Author's Note: Just before Bilbo leaves the Shire and probably a year or so before the start of The Lord of the Rings.

Author's Note 2: Final chapter.

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"You do not know what you ask of me!"

Aragorn raised a hand to his eyes and sighed. Even if he wasn't tired and worried by the political events of the outer world, it seemed conversations with the Lord of Imladris always centred on that particular sentiment- 'you ask for what I can't give'.

"Arwen is a free spirit and will make her own choices," Aragorn refuted quietly.

Far from being quiet, Elrond had been storming up and down his study since the man had broached this subject, his grey eyes so clouded with anger than Aragorn had fleetingly been afraid that the elf would actually hit him. Indeed, if the look of those clenched fists were anything to go by, he was certain the elf was only restraining himself with difficulty.

"Arwen is my daughter and I refuse to countenance such a match," Elrond ground out. The flat of his hand connected with his desk with a startling crash, sending the bottle of ink swishing precariously over the polished brown surface. "For the love of Elbereth, have you no decency left in you? Have the years spent carrying out Gandalf's nonsensical plans given you permanent insanity? What you propose will kill her!"

"I propose nothing," Aragorn snapped, letting his own irritation show for the first time during the interview, "I shared my heart with her. I promised her love and dared hope for no more even while she dwelled in Middle Earth. It was her decision to give up her immortality to live with me in a formal binding. Do not place this on my shoulders, Lord Elrond! It does not rest there easily and you well know it!"

Elrond let out a groan of frustration and dropped into a chair, his hands over his face as the agony ripped into him. Already he knew that Arwen would carry this out. In his heart he knew that none of this was the fault of the mortal. But his heart cried out for the death of his only daughter and could not but blame Aragorn for encouraging her foolish fancies.

"Lord Elrond, I know how you must feel," Aragorn soothed, feeling his own heart twist, "And if there were a way for me to persuade her otherwise I would act it. I would give my life to save Arwen from one more moment of harm or hurt than is necessary. But she loves me and if she will put her heart in my keeping, then I can only promise to do all I can to make her as happy as she deserves."

"Do not speak to me of promises," Elrond said brokenly, "You have no honour and therefore can make no promises."

Aragorn flinched but took the hit quietly. "I have honour, my Lord; you well know that."

"Then how could you let her do this?" Elrond burst out, his head coming up to present burning eyes filled with hatred to his sympathetic audience, "Do you mean to tell me that you are here without her permission or knowledge?"

"Yes."

They sat and stared at each other for a few minutes, bolstering their strength to proceed further. Elrond took a deep breath and moved his chair nearer to the window so as to gain the serenity from nature that was the innate ability of most elves. He would not raise his eyes to meet Aragorn's as he bowed his head in thought.

Aragorn, for his part, was holding himself back almost physically from reaching out to the stricken Lord of Imladris. Too long and many decades had passed since they had mutually adopted an uneasy truce: Elrond accepted that Estel was gone and Aragorn was not his son, and Aragorn accepted that Elrond did not want to cause Arwen pain by entering a relationship- no matter how brief or shallow- with the man she was helplessly in love with.

That did not, however, stop his soul from soaring the moment he felt the first tentative touch of his love's presence as he rode into Imladris, or from letting his gaze rest on him for just one moment longer than was necessary as they sat at the same table. He could not help himself wanting to pull the robe-draped figure close and run his hands over the hidden hardness of the body beneath, or breathe the scent of the dark hair that flowed so prettily over broad shoulders. And Aragorn had long lived with the fact that his feelings were the truest, purest form of love that was possible... and were not returned in the least.

"Arwen is old enough," he began slowly, leaning forward, "And her decision is to come to me. I would that she did not wish it so, but she does. And I cannot deny her."

"You must," Elrond snapped, fretting at the visions in his head. He had seen what his own brother went through; he would not let his daughter go through the same. "You must deny her or she will die. I have seen it, Aragorn, and I will not let her die a lingering death from grief at your passing."

Aragorn paled, but held his ground. "What if such a path was her choice? Would you deny her that choice?"

"Yes! I would deny her that choice because she belongs with her people in eternity, not with thoughtless mortals who would kill her outright if they could."

That such was an insult to the man sitting before him, the Lord of Imladris well knew. That Aragorn was uneasy was also fairly obvious to one who had seen him grow. What Elrond could not understand, was why the man was suddenly ready to bind with Arwen. Granted his daughter was in love and Aragorn was sympathetic to her cause, but he had also seen the glances and the sighs, well hidden though they were to the rest of the world. And that left him with one explanation:

"Arwen is my daughter. Do you desire her because of that?"

Aragorn considered the question, closing his eyes briefly at the sharp pang that shot through him at the veiled eluding to the tension between them. "Yes," he admitted, a slight flush of red staining his cheeks, "She is the one the most like you and I desire that in her. But that is just a part of it. Arwen is beauty and charm and wisdom and I desire that too. Besides, she came to me expressly knowing that my feelings for her father still hold. It was Arwen who argued that she would gift me with a small piece of you through her own body. Her exact words were- "I will not listen to the name you cry out in the darkness but be glad I could let you conjure his face"."

The Elf Lord stiffened, a spasm of disgust passing over his face. Unbidden an image of Aragorn and his daughter came to mind. An innocent enough memory, all things considered, from a walk taken at midnight during Aragorn's first return from exile. The two had been wrapped in each other, talking so low that even elven ears could not hear the words, and Elrond had left with the feeling that he had intruded on something sacred and private.

"Elrond?"

"You make her happy?"

"I try to. Elbereth forgive me, but I try to."

Elrond couldn't resist a wry grin at the very elvish oath, but shook his head, holding out a slender hand to the man who sat before him. It was accepted with hesitation, the strange glow entering blue eyes with the touch as it always did. "And you have not cried out another's name when you are with her?"

Aragorn flushed and made to let go of the hand but felt the fingers tighten. Damn Elrond, but he knew how to ensure Aragorn's senses would depart and render him unable to lie. And as it was the mortal never lied to this dark-haired Elf Lord. "I have not been with her," he declared hotly, "Not in that way! Do you really believe me lost to honour or are you simply insulting me?"

"I do not insult you; I want my daughter happy."

The warm physical connection of intertwined fingers seemed to grow, until Aragorn could feel it suffuse his entire body. It would be easy, he knew, to pull Elrond closer and kiss that mouth. He would have one blissful moment before Elrond pulled away in dread, with the entire situation resurrected again. And Arwen would be hurt- something he would never do.

"If I were to let you take me," Aragorn froze as Elrond's voice continued in its warm softness, "fully, you understand, would that allow you to leave Arwen be?"

"If you were to let me take you, I would know you to be lying. I do not want a lover who will lie back and simply accept everything I do. I would ask you to take me, to help me pleasure us both, to lie with me even if it is at opposite sides of the bed and in the morning walk out of the bedchamber with me without fear and embarrassment. I ask for nothing less if you are to be my lover."

The fingers tightened. Callouses scraped callouses, hard palms slid against hard palms until not even a ray of light could be seen between them. "I cannot be your lover. And neither can Arwen."

"Then you condemn all three of us to sorrow instantly. You say Arwen will die if I bind with her. I say she will die if I don't; and with your strictures she will die unfulfilled and in regret."

The sounds of outdoors made its presence felt. Elrond remembered Mithrandir was somewhere in the house and waiting to speak with him about Hobbits and the growing darkness in Mordor. Missives lay on his desk from Mirkwood about the creature called Gollum. A letter from Galadriel lay amongst them, talking of the end of the Third Age and the need to send as many of their people to Valinor as was possible. Mundane duties like household accounts were still awaiting his attention and a deputation of men occupied the guest wing as their ill were tended in the Healing Rooms. And here he was, closeted for an entire morning with such a petty business as this!

"You do not have my permission to bind," he said finally, releasing Aragorn and walking to the door, "I cannot give it until the evil that beats on our doors is eradicated. You, Aragorn, will play a large part in the battles ahead and I will not let you take Arwen into danger. After it is over, you may approach me again with this question."

"Then you refuse your daughter happiness," Aragorn said bitterly, stalking to the door and exiting, "And she will not thank you for it!"

"She will thank me for nothing, whatever the decision I make, whether it is in Valinor or at your deathbed. But I will not refuse her happiness- I forbid you both from binding, but not from sharing whatever comforts you need."

Blue eyes and grey held each other's gaze, one pleading love and the other pleading peace. Finally Elrond turned and went back to his work: "Aragorn, if you meet Mithrandir on your way, send him in."