The three Rangers rode at a canter through a blackened, wasted landscape. Their tired, sweat streaked horses stumbled on the muddy ground, and icy rain driven by evil lashed at them. In the distance, they could hear the sullen rumbling of Mount Doom. Nearer to them rung the battle cries of Orcs, and the howling, mixed with the wind, of a Warg. Steel rung on steel as the three drew their swords, holding their horses in as they rounded water darkened cliffs. The whistle of an arrow in flight and the brutish calls of the Orcs made the animals tremble and it was with difficulty that they persuaded them to canter on.

Halbarad, youngest of the three, handsome rather than fair and yet mounted on a graceful mare who danced under the bulk of her rider, led. Behind him was Aragorn, his distant kinsman, grim faced with haunted eyes, astride a dark bay charger from Rohan, and alongside him, the Captain, whose face seemed ever young, alight with good humour and love for all things that flew, or trod the Earth and the Men who served under him. Melarod was his name and he rode an Elven horse whose chestnut coat blazed with the light of Elbereth's stars.

Aragorn shook his head and rode hard into the Orcs. There was a dozen or so, and despite frozen hands and hunger, he lifted his sword and lunged at them. The horse of Rohan, knowing his job, carried his rider in and out without command, reminding Aragorn of the legend of Orome and his white horse, Nahar, who had been shod with gold. Beside him, so close that their legs brushed in the combat, was Halbarad, and he could smell the rank stink of the other man's sweat his fear and worry. A scream pierced through the noise of battle, above the noise of swords, the anxious whinny of Halbarad's mare, and the groans of the dying Orcs. And even as Halbarad shifted his weight and rode at the last Orcs, Aragorn swung his bay around and rode over to his Captain.

The Ranger lay on the bank of a foul stream that run black in the midday sun, his horse struggling to rise from the mud on three legs. The harsh breathing of man and beast mingled as Aragorn dismounted and run to Melarod. How often this man has saved me - my Captain, my teacher, the one who guided me through the wilderness, my friend. Do not go from me now, Captain, leave me leaderless in Mordor. Do not leave me here alone.

Hopelessly, he slipped one arm around the dying man's shoulders, watched as the blue eyes looked back at him and the spirit, the courage, the life in them seeped away through the blood that stained Aragorn's hands. 'You cannot leave me here, Captain. Please...' He felt the body go limp, heard the last breath seep out and the last vestige of awareness leave the piercing blue eyes. 'Captain....' Aragorn cried out, holding the body of the other man close to him in helpless grief, and watched as Halbarad calmly put Melarod's chestnut out of its misery and walked over to him - this man of almost his own age, this man with dark eyes and a dark face and a strange feeling stirred in his racing heart.

'Wake up, Aragorn. Come on.'

What? Who is that?

'Aragorn, wake up.'

He stirred and looked up, seeing a faint outline against a velvety night sky dusted with stars and his memory flooded back along with awareness. He was lying on muddy ground - the banks of the Brandywine River - and the fires in his dream had been their campfire. Halbarad was still resting his hand on Aragorn's shoulder. I wish you would wake me more often, Halbarad. It is worth rising before dawn to feel your touch, to hear your voice. Have you any idea how beautiful you are in the starlight? And what would you say to me if I told you what I feel for you?

'It sounded like you were having a nightmare, Aragorn. You woke me, and I thought I should wake you. It is still early - we can rest for another few hours if you wish.'

I do not wish to rest with you here, Halbarad, most beautiful one. I wish to hold you, to kiss you, to share my love with you. Why can I not tell you that? And please, Halbarad, do not move from my side here, where I can feel your breath on my neck, and you hand touches me. Let all the Valar come against me, let all men say I am wrong, let them withhold the throne of Gondor from me, but I love you, my Halbarad. 'I'll try and rest again, Halbarad. We can ride to Bree in a matter of hours, and I don't think we need hurry. I am tired, and so are the horses.'

The other man nodded, and walked over to the horses. He knew Aragorn's opinion on being watched while he slept, and he was unaware that Aragorn would have welcomed his company, his voice, even his touch more than anything. Sighing, Halbarad began to rub down his mare, remembering how he had led Aragorn and his charger away from Mordor not long ago. The other Ranger had seemed quiet since then, unwilling to talk but happy, even eager to sit and think in silence but Halbarad had loved his Captain as well, and understood.

Nearer to the fire, Aragorn lay and watched the tall, lithe shadowy shape move around. Tonight, tonight in Bree, I shall tell him how I feel and let him say what he will. I cannot change my opinion, my heart, and my feelings and if I cannot love him, then I shall never love Arwen as much, for now I know what love is for the first time. He felt his eyes drift shut with exhaustion again and he had the energy left for one sentence that he whispered out loud. 'I love you, Halbarad. Now and forever.'