Title: What Honor Brings
Author: Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels@hotmail.com)
Series: Second in the LOM series.
Headings: See Above
Pairing: Aragorn/Isildur (mentions Arathorn/Elendil)
Warnings: Incest is stretching it. Despite the pairing, there's no 
necrophilia. Sorry.
Summery: Aragorn is afraid to sleep.
Archive: please.
A/N: Series Explanation: I was bored. I was browsing the Library of 
Moria website. I played around with the pairing generator. The 
following stories are what resulted. 30 minute fics.


Isildur had been a great man. Far-sighted enough to take the sapling of 
Nimloth, strong enough to be a war chief. Governed men, and set up the 
next monarch of men. But he was only known for one thing: taking the 
Ring.

Among elves that is. Men still remembered him as he was: strong, 
victorious, beautiful. Aragorn could vouch for that beauty himself. He 
had seen it often, in his dreams, plaguing his waking moments. The 
solitude did nothing to help. Isildur spoke to him, whispering through 
the ages, telling him of deeds, and shores no mortal eye had seen for 
an Age.

He dreaded sleep, for in sleep came his distant ancestor to torment 
him, to talk to him. Speak to him of things no man should know. Give 
him pleasure no mortal should have.

Elendil's son was beautiful. Elendil's son was dead. And Isildur knew 
it, which Aragorn considered as bad as knowledge of the first. The dead 
had no compunctions. The dead had no conscience. The dead had no 
clothes.

Elendil had haunted Arathorn, Elrond had told him, but not until the 
first time Isildur came to him, had Aragorn understood. He did now. 
Arathorn had been haunted by Elendil. Tempted by him. Taken by him. And 
had died.

Aragorn wondered if his fate was to be the same.

But, as much as he wished he had the strength, Aragorn could not wish 
Isildur away. Would not even let himself try. More than anything, he 
treasured Isildur's caresses. His platitudes. His advice. His love.

Love? Was that it? No, Aragorn told himself, Isildur did not love him. 
Isildur wanted to protect him from the folly that had taken his life. 
Long had Isildur whispered to him. 'I gave in to my desires, and thus 
doomed my people. It was precious to me...and the pain which bought it 
was the doom of all. Rightly do they call it Isildur's Bane.' And then 
the ghost would kiss his grandson's head and continue, 'but you, 
Aragorn, are Isildur's Heir. And you will conquer my Bane.' Conquer. 
Vanquish. Isildur's words rang true only when he was there to say them.

"Why do you torment me, my liege?" Aragorn would ask, night after 
night, as Isildur's kisses grew bolder and Aragorn felt the stirrings 
begin anew. But Isildur never answered. He would beseech the shadow as 
his arousal grew and nearly beg at his release.

But Isildur never answered.