Dedication - I would like to dedicate this chapter to Mel - a really wonderful best mate who's been very good to me recently and Jennifer, a rather excellent bete reader.

Aragorn barely raised his gaze as he rounded the last bend of the forest path towards Rivendell. His dark bay charger, Narothal, was sure-footed, as all battle-trained animals must be, and he himself was weary, weary as no Ranger well fed and horsed and without battle wounds, had a right to be. Beside him, Halbarad's grey mare pranced still, after nine days' hard ride with a Ranger's weight. Halbarad himself sat easily with head up and legs loose around the mare's sides.

He is a better rider than me, better than me in so many ways. Perfect. Hating himself, Aragorn raised one hand to the fading mark on his face. Halbarad had not hit him hard, for a man who knew how to kill and had been taught the skill of causing pain so well by his captains, but maybe Aragorn's grief had not helped to heal the mark.

'Aragorn, will you tell Lord Elrond how you came by that mark?' The voice reached down through the clouds of his misery, forcing him to come to terms with a nagging worry. Elrond will notice for sure, and one so wise in healing will know that no Orc blow or horse hoof struck me. The story of Melarod's death he will want to know; the happenings of the Shire watch I can tell him, for what it is worth, and the fact that I am truly Captain now, maybe the last Captain of the Rangers, he will deduce. But this…

'If he asks, then I shall.'

'And would you tell him what happened to cause it?'

'Unless you wished it, no.' Aragorn dropped his hand from his face to his sword hilt in a gesture that could be taken as a salute. 'Halbarad, I could not bear to see you take his wrath. You do not deserve that.' I have betrayed his trust enough already - and anyway, how could I ever find the words to tell Elrond of this?

Gilraen's face hovered in his mind - 'I gave Hope to the Dunedain, I kept no hope for myself.' Hope for the Dunedain means an heir and that means, if not Arwen, at least another woman. Not Halbarad, even though I love him more than any woman I have ever seen.

Elrond was not expecting them, although the Last Homely House was often frequented by strangers, and Aragorn visited his childhood home more often than most. Glorfindel, gently exercising his roan mare in a diamond-shaped glade, saw them first. Narothal arched his neck and danced a few urgent steps, hooves stealing thunder from the earth.

'Hail, Estel. Halbarad. Elrond is dining in the Halls of Fire at the moment, although I dare say there will be found some supper for those who are late.'

Aragorn almost smiled as the blonde Elf dismounted and walked over with the mare following him. 'Glorfindel, I wish that Rangers were able to ride bareback so easily.'

'You could. The problem with mankind is that they think with their heads rather than their hearts. Now, should I come to Rivendell with you, or are you able to find your way alone?' Aragorn did smile then - the first true smile that had crossed his face for a long time.

'Even in the reckoning of Numenor, I am now a man full grown. I expect I shall see you later.' He nodded a farewell, and turned Narothal's head towards home. Oh Glorfindel, you think that you know mortals so well…I am sorry… The voice of the Elf carried after them as they rode away - 'Estel, what happened to your face?' but Aragorn didn't look back.

Tiarri nickered to Narothal as Halbarad set her into a trot, ignoring the twilight that was turning them into moon-dark shadows, and the grey mare and her rider passed out of even Aragorn's sight as they became one with the night. He knows his way almost as well as I - if he wishes to be alone, then I shall wait. Halbarad, do you know how beautiful you are? Ever since you and I met, I have loved you, but now I know that you cannot accept that…you are even more to me now, you know.

It was almost dark and Rivendell lit only by faintly shimmering stars when, with Narothal stabled alongside Tiarri and rubbing noses with her, Aragorn stumbled up the track to the Halls of Fire. He followed it unconsciously, the knowledge bred into his bones. Despite it being a summer's fragrant breeze that chuckled through the inky bulk of the pine woods, golden fires leapt merrily in stone grates, and the smell of cooked meat and fresh bread - so different from a Ranger's supplies in the Wild - was carried to him. He quickened his gait as much as he was able.

Elrond looked up as his foster son entered the building, face pulled into a smile that touched Aragorn's heart in a way that even Halbarad's expression never had. Father…It has been too long since the last time I saw you. For you, only a fleeting time, but for me…so much has happened. Do you even recognise me now? Halbarad made some pretence of noticing his Chieftain, yet alongside the Elven Lord's simple greeting, it seemed remote.

'Hello, Estel. Is everything well?'

Aragorn felt the strength flow from his limbs. The nine days' ride from Bree, conducted at a good canter until the horses faltered, and then a fast trot, had demanded energy he had not had. A shiver ran through burning limbs; one worn hand came to cover the mark on his face and to hide his eyes. Concern flared in Elrond's ageless eyes.

'Are you sick, Estel? Is that why Halbarad rode on ahead?' He shot a piercing gaze at the other Ranger.

'No. I am tried. Too tired.' He lapsed back into silence, gaze torn between Halbarad, whose shoulder-length dark hair had fallen over his face, obscuring his eyes as he ate hungrily, and the familiar, safe surroundings of the small room.

Even here, in Elvenhome, Halbarad, you are perfect. If it means losing Gondor for you - yes - I believe I would let it fall. Even Middle-earth itself. Oh, Valar help me! May the grace of the Valar protect me…

Later, when Aragorn was bordering on exhausted sleep, yet trying to resist the dreams he knew would come; Elrond walked into his room. If it were not for the flickering candle the Elf carried, Aragorn would have thought him a shadow. Silently, he sat down on the bed and looked across at his foster son.

Dark, inscrutable eyes bored into the Man's skull, more painful than his headache, and Aragorn shifted uncomfortably. 'So, Estel, what is wrong? Why did Halbarad arrive here almost an hour before you?'

'Melarod died…Mordor…' His voice cracked. 'There were Orcs - hundreds. He died in my arms. Halbarad killed his horse.' One hand reached up to the mark just below his eye. 'Halbarad…Nightmares…'

'Estel.' Strong Elven arms encircled Aragorn as though he were still a child, and the Ranger allowed his head to be pulled down against Elrond's shoulder. If it were Halbarad, I would have longed for this moment. Oh, Father…would you hold me like this if you knew? A time longer than the ages of Arda passed then, as Elrond held his foster son in a tight embrace.

Eventually, Aragorn whispered in a hoarse voice. 'I'm Chieftain now, Father. And Halbarad…'

After a time, Elrond felt he had to speak. 'What about Halbarad, Estel?'

'I - I love him.' I've told him. I've managed it.

Aragorn felt sleep steal over him again, despite the knowledge of the dreams that he would have - dreams of Halbarad and Arwen, of Gondor falling, of never knowing love and dying alone. Dreams of deaths caused by his actions and dreams, always dreams of Halbarad.

Elrond smiled and stood up, pulling a blanket up over Aragorn. 'So do I, Estel, because he brought you back. Sleep well, little one.'

On silent feet, he stole out of the room and across the hall to look in on Halbarad. 'Is he going to be all right?'

The Ranger's voice was strange, Elrond noticed, not his normal calm tone, and the accent of the Rohirrim seemed stronger.

'I believe so. He seemed reluctant to talk though. Did something happen apart from Melarod?'

'No. That was horror enough for anyone. Orcs themselves are bad, but in their homeland…Some of the sights have stayed even with me, let alone him.'

'What marked his face? That bruise is too recent to have been an Orc blow - unless you met some elsewhere.'

Halbarad lowered his head. 'We argued, in Bree. I struck him.'

'Why?' Elrond's tone could have made ice flinch away.

'He said he loved me. I did not mean to hit him so hard - we were both tired, and he had been sick after Mordor. I believe one of the blades that caught him was tainted.'

'Did he say anything beyond that?' Elrond's voice was so quiet, so low, that Halbarad stepped back until the roughness of the wall stopped him.

'I gave him no chance to, Lord Elrond.'

'In that case, I hold you guilty for the blow. I can understand your reaction, but I cannot forgive the fact that you raised your hand to him. Only if you can forgive him, then maybe I shall forgive you. He will not speak like that again.'

Halbarad nodded, his face beginning to regain some colour. 'He has been so dear to me for so long.' Lord Elrond has taken this better than I thought he would. I was not responsible for his son's words, though.

Elrond nodded to the Ranger and walked back into Aragorn's room. Those two should be glad that Arwen is in Lorien and not here. Anger at both Men rose in him, yet a subtle movement stopped it.

Aragorn rolled over on his back, stretching one hand out to someone Elrond could not see. The Elf read the name on his lips rather than heard it, and suddenly, pity replaced the anger and confusion. Elrond was used to pity - he had felt it for his parents, for the dying Gil-galad, for Elendil, for - he stopped himself from listing all his dead.

He placed his hand on Aragorn's head, smoothing the dark hair down. 'Estel, Estel…' Tears pricked his eyes. Elrond remembered only too well the agony of loving someone who could neither love you back nor do as you yearned for them to do.

Aragorn walked down Rath Dinen with Halbarad.

A breeze caught their hair, blowing it behind them and mingling the strands.

They were together.

And they were dead.