everything to Lord Elrond.”
	“Where did Aragorn go?” Malacai asked.
	“He is with his brothers,” Glorfindel responded shortly, not 
glancing back at them.
	When they reached Elrond’s study, they found him waiting for 
them. He was sitting behind his desk, but he rose and nodded as Glorfindel 
had. “Come in and close the door. You may stay, if you wish, Glorfindel.” 
He hardly ever spoke so formally to his old friend, but in light of their 
guests, he deemed it proper. He gestured to two chairs beside his desk, and 
the men sat there. Glorfindel came around the desk and sat behind and to 
the left of Elrond’s own chair.
	Elrond seated himself and studied the two men for a moment. 
Halbarad he’d seen only twice, both times when he had come to ride with 
the twins, and the other he’d never met. He judged them, mostly by what 
he saw, to be honorable men. Though the man that was new to him 
seemed slightly nervous to be there, he looked honest and trustworthy. 
“Tell me what happened.”
	Succiently, Halbarad recounted all that had happened, adding the 
fact that he and Malacai had set out to hunt Raydir six weeks before. 
“He’s talented in forest-craft, but his heart is as black as any lover of the 
darkness.”
	Elrond listened without interrupting until the tale was over, and 
then he sighed. “My son’s first weeks out were not meant to plunge him 
into the darkest part of the world. We have raised him only partially, 
trusting you to tell him those things that we had not. Now I see we should 
have given him a fuller education.”
	Glorfindel shook his head. “What more could we tell him? Surely 
he knows of what happened to… one elf here.”
	Elrond shook his head. “I forbade all from telling him, lest he grow 
to hate men so much that he could never lead them purely.” He lowered 
his voice and asked the in obscure Qyenyan dialect, "Why didn't you tell 
him if you thought he should know?"
	Glorfindel replied in like kind, "Elrohir asked me to wait."
	Elrond sighed quietly. "Very well."
	Glorfindel stood, and switched back to the Common Speech. "May 
I violate that order?"
	Elrond stared at him for a moment. "Ask… the elf… if he wishes 
the order lifted. Let him tell Aragorn if he wishes to."
	Glorfindel left.
	The Rangers looked politely puzzled, but didn't press Elrond. 
Instead, Halbarad asked, "May we wait here until Aragorn is ready to 
leave?"
	"Will he ever be ready to leave?" Malacai blurted.
	Elrond answered, "He must leave for the good of Middle-Earth."
	Halbarad opened his mouth to contradict the elf-lord, but discretion 
won over him, and he closed his mouth.
	"Please speak freely," Elrond urged. "I want to know what you 
think, as a man."
	"I think, Lord Elrond," said Halbarad slowly, stalling for time, 
"that I should not be so selfish."
	"Explain," Elrond commanded.
	"I would wish what is best for Aragorn, not for Middle-Earth. I 
don't want to see him get hurt, or try to go back out in the world when he 
isn't ready."
	"Aragorn is stronger- no, Estel is stronger than you think. Aragorn 
hasn't found his place yet, but Estel knows what is right in the world, and 
how to face and conquer what is wrong. Even if he never encountered rape 
before, he knows evil, and knows how to handle himself amongst it."
	"But rape is the most devastating evil-" Malacai protested.
	"No, Isildur's Bane is, and he knows much of that story, and has 
worked personally against its evil."
	"He has met Sauron?" Halbarad cried.
	"Of course not," Elrond snapped harshly, "but he has seen the 
Nazgul, and felt their power. It was only once, and only for a moment, but 
it was enough. Have faith in the Hope of Men; he will overcome this 
humiliation. You are dismissed."

Chapter Four: A Little Healing

	When he was alone with the twins in their room, Aragorn ducked 
out from under Elladan’s protective arm and announced, stepping back, 
“I’m fine. Halbarad healed me.” He walked to the seat beside the window 
and sat down, staring outside. “I just want to be quiet for a while.”
	Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances. Their father had said 
nothing to them, only commanding them to take Estel somewhere safe. 
But they both sensed their little brother’s shaken state. Something horrible 
had happened to him. And now he spoke of healing. Elladan took a step 
towards Aragorn, but then stopped. He knew, as Elrohir did, that they 
needed to wait Aragorn out. Eventually he would be ready to talk. They 
moved across the room and sat on the edge of Elrohir’s bed, which meant 
they gave Aragorn a little space to himself without moving too far away.
	Aragorn sat ramrod straight for a long while, then he bent forward 
and rested his elbows on his knees and continued to stare out the window. 
He could sense his brothers nearby, waiting, watching over him, just as 
they had when he was a child. He couldn’t decide if he was upset- surely 
he should be; he’d been raped- or if he was shocked- that was 
understandable, right?- or if he wasn’t effected at all. That last was 
frightening. Not knowing what he was feeling made everything terrifying. 
He wished desperately that he’d been attacked by an orc, so he would be 
feeling pain and fear. At least he’d know what to feel, how strongly to feel 
it, and how to express himself.
	“His name is Raydir; Halbarad told me,” he began. “He called 
himself Lone Wolf. I thought he was a Ranger. He was, but an exiled 
Ranger.” His voice was flat, and Aragorn felt as though he were simply 
reciting lines that had no meaning for him, like when he used to recite 
historical facts during his lessons. “He named me Strider, and asked me to 
come to his room so he could get to know me. We talked a little; he asked 
about my schooling. Then he said he needed to know me inside and out, 
and that it was my duty, as the Chief of the Dunedain, to know him the 
same way. I undressed for him.”
	Behind him, Elladan gasped, but he quieted at once. Aragorn went 
on:
	“He touched me, and it felt different from anything I’ve felt before. 
Very good. Arousing.” He laughed shortly. “I’ve heard that word before, 
but now I understand what it means. I told him to stop, but he said I 
needed to learn, and so I obeyed. I licked him, but spit out his semen.”
	The bed creaked behind him, but Aragorn didn’t turn. He didn’t 
hear Elrohir murmur a reassuring word in his brother’s ear.
	“He told me it was an insult to spit at a Ranger, and he punished 
me. He beat me with my belt, then raped me.” Aragorn had expected the 
word ‘rape’ to be difficult to say, but still he felt nothing. “What am I 
supposed to feel?” he mumbled, not realizing that he was speaking out 
loud. He was still staring out the window, and he waited to see what his 
brothers would say. They had always had the answers before, and if they 
didn’t, his Ada did.
	There was a soft knock on the door, and Elladan gasped again. 
Elrohir spoke, his voice tight, “Come in.”
	Glorfindel entered and crossed to the twins after glancing at 
Aragorn, who hadn’t even turned to see who was interrupting them. 
Glorfindel bent close to the twins and whispered to them. Then, after 
looking again at Aragorn’s back, he left, closing the door.
	Aragorn waited for another five minutes, them he turned and faced 
his brothers. They sat very close together, and held each others’ hands like 
frightened children. “Should I be afraid?” Aragorn asked at last, deciding 
he was more concerned about his emotions than the attack.
	Elrohir murmured, “It’s not a matter of what you should feel, Estel, 
but what you do feel.”
	Aragorn shook his head. That was no help. He told them so.
	“What do you feel?” Elrohir pursued. Elladan was staring at 
something over Aragorn’s shoulder that only he could see.
	“I don’t know. That’s the problem. I’m not scared, I don’t think, 
but I’m not shocked either, and I’m not angry.” He shook his head. “I 
haven’t felt anything since Halbarad healed me and made me hard.”
	“What?” Elladan demanded, his eyes snapping to Aragorn. He 
made as if to stand up, but Elrohir caught his arm.
	“I don’t think he meant to, but I wasn’t thinking like that then.” He 
had locked gazes with Elladan. “I pulled away because I was afraid to feel 
the same pleasure Lone Wolf gave me.  I didn’t want to shame myself in 
front of Halbarad.”
	“If you don’t feel anything, that’s all right, you know. There 
doesn’t have to be a strong reaction. Maybe you had all your reaction 
during and right after the attack,” Elrohir suggested.
	Aragorn glanced at him. “It is?” He closed his eyes, and relief 
crossed his face. “I was afraid when he hurt me- and angry, too- but I’m 
not now. It’s done.” He shook his head, as if he could hardly believe what 
he was saying.
	“Are you afraid of meeting him again?” Elrohir pursued.
	Aragorn shook his head. “I’ll be with the Rangers now, and they 
won’t let anything happen to me. And if I find myself alone, I’ll just watch 
myself, like I did with you when we were hunting in the woods.”
	“You trust them after being raped by one of their own?” Elladan 
asked.
	His foster brother looked to him again. “Yes. Halbarad and 
Malacai didn’t hurt me. I’ll trust all the Dunedain one at a time, as they 
prove themselves to me. Both Malacai and Halbarad had chances to rape 
me, and they didn’t, even though we were alone.” He caught Elladan’s 
gaze and held it. “Shouldn’t I?”
	“Yes,” Elrohir said at once.
	Aragorn waved the answer away. “Shouldn’t I, Elladan?” His eyes 
were very focused and intense, flashing with a need to know.
	“Yes, you should do it that way,” Elladan responded. He smiled 
sadly. “You’re lucky to be able to trust them.”
      He tried to get up again, but this time Aragorn stopped him with an 
impatient gesture. The young man’s grey eyes were slowly filling with a 
bitter knowledge.
      “Who hurt you, Elladan?”
      The elder twin hesitated, then answered in a whisper, “Southern 
men attacked me on the road when I was traveling from here to 
Lothlorien. This was a while ago.”
      Aragorn stood, breaking eye contact, and began to pace. “But you 
ride with the Dunedain to hunt! How can you act as though you’re afraid 
of men?”
      “I do fear most men, Estel; the Dunedain are an exception, and 
now, since one of their number has attacked you, I now know I must 
watch my back with them as well.”
      “Not with Halbarad,” Aragorn blurted. He added quickly, “or 
Malacai. They’re good men; good friends. I trust them.”
      Elladan smiled. “I’m glad,” he said genuinely. “I’m relieved you’re 
going with them, and that you’ll be protected until the time comes that 
you’re strong enough to do that on your own.”
      Elrohir spoke then, and his eyes were filled with denial, “Elladan, 
don’t say that. It’s always dangerous to go alone, Estel; sometimes you’re 
set upon by more than you can handle.” He shook his head. “I don’t want 
you to think that Elladan wasn’t strong enough; he was attacked by thirty 
men and knocked unconscious. When he woke up, he was in chains too 
strong to break.”
      “How did you escape?”
      Elladan stared beyond his brothers. “Elrohir and Glorfindel came 
after me when I didn’t appear in Lothlorien. I had set out only a day 
behind them, and they had waited, hoping to see me on the road. But when 
I didn’t come to Lothlorien, they were worried.”
      Aragorn walked to Elladan’s side and, grasping his shoulders, 
helped him to stand. “Elladan, I love you,” he whispered, and drew his 
brother against him.
      Elladan felt as though a giant stone had been lifted off his back. He 
leaned into the embrace, and felt Elrohir join it, supporting him. He began 
to laugh softly, and tears streamed down his cheeks. The shadow on his 
mind disappeared and he laughed louder, holding his brothers to him 
desperately as relief washed through him.
      
      Chapter Five: The Attack
      
	Halbarad climbed out of the bathtub and dried quickly. As 
comfortable as a bath in the House of Elrond had been, his mind was on 
other things. ‘How badly was he shocked? Will he get over this? I want 
him to recover from this…’
	He recalled what he had said to Elrond about wanting only what 
was best for Aragorn, and that something else touched his mind. Why 
exactly did he want Aragorn to be all right? He knew instinctively that he 
was beginning to love Aragorn- perhaps not in a romantic sense (maybe he 
only loved him as he loved Malacai), but he was starting to think 
otherwise- and he only hoped that he could hide his feelings, whatever 
their nature. Aragorn didn’t need someone coming on to him right now.
	Halbarad dressed quickly and padded in his bare feet into the next 
room. Malacai was stretched out on one of the two beds; he was fast 
asleep, his mouth gaping wide. More important to Halbarad than sleep had 
been a soak in a hot bath and some time alone to think things over. ‘And 
I’ve decided to hide my feelings, even if I figure them out, until Aragorn 
gives me some sign. For crying out loud, I don’t even know about his 
swordplay!’ Halbarad smiled at the slang; it was a choice of words that 
had amused him since he was a child. He pulled his socks on quickly and 
slipped into his boots.
      A knock came on the door, and Malacai came awake without a 
sound, sitting up at once. Halbarad smiled at his friend and crossed to the 
door, thinking, ‘It’s probably an elf; no man can walk that quietly.’ 
Besides, if he guessed it was an elf, the odds were in his favor, weren’t 
they?
      He opened the door, and blinked when he saw Aragorn standing 
there. The twin sons of Elrond stood close behind him, but Halbarad had 
eyes only for the young man that stood in his doorway. He was clean-
shaven and freshly bathed, and he looked calmer than Halbarad had yet 
seen him, except perhaps that morning when he’d awoken in Bree. 
Halbarad smiled at Aragorn. He sensed Malacai stand and cross the room 
and stop nearby.
      “Will you join us for dinner?” Aragorn asked.
      Halbarad nodded. “Of course.” Aragorn stepped back, and the two 
men followed him down the corridor. The sons of Elrond nodded to them, 
but didn’t speak, and they led the way, striding quickly. Aragorn hung 
back, and the other two stayed with him.
      “We can leave Rivendell in the morning,” Aragorn announced 
without preamble. “I’m fine now.” He blushed a little. “Thank you for 
helping me to get home.”
      Halbarad couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “I’m only glad we found 
you.”
      “Will you resume your hunt for Lone- for Raydir?”
      “We’ll take you to the Dunedain camp first,” Halbarad answered 
instantly.
      “Nay, I want to travel with you. And Elladan and Elrohir wish to 
help you find him as well. ‘Tis a matter of honor with them.”
      Halbarad considered telling him that he couldn't hunt with them, 
but then he thought, 'I can't just refuse him. He's Arathorn's son… and he's 
gorgeous.' He blushed flame-red at the thought.
      "What's wrong?" Aragorn asked, and he smiled a little, teasing as 
he would with his brothers.
      Halbarad turned his gaze away. “‘Tis nothing. I am glad you will 
be journeying with us.”
      Aragorn felt a slight stirring, and he was too inexperienced, and the 
feeling was to faint, to know of this feeling came from his mind or his 
body. He said hastily. “Let’s hurry or Elladan and Elrohir will leave 
nothing for us.”
      In the dining hall, every elf rose to greet them, calling to Aragorn 
to come and sit with them. There weren’t any shadows of question on their 
faces, and Aragorn forgot the strange feeling as he joined his family. 
‘Wherever I roam,’ he thought contentedly, ‘Imladris will always be 
where my heart dwells.’ Then he made a wry face at the poetry flitting 
through his mind, and turned his attention to more important things, like 
making sure the twins didn’t eat everything before he even got a taste.
***
	The next morning, Aragorn, Malacai, Halbarad, Elladan and 
Elrohir were sent off by the elves. Glorfindel held Elrohir for a moment, 
then bid him away with a blessing kiss on his forehead. Elrond hugged 
Aragorn, and murmured, “You are stronger now than when you first left. 
Continue to grow, my son; I am proud of you.”
	The five of them disappeared into the woods. The elves of 
Rivendell watched them, then turned back towards the buildings.
	Elrond spoke softly to Glorfindel. “Do you fear for them?”
	“Not for Elrohir.”
	“For Elladan then? Or Aragorn?”
	“Both.” Glorfindel balled his hands into fists.
	“You could have gone with them.”
	“Elladan and Elrohir need time together.”
	“You share Elrohir with his brother,” Elrond murmured. “You 
share him freely.”
	“What else is there for me to do? I love them both, Elrohir as my 
husband and Elladan as the tiny elf I used to rock to sleep sometimes.” He 
smiled slightly at Elrond. “In the runnings of the world, my friend, my 
feelings matter little.” Then he walked away, and Elrond, unable to 
console his friend, let him go.
***
	That night, as the fire died, Halbarad announced he would be 
taking first watch. The twins didn’t object, but went at once to their 
blankets. Malacai rolled over in his own blankets and slept. But Aragorn 
rose and came to sit beside Halbarad. “I can watch if you want to sleep,” 
he offered. “I’ve done it before with my brothers.”
	Halbarad shook his head. “It’s best that you sleep while you can.”
	Aragorn felt offended, and couldn’t hide it. “I’m not a child; I can 
watch just as easily as you can.”
	“True, but I called first watch,” Halbarad answered, his voice calm. 
“Maybe later you can take watch. I’m not going to stay like this the whole 
night.”
	Aragorn nodded, accepting this, and thinking how silly he was 
being. There was no reason not to trust Halbarad; the man’s honesty aside, 
his brothers were here. The young man curled up in his blanket and fell 
asleep.
	He awoke to the sound of a piercing whistle, and then a cry of 
pain. Aragorn sat up, and felt for the sword at his side. He drew it even 
before he saw the attacker. It was still dark- the sun hadn’t even made a 
dim light in the east yet- but he knew the man when he saw him.
	Raydir shot another arrow, catching Malacai in the leg.
	Then an arrow drove the bow out of the rapist’s hands, and 
Aragorn saw Elladan and Elrohir standing side-by-side, bows raised, 
identical looks of fury in their silver eyes. Aragorn couldn’t tell which of 
them had shot the arrow because they both had their bows drawn back and 
ready. Another example of the speed of the elves.
	Then arrows flew from every direction, and before Aragorn’s eyes, 
the twins were on the ground. Aragorn hadn’t seen them get hit, but his 
anger yanked him to his feet instantly, and he charged towards the four 
men that stood a little beyond the twins.
	“No!” Halbarad shouted. “Wait!”
	Something stabbed into Aragorn’s lower leg, and the young man 
fell forward, groaning. This was pain he’d felt before, and so he ground 
his teeth together and struggled to sit up.
	Someone stepped close to him and then a blade was pressed lightly 
against the delicate skin of Aragorn’s throat. “Don’t move,” Raydir 
breathed in his ear. Then something struck him on the back of his neck, 
and Aragorn blacked out.
***
	He came slowly back to reality, feeling the stiffness in arms that 
had been held immobile too long. Aragorn tried to pull them loose, and 
found himself trussed as neatly as a wild turkey. He groaned and turned 
his head, forcing his eyes open. Elladan, Elrohir, Halbarad and Malacai 
were bound in similar positions. All of them had been tied to saplings that 
grew at the edge of a clearing. Halbarad and Malacai still seemed to be 
unconscious, but his brothers were awake. Elrohir sported a nasty cut on 
his forehead, and Elladan’s arm was bleeding. There was no sign of the 
arrow, but Aragorn knew that was what had caused the wound.
	Elrohir turned his head, and smiled weakly at Aragorn. There was 
only a ghost of pain in his eyes, but it was there. He glanced left at 
Elladan, then back at Aragorn, and now Aragorn saw the fear in his eyes. 
He mouthed, “They were looking at him.”
	Aragorn’s stomach turned, and he remembered the fear he’d seen 
in Elladan’s eyes. ‘I won’t let Raydir or anyone else that’s with him hurt 
my brother,’ he vowed with the surety that only young men and women 
can seem to possess.
	He heard footsteps, and then six men walked into the clearing. 
Raydir led them, and he was swaggering- even too much for cockiness. 
‘He’s drunk,’ Aragorn thought. ‘Maybe we can use that. If he and the 
others are drunk enough…’
	“You filthy, sick son of a bitch!” Malacai exclaimed, or tried to. 
His voice was slurred, and Aragorn glanced at him. There was an ugly 
bruise on his temple, and he looked as though he might pass out at any 
moment.
	Raydir walked towards him, stood just a little further back than 
was strictly necessary (as if he were still afraid of the Ranger) and spat at 
him. The spittle hit Malacai on the cheek.
	“Nickeh,” said Halbarad then, speaking to one of the other men, 
“you don’t have to do this.” He gestured with his head towards Aragorn. 
“It’s not hopeless, my friend. This is Aragorn, Arathorn’s son. He’s come 
back to us at last. He can help us set things right. He’ll help us fight the 
servants of the Enemy. We’ll have a chief again.”
	The man he was speaking to, really little more than a boy, blushed 
and looked down.
	Raydir stepped between them. “Shut up,” he snarled at Halbarad, 
still not moving close.
	Halbarad raised his voice. “Nickeh, Stenva, Kedi, Morten, 
Benshale, listen to me! There is still time for you to redeem your honor! 
There is still time for-”
	Raydir drew his bow and fitted an arrow to it. But instead of 
pointing at Halbarad, he was pointing it at Aragorn. “Shut up!” he roared. 
“I mean it.”
	Halbarad fell silent, but his eyes still spoke volumes to the other 
five men behind Raydir.
	Slowly, Raydir lowered the weapon. He smiled at Aragorn. “We 
meet again, Strider. Did you miss me?”
	Aragorn was tempted to answer, but a side-glance at Elrohir’s 
calm, collected face was enough to silence him. ‘I won’t shame myself or 
my brothers by sounding like a child.’
	Raydir began to pace in front of his five prisoners. He gazed at 
each of them in turn, as if assessing them.
	‘And that’s just what he is doing,’ Halbarad thought bitterly. ‘He 
wants to know who is weak and who is strong.’ He too, glanced at 
Aragorn, then at the sons of Elrond. He didn’t need to look at Malacai to 
know that his friend was practically unbreakable, and thus safe from 
Raydir’s torture. When he tried Aragorn with his eyes, he found his chief 
strong and ready, if a little short-fused. Elrohir seemed composed and 
unflappable. But Elladan dropped his eyes when Raydir stared at him, and 
when the man took a step closer, the elder twin actually flinched. ‘He, 
then, will be Raydir’s target. Maybe he will give us a moment before he 
hurts Elladan. We can build him up, strengthen him somehow.’ Halbarad 
didn’t understand how the son of Elrond, ancient beyond the reckoning of 
men, could be so undone by a look, but he saw the evidence before him. 
‘Is Elladan a coward? No; I’ve seen him fight too many times to believe 
that. Somehow, Raydir reminds him of something horrifying, and Elladan 
cannot escape from the shadow it casts.’
	He shifted his eyes quickly to the other five Rangers. These were 
men he’d trusted, though sometimes he saw the rebellion in their eyes. 
He’d thought them, after years of toil, fully committed to the tasks the 
Dunedain had to complete. He locked eyes with Nickeh, easily the most 
nervous of the five, and nodded, as though he understood what the boy-
man was thinking. Nickeh again looked away. Then Halbarad became 
aware of Aragorn, and saw that he, too, was gazing at one of the five- 
Morten. The new Dunadan mouthed, “You can be redeemed; if you help 
us, I’ll forget all that has happened here.”
	“Which one are you?” Raydir asked suddenly, making the three 
bound men look towards him. Elrohir, too, was looking, and his teeth were 
bared. “What’s your name, pretty one?” Raydir pursued.
	Elladan kept silent.
	Raydir took a step closer. “My name is Lone Wolf. I’m a friend of 
Aragorn’s. We’ve even shared a bed.”
	For an instant, Elladan’s expression changed from one of fear to 
one of anger. “You raped him,” he growled. “Don’t pretend any 
friendship; he’s too good for you.”
	Lone Wolf closed the distance between them and caught Elladan’s 
cheek in his palm. Elladan froze, his eyes reverting to their former cast. 
“He’s only a whore, just as you are.” He bent forward and kissed Elladan 
hard.
	“Leave him alone!” Aragorn cried, but he was drowned out by 
Elrohir’s wordless cry of rage.
	Lone Wolf pulled away a little and he seemed a little afraid of 
Elrohir. But then he plastered a smile on his face. “Do you want it too, 
Beauty?”
	“Elladan, don’t let him win! Fight him!” Elrohir shouted in Elvish.
	Lone Wolf laughed. “Do you hope I can’t speak that language? All 
the Dunedain are made to learn it when they’re children.” He turned back 
to Elladan. “So you’re the older one. The first twin.” He bent forward 
again and kissed Elladan once more. His right hand stayed on Elladan’s 
cheek, but his left strayed down to Elladan’s crotch.
	“Don’t let him dishonor one of the Firstborn!” Aragorn cried 
desperately to the five men.
	Lone Wolf’s head snapped up and his eyes were filled with a dark 
fire. “Silence! Or I’ll kill one of your friends.” He glanced meaningfully at 
Elrohir. Then he turned to the men he’d convinced to help him. “You 
wanted a reward, and I told you you’d find it in their flesh. Those that 
want to, choose a prize. You’ll have to share, but-” he gestured at Elladan- 
“I’ll be sending this one around shortly, and he alone’s worth all the 
trouble, I think. A beauty above any we’ve seen in all our long years 
wandering the wilds.”
	Benshale stepped forward and made as if to touch Elrohir, who 
snapped at him, catching the man’s middle finger in his mouth. Elrohir 
twisted his head, and Benshale howled, hitting Elrohir with his other hand 
three times before the second son of Elrond would deem to release him. 
He stepped back, gasping and holding his third finger.
	Lone Wolf had been watching this. “He’ll need a little breaking in, 
I think. Why don’t you use the whip on him?” He, meanwhile, had untied 
Elladan, spun him around swiftly so his face was against the sapling, and 
rebound him. Elladan stared in horror at Elrohir, but his eyes, for all their 
anger at what Elrohir was about to endure, were still too consumed by 
fear.
	Now Lone Wolf untied Elladan’s britches and dragged them down 
his legs, then pulled his leggings down as well. Then the man yanked 
down his own pants and began to rub his engorged, leaking cock against 
Elladan’s backside.
	Aragorn screamed, “Elladan! Elladan! Please, Lone Wolf, please 
don’t hurt him! Take me instead! Please! Please!”
	Stenva punched him. “Shut up, whelp.” He was working with 
Aragorn’s pants as he spoke. Aragorn tired to lunge out with his teeth, but 
Stenva moved too quickly for him.
	Then the crack of a whip split the air. Elrohir’s ‘breaking’ had 
begun.
	None of the five dared to touch Halbarad or Malacai; all knew 
these two to be men who had the fighting ability and tenacity equivalent to 
that of lionesses protecting their cubs. Halbarad and Malacai didn’t shout; 
they knew it would only fuel Lone Wolf’s lust. Instead, they strained at 
their bonds.
	“Aragorn,” said Halbarad when the younger man had stopped 
screaming to draw breath, “concentrate on something you can change 
instead of something you can’t… at least not yet.” When Aragorn glanced 
at him in confusion and pain mixed, Halbarad pulled at the ropes by way 
of demonstration; Aragorn fell silent, and set to work. 
***
      Lone Wolf drove into Elladan savagely then, and Elladan sobbed.
      “How is it, pretty one?” Lone Wolf panted. “Enjoy it while you 
can; no one but a rapist would willingly enter you; you’re too weak and 
timid for that. This is the only sex you’ll ever get, my pretty one, so enjoy 
it while it’s here.” He swept aside Elladan’s hair and licked his ear. 
“Mmmm… you taste good. I might even consider making you a 
permanent addition to my party if you show yourself accepting and 
pleasurable.” He began to suck on Elladan’s neck. “I’ll mark you as mine, 
and you’ll stay with me forever. How does that sound? I’ll lone you out to 
my friends, but in the end you’ll always come back to me for what you 
really need.” He bit Elladan’s neck, leaving a love-bite. “I might even be 
persuaded to give you the love you need.” All this time, he had been 
thrusting in, and now he went in again, angling so as to scrape the 
sensitive gland inside the shivering elf.
      Elladan couldn’t help it: he moaned, but it was impossible to tell if 
he moaned from fear, pain or pleasure. Only he knew for sure. 
	“No!” Elrohir screamed, unable to stop himself. “Please! Please!” 
His eyes showed clearly that he would rather die than see Elladan tortured. 
When he and Glorfindel had come upon the injured, violated elf, they’d 
made short work of his attackers, but it hadn’t seemed enough, somehow. 
Death, at least the swift death-by-arrow they’d been given, had been too 
good for those men. Nothing short of hell-fire, Elrohir suspected, was too 
good for those men, and for Raydir.
	And the condition Elladan had been in as he lay, broken, on the 
floor of the small cabin- ‘No. I won’t think about that now. There are 
enough horrors to concentrate on without remembering that.’
	Lone Wolf uttered a breathy laugh as he came inside Elladan in a 
hot rush. “He’s mine, Beauty, and you’ll just have to resign yourself to 
that.” He pulled out of Elladan and stroked the twin’s head. “Relax now, 
my treasure. You did very well.” He kissed Elladan’s ear again and left 
him standing there, his pants and leggings pooled around his feet. “Who 
else wants to spend a little time with this one?” he called as he pulled his 
own britches back into place. All but Nickeh started forward. Lone Wolf 
laughed. “One at a time, my friends! You’ll all get a chance. Stenva, you 
first, since you like it rough and I’m sure this one’s still got strength 
enough to take you.”
	When Stenva shoved his way into Elladan’s already-abused hole, 
the Elda groaned and bowed his head. His eyes were shining with tears, 
but as yet he didn’t let them fall.
	Then Lone Wolf came to stand in front of Aragorn, and demanded 
the young man’s attention. “I now have to decide what to do with rest of 
you,” he said thoughtfully. “I know I can’t let one live.” He jerked a 
thumb at Elrohir. “And I probably should end your miserable existence as 
well,” he said, looking at both Halbarad and Malacai. “If I don’t, I’ll have 
all two hundred damned Rangers on my heel… but what to do with you?” 
he asked, gazing at Aragorn. “You proved yourself teachable before; 
maybe you still are. Maybe these two fools haven’t ruined you yet.”
	Aragorn was sorely tempted to answer with something like, “Kiss 
my ass,” but he answered, “I’m not the idiot you take me for, Raydir. I and 
my father before me are descended from the kings of Numenor. Release 
all here and I and my people will stop hunting you. On my word.”
	Raydir didn’t answer immediately, and so Aragorn continued:
	“And if you kill any here, or take us captive, the Dunedain will 
never stop hunting you. And they’ll find you, for they won’t be alone. All 
the elves of Imladris, Mirkwood and Lothlorien will hunt you as well; to 
the ends of Middle-Earth they’ll hunt you, and you’ll never escape from 
their shadow.” ‘And,’ his eyes said plainly, ‘if I’m alive during your flight, 
I’ll make sure there’s lots of sign for them to follow; so much that you’ll 
never be able to cover it all.’
	If the situation had been less dire, Halbarad thought, he would 
have cheered. As it was, his heart glowed to hear Aragorn sound so much 
like his grey-eyed, steel-willed father.
	Raydir made an abortive gesture to take out his knife. His hand fell 
to his side instead. His lips pulled back into a silent snarl.
	“Arathorn visits us again,” Malacai breathed, his eyes dancing. The 
bruise on his temple looked worse than ever, and his eyes were having 
trouble focusing, but he still clung to the world of the waking with a 
tenacity that did both he and his father proud. ‘No slouch is Malacai, son 
of Mordecai,’ Halbarad thought.
	Unfortunately, Malacai provided Raydir with a distraction. He 
turned away from Aragorn’s piercing gaze and said to the upstart Ranger, 
who was, in fact, younger than he was, “Do you want to die now? Is that 
why you speak?”
	Malacai favored him with a gallows grin, but didn’t answer.
	At that moment, Stenva came with a howl of desire, and Elladan 
cried out, though more softly, and this time the pain in his voice was easy 
to hear.	
	“My turn!” cried Benshale as Stenva stumbled back, yanking up 
his pants.
	“Release us,” Aragorn repeated then, as much to steady himself 
(and his temper, which was close to the snapping point) as much as to 
make Raydir face him again, “and I won’t give chase.”
	“If I kill you, how will you give chase?” Raydir mocked.
	“Do you believe in ghosts?”
	Raydir laughed. ‘You’re nothing but a child after all,’ that laugh 
said.
	“If you don’t, you’re a fool who knows nothing of the stories of 
your own people,” Aragorn responded, unruffled. “I swear this to you 
now: if you kill anyone here, I won’t rest until you’re dead.”
	Raydir took an involuntary step back, and turned his back on 
Aragorn. He meant to look to the men he’d called for strength- or at least 
look at them until he could put the cold fire in Aragorn’s eyes out of his 
mind- but he was shocked when he saw that Nickeh wasn’t among the 
others that were watching Benshale have his way with the elf from 
Rivendell. Darting a glance around, Lone Wolf saw that Nickeh wasn’t 
anywhere nearby. He swore.
	Those he’d brought with him looked at him, even Benshale, who 
had just finished and was stepping back from Elladan unsteadily. “What is 
it?” Morten asked.
	“He’s gone; that yellow-bellied rat’s ass Nickeh has run.”
	Benshale pulled his britches up fast when he heard that. “He’ll 
have gone to tell the Rangers, then.” He made as if to run himself, but 
Kedi caught his shoulder.
	“Don’t be a coward,” Kedi growled. “They won’t be here right 
away. We still have time.”
	“Yes, but only time enough to decide what to do, do it, and leave,” 
Raydir said. He pointed at Elladan. “Unite him, dress him and then tie his 
hands in front of him. He’ll run with us.” He watched while they did this; 
Elladan gave no resistance- he still seemed too shocked to do anything- 
and then Lone Wolf turned towards Elrohir. “I’ll have to end your 
miserable little life now, Beauty.” He smiled sadly. “If only you’d shown 
yourself teachable.” He drew a knife and stepped around Elrohir so that he 
was standing behind him. He bent his head, brushing Elrohir’s hair aside 
so he could see his neck.
	“If you kill him-” Aragorn began.
	“If I simply leave him here, they’ll find us even faster,” Raydir 
grunted.
***
	The man Stenva was stroking Elladan’s neck, arms and hair as he 
watched Raydir find the right place on Elrohir’s neck that would make 
killing easiest. He crooned into the twin’s ear, “When he’s done, we’ll all 
take us a little run. You’ll get good and hot- and I’ll take you again like 
that when the day’s done. I like ‘em hot, and I like ‘em even better when 
they’re gasping and tossing their silky hair of their eyes.”
	Elladan didn’t feel anything from the man behind him, holding him 
loosely with an arm across his chest. They had bound Elladan’s hands, but 
none too securely, and now Elladan noticed this for the first time as he 
watched Raydir. He didn’t even dare look into Elrohir’s eyes, knowing he 
would see accusation. Instead, he thought of the chances of reaching his 
brother in time, decided there was more than a fair chance he’d make it, 
and moved. He brought his foot up and back and kicked Stenva in the 
crotch. He wriggled free of the weakened arm and flung off the rope. The 
other men around him were coming to life, but too slowly. Orcs moved 
faster than they did, and orcs were something Elladan knew well. He leapt 
across the distance, snagging a knife from one of the men who wanted to 
use it on him as he passed (he cut his hand a little, but took no notice of 
this) and brought the blade up in an arc. He slashed down, praying Elrohir 
wouldn’t move at the last moment, and cut at the juncture between 
Raydir’s neck and shoulder. His strength was such that the knife cut all the 
way down to the bone before Elladan registered that he’d hit his mark.
	Raydir fell back, screaming, his knife falling from his shocked 
fingers, even though Elladan hadn’t cut his knife-arm. ‘Ah, so you’re not a 
Ranger, even one in exile,’ Elladan thought as he cut Elrohir’s bonds with 
two swift strokes.  ‘Any Ranger would know how to keep hold of his 
weapon.’
	“Elladan, look out!”
	Elladan whirled and caught the sword within an inch of his face on 
the hilt of his knife. Elrohir was the one who had called out, and now he 
was struggling to be free of the ropes that still clung to him and slowed his 
movements.
	The other men came closer, seeing that Elladan, though swift, was 
armed only with a knife. They all had swords, and weren’t afraid to use 
them. They lunged, grinning. Elladan ducked and dodged and circled, ever 
retreating, and wished for a weapon with some reach to it, like one of the 
swords that sought his flesh.
	Elrohir grabbed one of the men as he went past and pilfered his 
twos knives and his sword before the man could so much as react to being 
seized. Elrohir snapped the man’s neck (it was Morten) and then shouted, 
“Elladan, here!” He tossed the sword; it arced, turning and shimmering, 
and Elladan caught it easily. With the sword in his right hand and the knife 
in his left, Elladan began to attack instead of defending only. He threw the 
knife with accuracy, and the nearest man died with the blade in his chest. 
But there was no time to grab up the man’s sword and toss it to Elrohir; 
his other attackers pressed too close. 
	But Elrohir saw where the weapons of the captured five and been 
thrown, and he ran there, knowing the men were all concerned with 
Elladan. ‘Morons,’ Elrohir thought. ‘Don’t they realize that sword had to 
come from somewhere?’ He caught up his bow and arrows, but stopped 
when he heard a scream.
	He spun around, and saw that Raydir, who had pounced upon 
another knife, had just stabbed Halbarad in the back. It was Aragorn who 
had screamed.
	Elrohir put an arrow right in Raydir’s gaping, grinning mouth, and 
as the man fell, the younger son of Elrond shot the ropes off Aragorn’s 
wrists. (‘Your skill will be the undoing of every orc, Uruk-hai and man 
you ever meet,’ Elladan had told him once.)
	Aragorn went immediately to Halbarad, grabbed up the knife that 
hadn’t stuck in Halbarad’s flesh, but only ripped it, and cut the man free. 
He sat Halbarad down, removed Halbarad’s cloak and shirt, then pressed 
the clean back of the shirt to the wound. His arm encircled Halbarad’s 
chest, and he held the other man close.
	Elrohir shot Malacai’s bonds off, but Malacai crumpled to the 
ground: he’d finally lost his battle with unconsciousness. Then the son of 
Elrond turned to see how his brother was doing. Two of the remaining 
three ex-Rangers were dead, and as the last turned to flee, Elrohir shot him 
shamelessly in the back. ‘I’ll not shoot you with honor because you don’t 
have any,’ he thought. It was Stenva he’d taken from behind, and Elrohir 
was glad of this. He stepped towards Elladan, who had dropped his sword, 
and seemed stunned, and thought, ‘Just like with the Southern men, these 
here died too quickly for my taste.’
	Another voice rose in his head, and Elrohir also recognized this 
one. ‘Your anger will be the death of you, or at least of your joy, Elrohir, 
my love. Let it go. Isn’t it enough that all you love are safe?’
	As if Glorfindel were right there beside him, Elrohir nodded. “I’ll 
let it be enough,” he whispered, even though it was still a struggle to speak 
those words.
	Elladan came alive suddenly and walked briskly towards the three 
Rangers. Elrohir also came near, and they stood, side by side, as Aragorn 
at last slowed the bleeding.
	“I’ll need to sew this,” he said, sensing that they were standing 
near. “In Malacai’s cloak there is needle and thread. Can you get it?”
	Elrohir bent, touching Malacai’s neck briefly to make he was still 
alive- he was, his heart beating strong- and found the items quickly. He 
handed then to Aragorn, who let the shirt fall. He had taken herbs from the 
pouch at his belt, and he pressed them into the wound. Then he began to 
sew up the wound swiftly. Elladan had knelt to take Halbarad’s 
unconscious weight so that Aragorn could have both hands to work with.
	Elrohir went to Malacai, and a quiet half-hour passed in which the 
two elves and their foster brother worked over the two fallen Rangers. 

Chapter Six: The Question

	Halbarad awoke to the sound of someone singing a quiet, restful 
song in a soft baritone. He had faint memories of being fed and given cool 
water, then falling back to sleep again. He thought some of these times 
Aragorn had been with him, and other times it had (maybe) been one of 
the twins… or even one of the Rangers. ‘How did they get hear?’ His 
wound- which hadn’t been deep, but very painful- throbbed in his back, 
and he groaned and tried to roll onto his side.
	“Stop that, you silly Ranger,” grunted a fatherly voice, and a firm 
hand on his shoulder held him on his back.
	Halbarad forced his eyes to focus, and saw Aragorn smiling down 
at him.
	‘Why does he sound fatherly? He’s younger than I am!’ All 
Halbarad could do, though, was moan in pain.
	“Lay still. I’ll tend to your back in a minute, but you need to eat 
first.” He produced a bowl that looked as though it had stew in it.
      Ranger-stew was mostly terrible stuff; hunters they were, cooks 
they were not. Halbarad pulled a face and tried to turn his head away.
      “I made this myself- Lord Glorfindel’s recipe- and you’re going to 
at least try it.” Aragorn dipped a spoon in and brought it to Halbarad’s 
mouth. “Open up. Your chief commands you.” His voice was light, and 
his eyes were twinkling, but deep in their depths was a spark of concern. 
There had been times over the past week that both Halbarad and Malacai 
had seemed to be on the point of death.
      Halbarad opened his mouth and let the spoon dribble a little of the 
thick stuff into it. ‘I’m going to hate this,’ he thought. ‘I’m going to-’
      Flavor blossomed inside him, and he swallowed, but only because 
of reflex. “Ahh… Aragorn…”
      Aragorn laughed, and the spark of fear disappeared. “You like his 
recipe then?” He held out another spoonful.
      Halbarad drank it down before answering. “Yes, yes I love it… 
Give my thanks to Glorfindel… the elves know how to cook. And thanks 
to you as well.”
      “Not all,” Aragorn answered. “My brother can’t boil eggs.” He 
held out another spoonful.
      When the bowl was empty, Halbarad yawned.
      “You can’t sleep just yet,” Aragorn told him. “I’m going to help 
you roll over.” He set the bowl aside and bent forward. “Put your hands on 
my shoulders.”
      Halbarad obeyed, and felt a warm rush of something strong come 
through his hands. He gasped slightly.
      Aragorn smiled gently. “What’s wrong?” His eyes said plainly that 
he knew Halbarad wasn’t in pain.
      “I, uh-” He’d just realized that the warm feeling he’d felt was the 
healing power Aragorn (and all his line before him) carried in their blood. 
“I don’t need your healing,” he said, more aggressively than he’d 
intended.
      Aragorn hesitated, then answered, “I didn’t realize I was using it.” 
He shook his head. “Ada- Lord Elrond said I wouldn’t develop my healing 
abilities until I needed to.” He smiled a little timidly. “I guess I need 
them.”
      His smile and hesitant speech reminded Halbarad how young the 
son of Arathorn really was, despite all that he’d already been through. 
‘He’s only six years younger than I am,’ Halbarad reminded himself. “I’m 
sorry I snapped. I just wasn’t expecting to feel your healing… I’ve heard 
of it, but never felt it.”
      Aragorn smiled again. “It’s all right.”
      Halbarad hadn’t removed his hands from Aragorn’s shoulders; 
now Aragorn helped the older man to take off his shirt. Then Aragorn 
carefully helped him to lie down on his stomach. “All right,” Aragorn 
murmured, “I’m going to change your bandages.” He set to work… and 
though Halbarad’s wound complained loudly at the touch, Halbarad 
himself was lost to pleasure.
      “Who was singing?” Halbarad asked, still feeling that warmth, 
though it wasn’t as strong as before.
      “That was me,” Aragorn answered, and he blushed a little.
      Aragorn tended; Halbarad sighed contentedly as warmth ran 
through him. ‘There’s no question any more: I love Aragorn. I love him 
more than anything. I want to be with him for the rest of my life… But I 
still can’t tell him. Boy or man, helpless or strong, I don’t think he’s ready 
for me.’ He closed his eyes and sank deeper as Aragorn’s healing worked 
through him. 
***
      Aragorn closed his eyes and smiled. He felt Halbarad’s warmth 
come up through his hands. This wasn’t the power of healing, but 
something much better: trust.
      ‘I think I could almost love you,’ he thought at the back of 
Halbarad’s head. ‘I don’t know if I’m allowed to; I think I’m supposed to 
have children to “carry on the line” but if I can, I might confess to you.’
***
      When Halbarad was asleep again, Aragorn went to the fire and sat 
beside Mordecai. The Rangers had arrived the night after Raydir and the 
others had been killed, and helped to tend to their two friends. They had 
all smiled at Aragorn, and nodded to the twins. Now, all of them sat 
around a comfortably-burning fire.
      “How is he?” asked Mordecai, Malacai’s father as Aragorn sat 
down.
      “Getting better,” Aragorn answered. “Malacai?”
      “Resting easily.” Mordecai was looking up at the sky. “We should 
be moving on tomorrow morning, or, by the latest, by the afternoon.”
      Aragorn nodded. ‘If I’m supposed to be the chief of all these 
people-’ there were women and children among the men- ‘when will I 
start making these decisions? And how does he know when to make them, 
and how?’
      Mordecai smiled at him, and Aragorn had the feeling he was being 
read again. “You’ll learn, Aragorn.” He stood. “I’ll be back in a little 
while.”
      Aragorn was about to get up and wander about a bit, get to know a 
few more of the people around him, maybe, when a hand touched his 
shoulder. He looked up and smiled at Elladan. Elrohir stood beside his 
brother.
      “We’re going to go back to Imladris tonight,” Elladan told him.
      Aragorn stood. Had they heard Mordecai’s words? He smiled. 
“Don’t worry about me; everything will be fine. And tell Ada that too, 
please.” He felt a desire to see them gone; he wanted to be wholly on his 
own, but he also felt guilty for that wish.
      Elrohir laughed. “You wish us departed already?” he teased, and 
Aragorn colored slightly. “It’s all right; we only stayed to make sure you 
were comfortable. Now that you are, I have a husband to get back to, and 
if Elladan doesn’t start helping Ada with all his administrative work, he’ll 
soon be buried in it.”
      Elladan put his hands on either side of Aragorn’s face, leaned 
forward and kissed his foster brother’s forehead. “Many blessings, Estel.”
      Aragorn returned the gesture, then Elrohir also kissed him.
      “We’ll ride with the Dunedain again, but probably not until next 
spring. By then, you’ll be an old hat at this,” the younger twin said.
      Aragorn walked his brothers to their horses and watched them 
away. Then, smiling quietly to himself, he returned to the fire, and to the 
Dunedain.
      ***
      The next morning (it was a little chilly, but this didn’t bother the 
Rangers) Malacai opened his eyes. He’d been in and out all week, though 
more awake than Halbarad. Now he sat up slowly, took the measure of 
himself and decided his head wasn’t reeling very badly. He looked around 
and saw Halbarad lying near by. He stood up and went to his friend. 
Carefully, he knelt down (his balance was still a little off, but soon that, 
too, would come back) and smiled. Halbarad’s eyes were open.
      Malacai was about to say something, but then he hesitated. 
Halbarad’s eyes were open, yes, but they weren’t looking at his long-time 
friend. Malacai turned quickly and almost laughed. His friend was gazing 
at Aragorn, who hunkered next to the fire. The new Ranger was tending a 
pot of something over the fire.
      “He makes incredible stew,” Halbarad murmured, sounding dazed.
      Now Malacai did laugh. “I’m sure; he’s been doing it all week, 
with only a little help from the twins.” His voice was gently mocking. 
“And what do you think of his face? His voice?”
      Halbarad groaned. “I-I…” He fell silent, and shrugged helplessly. 
He was blushing fainly.
      Malacai chuckled very softly. “Will you tell him soon, or should 
I?”
      Halbarad put his head in his hands. “Malacai, please don’t.”
      Malacai shook his head. “I won’t; at least not yet. But I think you 
should.”
      They both heard the footsteps, and looked up. Aragorn was 
approaching with two bowls. “Here’s your breakfast, you two invalids.”
      Malacai smiled. “We’re not invalids; we’re lay-abouts taking 
advantage of your hospitality.” He took one of the bowls. “We’ll keep 
getting away with this as long as possible; as long as you’ll let us.”
      For some reason, this made Halbarad blush.
      Aragorn knelt beside him and held the bowl out. Halbarad stared at 
the bowl so he didn’t have to look at Aragorn’s face. He took it and smiled 
weakly at the porridge.
      Malacai got up and left the two alone. He snuck to the fire and 
passed the word around for all the Dunedain to turn their backs on the two 
to give them a tiny bit of privacy.
      “Elladan and Elrohir have left,” Aragorn said then. “They left just 
after you fell asleep.”
      “That’s well,” Halbarad mumbled, taking the spoon blindly that 
Aragorn offered him. “Lord Elrond will be worried.”
      “He knows they fight well.”
      “We almost all died,” Halbarad said; he didn’t want to think about 
death, but better death than life- and whatever it held with this man before 
him.
      Aragorn shook his head. “What comes will come.” He shifted his 
position and sat beside Halbarad- closer, perhaps, than was strictly 
necessary. When Aragorn was a child, his ada, his brothers and even 
Glorfindel had told him that he was too impetuous and that he was also 
always in a hurry. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Estel had asked. ‘I’m not saying 
you shouldn’t, but you must also learn discretion,’ Elrond had answered. 
‘If you take some things slow, they’re sweeter,’ Elrohir had replied. ‘In a 
world of so much that needs to get right now, why would you add even 
one more thing to that list?’ Elladan had asked. And Glorfindel had merely 
shaken his head. ‘Press the things that need pressing and let the others take 
care of themselves.’ This last was Aragorn’s favorite answer, because it 
meant he could use force and speed if necessary. Now, sitting beside 
Halbarad, Aragorn judged he had to hurry things along a little. He wasn’t 
afraid; exultant was a better word, and he couldn’t see why the two of 
them didn’t just confess their love and get on with it. ‘After all, Elrohir 
and Glorfindel are happy; why can’t we be?’ He didn’t think of Celebrain 
leaving his ada, and if he had he would have dismissed it. With the single-
mindedness of young, Aragorn clung to what could forward his cause and 
let everything else go.
      “Halbarad, you once told me that you wield your sword with your 
right hand only. I want to know if you would wield it with me.” He spoke 
in a measured tone, though every fiber of his being shouted at him to 
speak very fast and get it over with. Aragorn didn’t want to have to repeat 
himself. He’d feel very foolish doing it. Now he waited, staring at the 
crown of Halbarad’s head. There was no sense of impending 
disappointment; like when he played quick-chess (where you only had a 
minute to make each move) with his brothers, Aragorn felt no fear of what 
this more experienced man might do in response to his abrupt move. The 
one thing Aragorn had to restrain himself from was touching Halbarad as 
he spoke. Elves were very touch-oriented beings, and Aragorn had 
developed their habits, but he didn’t yet know if Halbarad would see this 
as a push or a signal to ‘hurry up and decide!’ Thus, he sat still and tried 
not to show that he was battling his need for physical contact.
      Halbarad, in his turn, only sat and gaped at the porridge Aragorn 
had given him. “I-I…” Just as he had done with Malacai, Halbarad found 
his voice gone. ‘Get yourself under control, you dirty-ass Ranger!’ he 
thought furiously at himself. ‘Say something intelligent, if you can! If you 
can’t, just shut up, lean forward and kiss him!’
      But Halbarad knew he couldn’t even look up. ‘I’m paralyzed,’ he 
thought dazedly. ‘I’m paralyzed, and no one can help me. He’s going to 
think me an idiot or-’
      “Look at me, Halbarad Dunadan, Halaneth,” Aragorn said then. 
“Your chief commands you to look.”
      The fearful Ranger raised his eyes dutifully, and saw love in the 
eyes of the man sitting so close that they could have kissed without 
moving more than a few inchs.
      Aragorn nodded. “Do you love me?” His voice was stern, and his 
eyes were dark with need. A strange combination, one Halbarad would 
many times call back to his mind over the years to come. And when he fell 
at the Battle of the Pelannor Fields, it would be Aragorn’s expression and 
voice at this moment that would help him pass into the darkness with a 
sense of relief.
      “Yes.”
      “Will you join with me? Bind with me, as the elves call it?” 
Aragorn’s voice was gentling; he could no longer hold himself in and he 
grasped Halbarad’s shoulders. ‘I want to kiss him,’ he thought, ‘but I 
can’t. Not yet. Be patient, Aragorn, if you can.’ He remembered what 
Elrohir had said the night before: ‘You’ll be an old hat at this.’ He 
wondered if that meant he would get used to loving Halbarad by then, or if 
it would always seem like this: inevitable, yet new and beautiful.
      “What of- what of your heir? You must have an heir,” Halbarad 
whispered, all the while thinking, ‘Don’t’ turn him down! Don’t push him 
away!’
      ‘But I’m the older, more experienced one, and I need to commit 
myself, if commitment there can be, with a whole heart.’
      Aragorn laughed suddenly, loud and long. He was only starting to 
control himself when he spoke. “Is that-” snicker- “why you’ve-” snort- 
“been waiting for me to ask?”
      Halbarad wasn’t sure if he should laugh, too, or be ashamed. He 
settled for nodding mutely.
      “Ai, my love, I am part-elf; there is enough elf-blood in me to 
conceive a child. I will get pregnant, and we will be the parents of the next 
Heir of Isildur.” He stopped laughing and looked at Halbarad. “Didn’t you 
know Elendil and Gil-galad conceived a daughter between them?”
      “Ye-es,” Halbarad answered slowly, “but I thought Gil-galad-”
      “No, ‘twas Elendil that conceived.” Aragorn smiled now and 
leaned forward. “Will you kiss me?”
      His last reason for holding back swept aside, Halbarad sat forward 
very quickly and caught Aragorn’s lips in his. “Aye,” he breathed when 
they parted. “I’ll bind myself to you.”
      Aragorn rose immediately.
      “What, now?” Halbarad blurted.
      “What better time? We move in the morning; there may not be 
time again for a while, if we meet orcs or any other dark creatures.” 
Aragorn extended his hand, and Halbarad took it.
      When Halbarad was up, Aragorn started to turn from the camp, but 
Halbarad said, “Wait. I need to get something.” He went to his pack, 
removed something and secreted it away in his pocket. As he straightened, 
he caught Malacai’s eye. This time he didn’t blush, but favored his friend 
with a dazzling smile.
      Malacai responded with a wink, then turned back to his wife.
      
      Chapter Seven: Binding
      
      Once they were out of sight of those near the fire, things changed. 
Aragorn stood facing Halbarad, and his eyes were dark again, but now 
with a little fear, and great deal of nervousness. “I don’t know what to do,” 
he admitted. There was no shame in his voice; a little sheepishness, 
maybe, but no shame. “Have you ever done this before?”
      Halbarad almost answered, “Many times,” but stopped himself just 
in time. That would sound like bragging, or as if he gave himself lightly. 
‘Well, and I did, until now. If I do this right, this could last for the rest of 
our lives.’
      “You’re not here alone,” Aragorn said suddenly.
      Halbarad stared at him. “Now you’re the one reading minds.”
      “I forget I had that ability until I saw my brothers again.” Aragorn 
stepped closer. “We have a long time- Valar willing- where we can 
discuss procedures, strengths and weaknesses. Right now, I just want to 
join with you so that I know my place within the Dunedain.” He smiled 
slightly, gently. “Forget how that sounded; probably as though I’m taking 
advantage of you. Let me say this now: I don’t yet know how to take 
advantage of people, and I hope I’ll never learn.”
      Halbarad wanted to answer- probably utter some senseless 
reassurance, but then he seemed to feel, as if for the first time, Aragorn’s 
excitement and need, and he stepped close, wrapping his arms around his 
chief and taking control of the situation. He led them through a series of 
tongue-dances, the first few slow, and the next picking up speed until they 
were both panting.
      Halbarad’s hands had moved from Aragorn’s shoulders to his 
upper arms, and Aragorn was clinging, one-handed to his waist. His other 
hand hung helplessly at his side. ‘He truly doesn’t know what he’s doing,’ 
Halbarad thought, and this relaxed him. ‘I’ll not shame myself this night, 
at least. Maybe someday he’ll pass me by: he’s proved himself a quick-
study, but for now, I’ll show him the way.’ He kissed Aragorn again, then 
began to undo the laces that held Aragorn’s shirt closed. Aragorn uttered a 
soft moan, and pressed forward so that his erection brushed Halbarad’s 
own. “Slowly,” Halbarad whispered. “We’ll get there.” He finished with 
the shirt and walked around Aragorn to take it off. “Let me do this for 
now,” he murmured as Aragorn tried to shrug it off, and the younger man 
subsided.
      Halbarad kissed Aragorn’s neck after he’d removed the shirt, then 
kissed down the muscular back to just above where Aragorn’s low-riding 
pants began. This brought a gasping plea from his lover.
      “Halbarad, aii! Please!”
      “I’m just getting started.” He came around to stand in front of 
Aragorn again, and carefully, his eyes never leaving Aragorn’s, reached 
down to loosen Aragorn’s pants.
      “Aren’t you going to-?” Aragorn began, but then he fell silent on 
his own.
      ‘He trusts me,’ Halbarad thought happily. “Kiss me, Aragorn.”
      As Aragorn obeyed, Halbarad unlaced his own shirt and let it fall 
into the grass. He’d discretely shed his cloak at the border to the campsite 
before following Aragorn, and Aragorn hadn’t worn any cloak.
      Among soft touches, firmer caresses (venturing lower, and more 
frequently all the time) and kisses, heated or chaste, they both divested 
themselves of their constricting clothing. At last, they knelt in the grass, 
gazing at each other raptly.
      ‘So beautiful. How could I forget that he has part of the Eldar 
blood in his veins?’
      ‘Aii, Elbereth, he’s a vision! Forget Luthien, this is the beauty of 
Middle-Earth!’
      Halbarad kissed Aragorn then, bringing them both back to reality. 
As the kiss deepened, the older Ranger coaxed the younger onto his back. 
When they lay, their members touching, their eyes locked, their tongues 
still for a breathless moment, Halbarad began to move slowly up and 
down, pressing against Aragorn, then drawing back again until they were 
both painfully hard. “Do you want me to take you, or do you want ot be 
the first one in?” he whispered.
      Aragorn shook his head helplessly as if to say “How should I 
know?”
      ‘All right, then; I’ll decide. I want to have him wrapped around 
me.’ “Roll onto your stomach.” He got up and went to his pants, fishing 
out the oil he’d brought, then turned again to face Aragorn. His chief lay, 
spread-eagled, in the grass, but he had his head turned, and was gazing at 
Halbarad eagerly. As Halbarad watched, Aragorn licked his lips. The sight 
made Halbarad’s manhood throb.
      He moved forward slowly, despite his growing need, tipping a 
little bit of the oil into his hand as he went. He corked the bottle and tossed 
it into the grass beside Aragorn. As he sank down, beside and yet behind 
Aragorn, he rubbed his hands together to warm the fragrant oil. “We’ll go 
slowly,” he said. “Don’t be afraid.”
      It was an unnecessary reassurance, and he knew it, but he let this 
go and held up one of his fingers, now coated in oil. “Relax.”
      Aragorn turned his head back and laid his cheek on his arms.
      Halbarad didn’t want to admit how arousing he found his simple 
movement. He touched Aragorn’s back with his left hand, then moved 
down to touch his backside (round, yes, but small and muscular- built for 
speed instead of luxury) and at last touched the crack he found there. 
Rubbing the fingers of his right hand down it, Halbarad found Aragorn’s 
hole and pushed his first finger in gently but persistently.
      Aragorn tightened a little, but then relaxed. His trust of Halbarad 
was absolute.
      A second finger was added, then a third. When he had third in, 
Halbarad began feeling about for Aragorn’s pleasure-place, as the Rangers 
called it. Finding it, he pressed lightly, then more firmly when Aragorn 
released a breathy moan.
      Without removing his fingers, which had stopped pressing quite so 
hard, Halbarad’s left hand went under Aragorn’s hip and pressed up 
lightly. “On your knees.”
      Aragorn complied, his moans changing over to harsh gasps.
      Halbarad positioned himself, coated his penis with oil with one 
quick stroke- best not to risk coming before it was time- removed his 
fingers and pushed slickly and swiftly in. He was leaning against Aragorn 
with most of his weight, and now he gave the younger man even more as 
he reached forward to put his left hand over Aragorn’s mouth. It was a 
needed precaution as Aragorn gave a great, shuddering cry.
      Halbarad thrust in slowly, scraping Aragorn’s secret pleasure-place 
every third time (he could sense how close Aragorn was to climax and 
didn’t want this to be over too soon) then moved more quickly. As the 
pace increased, Halbarad’s mind qhited out until all he could think was 
thrust-pull back, thrust-pull back, and he forgot to give Aragorn rests 
between brushes with the secret place.
      When they came- Aragorn first, Halbarad an instant later- the force 
of it shook them both and they collapsed, shuddering strongly.
***
      As they lay, touching, gasping and regaining their sane minds, 
Halbarad murmured, “I love you, Aragorn.”
      But Aragorn didn’t seem to hear. He was staring up into the 
afternoon sky.
      “Aragorn?” Halbarad tired again.
      His chief turned to him, and for a moment, he looked very young 
indeed, barely having reached his majority, even. “Halbarad, the elves can 
sense when they have conceived. I don’t know if I have enough of their 
blood to feel it, but-”
      “You do,” Halbarad answered, bringing Aragorn into his arms. He 
begn to rub Aragorn’s back as he kissed the crown of the young man’s 
head.
      “Yes. I do.”
      Halbarad tipped Aragorn’s head up and kissed him. “I love you,” 
he repeated, and this time Aragorn was able to answer.