I know the pieces fit
But I watched them fall away,
Mildewed and smoldering.
Fundamental differing.

I've done the math enough to know
The dangers of our second guessing
Doomed to crumble unless we grow
And rediscover communication.

-Tool
Aragorn made his way down the corridor, headed to his father's study. He had wanted to take a long, hot bath, and curl up in his old bed for many hours, but Lord Elrond had called him, and he did not want to anger his father anymore than he knew he already had. Outside the door, he stood, taking a deep breath, gathering his courage. Then he raised is chin and entered the room.

"Suilad, Dunadan," said Elrond from across the room, leaning over his desk with his back to the human. Aragorn had hoped that he had grown stealthier, and that he would finally be able to enter a room without an elf hearing or sensing him immediately, but apparently that would not happen.

"Mae govannen, Ada," he answered, standing near the doorway still. After a minute, Elrond put down his quill and stood to face Aragorn.

"I have been informed of your betrothal to my daughter," Elrond spoke, going straight to the heart of the matter. His sharp eyes bored and his foster-son fought to meet his intense gaze. The man kept his face expressionless, but the perceptive elf noted the way he clenched his jaw, and tensed his shoulders at the mentioning of his relationship with Arwen.

"I hear you stumbled into the realm of Lorien where my mother in law welcomed you and showed you great hospitality." Aragorn nodded. "The Lady of the Galadrim has always been generous and comforting, but she would never have allowed any strange mortal into her home. But she accepted you, Estel, because you are my son and she knew of you."

It was merely one more thing to add to the long list of all Elrond had done for him, a debt he would never escape. He knew his foster-father had chosen his words carefully, intending him to think that--but it didn't make them any less true. And how had he repaid him for all he had done? By stealing his daughter's heart. Shame filled him as he fought to keep his posture closed, strong, and respectfully defiant.

"Tell me, Son of Arathorn," continued Lord Elrond slowly, furrowing his dark, elegant brow. "How is it that my fair, young Evenstar has pledged her life to you? How did this come to be?"

Aragorn shifted his weight back and forth on his feet slightly, unsure. What could he say? He closed his eyes in frustration at himself. He had fought so many battles, faced so many hard trials, stared down the fiercest of men - yet somehow, a few words from his father left him feeling like a helpless child again.

He forced himself to look Elrond in the eye as he answered, "We had been friends before that, sir. Naturally we were glad to see one another after so long. She was the only person in Lothlorien I knew, so I spent most of my time with her. I stayed there a season, and we... grew very close. I knew I could not remain there forever, however much I wanted to, but before I left. I... I simply had to ask her. I had to know." He licked him lips nervously. "And... she said yes. Somehow... she said yes." He trailed off, hoping for a quick response, but the dark-haired elf merely stared at him, his face unreadable as always, leaving Aragorn holding his breath in fear of disturbing the taught and oppressive silence in the large room.

Finally, Elrond stirred, and narrowed his eyes. "So you did this out of curiosity?" he asked with a quiet edge to his voice. "Was this an experiment of yours, Dunadan? Did you feel some need to prove yourself capable of capturing an elf's heart? Did you desire to go down in legend as a second Beren?!"

"Lau! That's not fair, sir! You do me an injustice to accuse me of such intentions! Do you think so little of me? You speak as if you knew me not at all, Father."

"I am not your father, Aragorn!" cried Elrond.

The young man blinked, stung by this harsh remark. His mouth parted as if to protest, but no sound came.

"I thought I had made that clear to you years ago, when I informed you of your heritage and destiny and presented you with the shards of Narsil and the ring of Barahir--which I see no longer rests on your finger." Aragorn's hands instinctively moved to clutch together behind his back. The dark-haired elf noticed the movement and his mouth thinned in annoyance before continuing. "I also recall telling you merely days later, that you were not to claim any woman as your own, nor bind any woman to you in troth until your time had come."

"How can you ask that of me?" cried Aragorn, finding his voice. "You are not my father, as you have made very clear! What right have you to tell me I must live in solitude, and labor alone in all my efforts? With no one to confide in, no promise of a brighter future. It is every man's right to seek a companion in a wife. You cannot deny me that."

"As one who raised you, I would hope that I had instilled strength, compassion, and a sense of justice in you, but apparently I have failed, for you seem to think only of your own suffering. Lasto, Estel! I did not ask this of you to bring you pain. You must think of others! How can you stand before me and tell me that you have the right to bind a woman to your fate when you have nothing to offer her, not even your mere presence? How can you claim that you are entitled to drag another through your years of traveling, fighting and suffering, leaving her alone in the fear of your death and the pain of your absence - for no reason other than to please you?!"

At this, the young man's shoulders sagged and he bit his lip in dismay. Yet his father was not finished. "Let alone one of the Eldar! You will be the death of her, Aragorn. Do you not realize that? With her marriage to you she will be counted among the Edain and she will diminish, and die a mortal death long before her time. She should live forever in the beauty and solace of the Valinor, with her family. But you will take all of that from her. And you will take her from us." The Elf-lord paused, fuming, and turned away, calming himself. "Yet you are correct in one thing; I am not your father. I am, however, Arwen's father."

Aragorn stood motionless, staring intently at the floor as he fought back the tears that had formed in his eyes. Elrond kept his back facing the man as a long pause followed. "Well?" he finally asked. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

He turned and looked upon the human he has raised from a toddler and was bemused to find the hardened warrior so moved and unable to look at him.

Aragorn took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as he searched for words. He couldn't speak, couldn't think. His father had done what he had feared he would all his life; he had utterly rejected him. Stabbing memories immediately rose, unbidden: Elrond holding him after a nightmare and stroking his hair, teaching him to read with patience, taking him on walks, showing him different medical herbs. It was all he could do it remain silent, and standing.

And worse, he knew he deserved this. He could see the pain he had caused in the great elf--the pain of betrayal and disappointment, and the pain of losing his beloved only daughter. He couldn't bear to see his father so distraught for any reason, let alone something he had done. He had broken Elrond's heart as surely as if he had stabbed him through.

And he had done wrong by Arwen as well. He should have left Lothlorien as soon as he was able, he told himself. He should never have told her his feelings, never have kissed her, never asked her to give up all she had for him. He cursed his selfishness.

Yet, ironically, at this moment, more than anything, he just wanted her to be there with him in Rivendell, to comfort him, and call him Estel. She made him feel as if all his fears were irrational, made him feel brave and wise and kind, made him feel as if he knew himself. He could talk to her for hours, and listen to her for days. He could hold her in his arms without needing to say a word, and the silence was comfortable, as if they didn't need words. His shoulders ached with the weight of the world, pressures of his family and heritage, and weariness from long years of lonely wandering, yet she somehow managed to make him feel weightless and free. And even more amazingly, she made him feel as if he might even deserve that feeling, might deserve her love.

When he had first told her of his fear of hurting her, of dragging her down with him, of causing her pain and ultimately death, she had easily persuaded him not to feel guilty, that it was her own choice, that it was what made her happiest, that she needed him as much as he needed her. Hearing her speak, he found it easy to believe her. Her reasoning made sense. Yet Elrond also made sense. He was sure that if Arwen had been there at that moment, she could have set things right in his mind again, but without her, he found himself doubting his previous confidence, wondering if he had merely been justifying his mistakes.

He needed to sit down. He needed to get out of this room--he could barely breathe. Elrond was still looking at him expectantly, he realized. He was waiting for an answer, but what? What had he asked? He had been unable to hear. He turned toward the elf again, questioningly. "My lord?"

Elrond hesitated for a moment. What dark thoughts had crossed the young human's mind? It was plain that he was extremely upset, yet he could not read him further. Had his words had such an effect on him? He tried to remember exactly what he had said in his furious tirade.

"I asked if you had anything to say for yourself."

"Oh." Now it was Aragorn's turn to hesitate. He could attempt to defend himself again, but what would be the use? He could barely convince himself, he would never persuade the stern elf to forgive him? And he felt too tired and drained to argue back any longer at any rate. He wanted nothing other than to yield.

"Nay, my lord. I think you have said about everything there is to be said." Neither man moved. Aragorn opened his mouth, then shut it. Then opened it again. "I am sorry, Fath-...Lord Elrond. I swear, it was never my intent to grieve you. Nor Arwen..." He hung his head and murmured quietly, "How is it that the two people I love most in this world are the ones I cause the most pain...?"

This last statement seemed to be said to himself, yet the elf's sharp ears heard it clearly. Elrond's brow furrowed as he watched Aragorn bow stiffly and excuse himself, disappearing quickly from the room. He raised his head to the ceiling, closing his eyes tightly as the previous conversation replayed itself in his mind.