This storyline belongs to JKR and JRRT, I just mess around with it.

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Aragorn walked right behind Gandalf, watching and hoping against all hope that he knew the way. He carried that Bard carefully in his arms, the hood still unbelievably covering his face. A soft pitter-patter behind them attracted his attention, and he finally spied who was following them. Gollum. He drew his lips back in a vicious snarl and the miserable wretch retreated into the darkness.

o0o0o0o

They halted for the night in a vast chamber with three passageways besides the one they came from leading out of it. Seeing Gandalf's uncertainty, Aragorn motioned for them all to rest for a couple of hours - seeing that night and day were the same thing in the mines of Moria, he couldn't really say 'the night'. He sat down with his back leaning against the wall and the Bard lying with his head in his lap.

Gandalf was smoking, letting out puffs of blue-green smoke every few seconds as he sought the ancient memory of his travels through the underground kingdom. Aragorn turned his gaze downwards at the mystery who was currently sleeping in his lap. The man - he knew that he was male - was thin to the point of starvation. He had already proved himself to be better than even Legolas with a knife or sword, as well as to have a kind of magic that was not entirely dissimilar to Gandalf's. He was also immune to the effects of the Ring, and was more dangerous than any of them even without the other ring that currently was on his hand.

Again the desire seized him to see what this Bard was like, what hideous deformity did he have that he let no one, not even Elrond or Gandalf, see his face. He was glad when Gandalf suddenly got up and roused everyone; he didn't want to risk any friendship he might gain with this man because of his curiosity.

Gandalf led them down the middle path, that was, like all the previous paths, made of rock. Aragorn caught up with Gandalf and whispered in his ear, "You only chose this path because it smelt the best, didn't you?" Gandalf shrugged. "I led this Fellowship into the mines." He muttered. "It is my duty to lead it out."

Aragorn was starting to get worried about the Bard. Four days and three nights had passed and he seemed perfectly well, yet he did not get up. He seemed to have gone into some sort of magical healing coma. He had questioned Gandalf about it, but the Istari had simply shaken his head and said, "Do not worry about the Bard, o' Ranger. Worry about yourself."

Aragorn set the Bard down softly in the Grand hall, as Gimli wailed over the tomb of his cousin Balin. He walked quickly over to Gandalf. "I do not like this place." He said blandly. "Death has made its home here." A splash behind them made the duo turn around in surprise and glare at a weak-kneed Pippin. "Do us a favor next time, Peregrin Took." Gandalf said fiercely. "And throw yourself in next time!"(1)

"Hullo!" said Merry. "There's some sort of log book here." Before he could touch it, Gandalf had seized it and was scanning it's contents with a puzzled eye. Before he could interpret a word of it, however, the door blew open and a vast horde of orcs poured in, backed by a cave-troll. "Let them come!" shouted Gimli, springing onto hi cousin's tomb. "There is a dwarf alive in Moria yet!"(1)

A hissing, crackling noise filled the hall, and the Bard's body rose in the air surrounded by a nimbus of golden magic. Before the orcs could so much as cry out, a wave of death rolled across the army, killing the entire first wave of orcs and three of the trolls.

"Run!" yelled Gandalf. Aragorn picked up the Bard who in his coma had saved them all, but hesitated when Gandalf showed no signs of moving. "Go!" he yelled. "I will be there soon!"

I have to keep them safe. Thought Aragorn, and sprinted after Gimli. They crossed the old wooden bridge and collapsed, panting, on the other side. Suddenly, Gandalf came tumbling in beard over heels. "They will be upon us soon." He said, dusting his hat off. "We must drive them back here." Aragorn nodded and placed the Bard down in a corner, drawing Nardil and reveling in the familiarity of its touch. Gimli twirled his axe while Legolas nocked an arrow and waited. The did not have to wait long.

A huge, looming creature of fire and darkness burst through the gateway and laughed mockingly. Gandalf stepped forward and drew Glamdring with his right hand, though he could not hide the trepidation on his face. Aragorn himself was feeling a good deal more than trepidation, mostly because he knew the history of the creature. A Balrog!

The Balrog swung its sword at the Grey Wizard, who broke it with his own, staggering back a few steps but refusing to yield. The Balrog raised it's lash, but before it could swing, silvery cords bound him and squeezed. It made a gagging noise. "No one." Said a cold voice behind Aragorn. "No one, ever, hurts those I love." The Bard stepped forward, his hand tense and outstretched. Aragorn glanced at him at the same moment as everybody else, and just like everybody else, he drew in a sharp breath.

The Bard was not deformed; he was beautiful. He had messy black, shoulder-length hair that swayed mesmerizingly in the wind. His skin was so pale that he stood out in the dark like a ghost. A single scar in the shape of a lightning bolt just barely peeked out from beneath his hair. His cheekbone was smooth and angular like a predator's while his lips were full and oh so kissable. His neck was smooth and unblemished, and Aragorn wanted to bite that neck, he wanted to hear those lips part and moan for him.

But the part that really got the attention were his eyes. They were green, an emerald green so bright that they glowed in the dark. They were lit by a fire from within that burned so bright and Aragorn nearly felt pity for the Balrog at whom they were directed. He remembered the Bard's words-: "No one, ever, hurts those I love." He shivered, and a soft, involuntary moan escaped his lips. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice.

The Balrog struggled to break free, then faked nonchalance. "You cannot hope to bind me." He mocked. "I am the master of fear!" The Bard just grinned predatorily. "I am the Master of Death, you fool." He whispered, but the whole army behind the Balrog heard him, and hung onto his every word. "But more than that, I am the master of You."

Finally looking away from the Bard's face - oh god, why did he want to hide that beauty – Aragorn looked around to see everyone was just as shocked as him at the sudden reveal of his face, his sudden start to speaking and his 'Master of Death' comment. And that was before he started hissing.

The sibilant sss that filled the cavern made every hair on his neck rise, but it seemed to have an even greater effect on the enemy. The orcs behind the Balrog backed away hastily, pure terror on their faces. Snakes slithered out from unimaginable crevices and formed a respectful semicircle around the Bard. But most of all, the Balrog started swaying to the hissing, even though he was obviously fighting with every ounce of his soul. He finally diminished to ordinary human size, the flames inside him become weaker until they became almost non-existent, giving off as much heat as coals in a grate.

The Bard changed the note of his hissing, and the human-Balrog turned around and sent a wave of fire that utterly incinerated every orc, beast and troll in the army behind him. The Bard slowly relaxed his hands until the ropes only just bound the Balrog's hands. He turned around, but froze at the looks everyone was giving him.
"What?" he asked. Aragorn could not help it. He burst out laughing.

o0o0o0o

All through the journey out of Moria, the hobbits pestered the Bard with questions. All that he revealed was that his name was Hadrian James Potter, he was twenty-nine, and yes, he was serious when he said that he was the Master of Death, and no, he could not control everyone with hisses.

That night they rested outside Moria on the edge of a cliff, leaving Hadrian on guard duty. The Balrog gave a nice, comforting warmth and light, so they had no need for a fire. Everyone was rather nervous about leaving awake while they slept, but Balrog's had no need for sleep and Hadrian seemed to be able to control it fine.

Aragorn tossed and turned, but he just couldn't get any sleep. His head was so full of questions about Hadrian, that beautiful, beautiful enigma in front of him. He finally gave it up as a losing battle, and picking up his blanket and crept quietly towards Hadrian. When he was about three feet behind him, he spoke suddenly. "Hello, Aragorn." He said quietly. "Hello, Hadrian." He replied. He sat down beside him, letting his legs dangling out over the edge of the cliff. Hadrian looked beautiful in the light. Half his face was illuminated by the moon, and gave off and ethereal, silvery-white sheen. The other half was glowing in the light of the Balrog, who sat with his back to them. He was peelign off thin shavings of his ring with his wand. "Harry." He said suddenly. Aragorn raised his eyes to meet his emerald ones. "What?" he asked, confused. "Call me Harry." He said. "Hadrian sounds too…formal." Aragorn let out a small laugh. "Harry." He said, softly, tasting how the word felt in his mouth. It felt right. Aragorn lay down gently in Harry's lap, hoping with all his heart that harry would not reject him. To his delight, Harry slowly stroked his hair. Aragorn sighed in contentment and snuggled into Harry's side. "I couldn't sleep." He mumbled with his arms wrapped around Harry. He was warm. "I can see." They sat in silence for a while. Suddenly, Aragorn sat up and spooned Harry. He looked seriously into Harry's emerald eyes. "Why did you wear that hood before now?" he asked, worried. Harry's eyes dulled with grief. "Everyone close to me has either died or betrayed me." He said softly. "I hoped… I hoped if I didn't get close to you, I wouldn't feel so much pain." Aragorn rubbed soothing circles on Harry's back. "And the speaking?" he asked. Harry shrugged. "Like I said." He replied. "I didn't want to get close to you." Aragorn hugged Harry. "Then why did you stop?" he asked, his head on Harry's shoulder. He gave a wry smile. "It didn't work." Aragorn nuzzled his neck gently. "Do you ever regret it?" he murmured softly, his lips moving against his neck. Harry's arms slid around Aragorn, his fingers lightly brushing over Aragorn's calloused back. He moaned softly. "Never." Harry whispered, his breath a warm wind on the back of his neck. Aragorn gazed into Harry's emerald eyes, full of hidden sorrow, but shining with pure joy and love. He brought his lips to Harry's.

His brain immediately went into overdrive. Did I make the right decision? What if he doesn't like it? What if he likes women? What if this ends our friendship? Why isn't he responding? What if- Eru, his lips are so soft!

Eventually, they were forced to break apart for air. They stared at each other, their lips swollen from kissing, and it was obvious they felt that there were no words good enough. They kept right on kissing.

Harry's thoughts – Merlin, he's a good kisser.

Hourslater, they broke apart, lips swollen and parted. "And here I was thinking you were taken by Arwen." Aragorn licked his lips, running his eyes over Harry's athletic, nubile form. "I am." he replied, speaking with overtones of lust. "But she's willing to share."

A/N- A/N

There it is, out at long last. How do you like my new chapter. I think I finally made a decently long one, though nothing spectacular. Make me happy and review.