A Love That Dare Not Speak its Name

Disclaimer - All characters in this story belong to Tolkien. The song belongs to The Faces. Some lines come from Son of The Whirlwind, by Elyane Mitchell, which is the story of a mare's love for a dead stallion, and his son.

A/N - The purpose of this is to tell a slash story, in Middle Earth that really could have happened, going on what we know of the book characters. I do not share the homophobic views that some of the characters later express, so I do not want flames for that or the slash. If you don't like slash then don't read it. This is set maybe 40 years before the book, and should end up around 6-7 chapters. Content warning for slash and angst in later chapters.

So who I am to judge you,

On what you say and do?

Who am I to tell you,

That what you feel is wrong?

For the First Time ~~The Faces

Aragorn touched his heels to his horse's flanks, then glanced across at Halbarad who was riding alongside him. The other Ranger's face was preoccupied, his mahogany eyes glazed as though he was riding in some dream of fair lands and good times, and for a moment as raven dark hair blew back from his head, the sun turned him and his bay horse to molten gold. Aragorn watched him, unable to take his eyes off the man who he realised for the first time, moved with an Elvish grace and elegance that awed him. Then he realised that Halbarad was staring at him, and he blushed, grinning.

'Sorry.'

'Are we going to head for the Prancing Pony tonight, or are we going to camp along the way?' Halbarad, although slightly the younger of the pair deferred to Aragorn most of the time, trusting the others skill.

Still slightly bemused, Aragorn nodded. 'Stay by the road tonight. The weather looks like it should be fine for several days and there is no need to hurry.' And maybe I should not spend the night alone with you, Halbarad. 'We should be able to cross the Brandywine by nightfall, even if we walk the horses. That means we could spend three days or so in Bree, and rest for a while.'

'Sounds reasonable, for one of your ideas, Chieftain.' Halbarad grinned, and brushed a stray strand of ebony hair back from his face.

They rode on in silence, quite different from their usual casual bantering. Halbarad felt ill at ease, hearing Aragorn sigh and seeing the peculiar light in his eyes. But it was a peaceful ride, the Shire golden and brown under the autumn sunlight and as neither could forget the terrible events of the last Mordor watch, this was a pleasant change. It was Aragorn who called a halt to the day's slow ride, on the far bank of the river.

Later, at sunset, Aragorn stood looking over the river that run blood red as the sun struck it. He could see the houses of the Little People as Gandalf called them, and he half smiled. I wonder if they have such cares and worries as those that lay upon me. Are they aware of how great a sacrifice love can be to one who loves two? If only I could believe that it was only idle fancy, born of loneliness.

He sighed, and smoked in silence. The smoke twisted in the wind, hiding his face from Halbarad who was watching him from afar. Loneliness touched him, striking him an almost physical blow. It was not loneliness for simple companionship or talk, for indeed Rangers where seldom alone but rather that for touch and love. Mentally he counted the years since he had last seen Arwen, held her, kissed her. Five. Five long years of wandering the wild, the only contact to be had that with swords and arrows against Orc flesh, and a fortnight ago in Mordor, cradling the dying Ranger in his arms.

He jumped violently when Halbarad came up to him, moving on silent feet but made no sound of protest when Halbarad put his arm around his shoulders in a gesture of friendship as old as time. Indeed, his body thrilled to that touch and he moved closer to the other Ranger. If only I could tell him what I feel. And as if for the first time, he looked at Halbarad's face, stared into his eyes.

'Is anything wrong, Aragorn?'

'I am so alone, even in this land which we have guarded for years, Halbarad. This land is to be my kingdom some day, yet I camp on the banks of the river, lonely and cold. I know no one here save you and old Butterbur.' His voice was low, husky from emotion and tiredness. And also the sense of his presence, the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand so Valar help me.

'Nay, Aragorn, you are not alone. With you go all the hopes of Numenor and Gondor and even Rohan and the Shire. Do you not think that Arathorn watched his son as he walks under the sun, on his way to reclaim Elendil's crown? Do you believe that Elrond, who loves you as his own son would allow you to fade from his thought because you are far away? And Arwen waits for you to come walking through the woods of Lorien.'

How can I tell him that my heart has found a new love; found it in the terror of the fires of Mordor when he stood by my side and held me when I was hurt? Aragorn sighed again, a desperate yearning in his eyes. 'What good are memories and thoughts, hopes and dreams, Halbarad? I am not an Elf; I do not walk in their dreamland. And why should I when he is fairer than anything in a dream and yet is here, with me, standing with me, his hand on my arm?

'They are all that you get at the moment, Aragorn, so make the most of them. And if I were you, I would rest now, for we should leave early tomorrow. We do not need a watch tonight.'

Aragorn nodded and walked over to the fire, searching in his pack for the blankets. Better than this would be to be near him, just for warmth, just to see his face, just to... Somehow, tomorrow, I must tell him of this. Then, because he was tired, he feel asleep quickly, dreaming at first of Arwen until the vision changed to Halbarad, remembering the feel of the Ranger's hand as they had stood together in the sunlight, the sound of his voice. His last thought before he fell into deep sleep was I wonder what Gandalf would say if I told him about this?

Please review, this is my first attempt at anything like this, and I want to know whether it's worth continuing.