Rating: R

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Tolkien; I'm just playing with them for a while.

Time line: Post LOTR

Warnings: AU, angst, character death (implied)

Summary: Years after Arwen's death, Aragorn has another chance at love. Can he accept it before it is too late?

Author's note: Originally written in 2008, it has been re-written twice now. Betas for the original were Sharon, Carla, and Getty, without whom I could not have finished it. Beta for the second version was Ireth. Thanks to you all! Previously entitled With a Thousand Arrows.

000

Prologue

March, 3019, T.A.

The night was still. Cold. Few stirred, though many were restless. Tomorrow the land would echo with the sounds of battle, but tonight the only sounds were the rasps of stone against steel as weapons were readied, quiet murmurs of men speaking together.

Into this stillness one man walked alone. He had shrugged aside his captains' offers of companionship, the need for solitude outweighing his disquiet. Tugging his cloak more closely about his frame, he moved slowly, carefully avoiding campfires and tent stakes. Occasionally he nodded to those men who were, like him, still awake. The silence that pressed in on him made him shiver from more than the early spring air. It was as if the ghosts of his fathers watched, waited, making the heir of Isildur more keenly aware of the burden of his lineage and destiny than ever. Should they survive, should he gain the throne of Gondor, was he up to the task before him? He had been pondering the question for some time, but he had found no answers.

"You are wandering about late."

Aragorn stopped and turned in surprise to see Legolas sitting cross-legged before a small fire, knife in one hand, a whetstone in the other. The Ranger paused, a faint smile lifting his otherwise grim features. He had not realized the direction his feet were taking him until now, but a familiar warmth coursed through him all the same, and he found himself in need of company after all. He eased down beside his friend and watched as Legolas drew the stone along the blade with a slow, careful motion.

"I find I cannot sleep," Aragorn offered in explanation after a moment.

Legolas paused and let his eyes roam slowly over Aragorn's features, noting with concern the exhaustion about his eyes and mouth. He had pushed himself past the endurance of an Elf this time and the battle had not even begun. Legolas waited for Aragorn to elaborate, but he remained silent. Finally Legolas turned his attention to his blade once more, examining the edge before speaking again.

"You are worried about tomorrow." It was not a question.

"Yes," Aragorn admitted after another moment's hesitation.

"As are we all." Legolas replaced the knife in its scabbard and reached for his quiver. "'Tis natural enough, with the numbers against us. But if we are successful and Frodo and Sam have time to destroy the Ring, you will have righted the wrong of your ancestor. And your people will have their King."

To this Aragorn made no immediate reply. He gazed into the small fire for a moment before finally voicing the doubts that had been plaguing him for many days now. "And will the people accept me? Will they respect me? The people of Gondor will lose loved ones, all for my cause. How can I ask that of them? I do not know if I am worthy."

Legolas continued examining his arrows, waiting until he held Aragorn's full attention. "You have accepted your destiny, and your people have accepted you." He waved an arm to indicate the area that surrounded them.

Aragorn turned to look at the sea of tents he had passed on the way. As usual Legolas' words were as true to the mark as his arrows, but they still did not ease the worries Aragorn felt inside. "They fight to rid Middle-earth of this darkness," he countered.

"But they have answered your call," Legolas gently reminded him.

Several more moments passed in silence. At last, when it became clear that Aragorn did not intend to reply to his observation, Legolas stood, gathered his weapons and went toward his tent. Aragorn followed, holding the tent flap aside as Legolas entered before him. The prince stowed his weapons near his bedroll and turned to study Aragorn's face again in the light filtering through the tent fabric. "As for your other doubts, I would not fight beside one who was unworthy."

Aragorn contemplated Legolas gravely. This much unswerving loyalty always left him feeling humbled and undeserving. At times he wondered how he had gained such devotion; he had never understood. It had simply always been there between them.

"May I ask a favor of you?" Legolas interrupted his thoughts.

Aragorn turned his full attention back to Legolas. He nodded, ready to grant whatever he should be asked. "Of course. Anything."

"If I should fall, will you take my body to my father? I would not have it rest in this desolate place."

Aragorn shook his head, not willing to think of his friend lying bloodied and broken.

Legolas held up a hand to disallow Aragorn's denial of his possible fate. "You know I could die as easily here as anyone. Promise you will take me home, Aragorn."

"I promise," Aragorn answered, his voice rough.

"Thank you." Legolas breathed a sigh of relief. He vowed once again that he would take any mortal blow meant for Aragorn if he should be close by to do so–and he meant to be close to his friend during the battle. It was a comfort to know his body would not lie here while his soul resided in the Halls of Mandos.

Aragorn's hand shot out and caught Legolas' forearm. "I would not ask that of you."

The prince lifted shocked eyes to Aragorn, but understanding came swiftly. He had forgotten about the gift of Westernesse, insight that all from Isildur's lineage carried.

"Forgive me," Aragorn whispered, dropping his hand. "I did not intend to read your thoughts, but they were so strong."

"There is nothing to forgive," Legolas replied. "But I do not rescind the vow."

"You cannot do such a thing," Aragorn argued.

The Elf smiled gently. "You are the more important of us. You must not fall."

"Legolas . . . " Aragorn's voice shook as emotions he could neither name nor comprehend overwhelmed him. "You are important . . . to me."

Legolas could think of nothing to say to that, and Aragorn took advantage of the slight hesitation. He moved closer, his hands moving to land on the Elf's shoulders and draw him near. A heartbeat later Legolas felt the sudden crushing of Aragorn's mouth over his, and any thoughts he might have had rapidly retreated under the urgent kiss. His shock soon gave way to yearning, and Legolas parted his lips, offering more. It was not long before they were clinging to one another, longing and desperation driving them, bodies pressed together as mouths coaxed and yielded in turn.

At last Aragorn wrenched himself away with a muttered curse. They stared at each other, panting hard, faces flushed. Neither was able to speak for some moments until Legolas released a shaky breath.

"Aragorn?"

The Ranger smiled briefly at the implied questions. Why? Why here, why now? "Let's just say, if I die tomorrow, I want it to be with no regrets."

He opened his mouth as if to say more, but could think of nothing to add, so instead he smiled again before turning to walk out of the tent.

A very confused Legolas stared at the closed tent flap through which Aragorn had disappeared. He could make no sense of Aragorn's actions, nor of his words. All he could do was feel. His lips tingled, and his body thrummed with desire. He drew in several deep, calming breaths and tried to center his thoughts on something else. It was a futile exercise.

By the Valar, Aragorn would not be the only restless one this night.