Disclaimer: as always, not mine.

A/N: this suddenly came to me one night (one of the signs of obsession with something – dreaming about it!!) and I had to get it down. Well, it's better than writing an essay! REVIEWS ARE A WRITER'S BEST FRIEND!!! (nudge nudge wink wink)

WARNING: this fic deals with self-harm and in a quite explicit way (hence the R rating) and could potentially be a trigger for some people. If you think that you may feel the urge to self-harm, don't read this. Only read this if you're safe.

Message to readers who self-harm: I can't make you stop doing this, but it really doesn't help in the long run. I've been there. Depression since I was 13, self-harming since I was 15, although I've not had a really bad session for about 18 months (at the time of writing – early May 2004). You can get better. Trust me. I'm proof of that. And chocolate is one of the best inventions/discoveries (which is it?) EVER. So go on. Treat yourself. You deserve it.

A/N 2: don't flame. Really. I use flames to toast marshmallows over and to heat my room at uni (now we're in the summer term they don't seem to be putting the heating despite the fact that it's not really that warm – we are in the North of England, after all – and my room gets ABSOLUTELY NO SUN WHATSOEVER so it's still dark and cold…)

Timeline: set during FotR, when Aragorn and the hobbits have arrived in Rivendell.

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The soft, gentle sound of the waterfall echoed in the Ranger's ears as he walked back to his room in the moonlight, but it was but a background noise, a distant second place to the words that rang, clear and cold as the water of a stream at its source, in his head. Harsh, cruel words that devastated the man, that broke his fragile heart utterly and completely. Words from the one whom he had once looked up to as a father.

He would always be so. He always had been. Would never be able to match the Elves that surrounded him, in grace, skill, speed, ability…anything. The sense of inferiority was nothing new to Aragorn son of Arathorn, but he had not felt it this strongly, nor had it hurt so deeply, since he had been seventeen. That was seventy years ago now, but it was suddenly as though it had been only yesterday.

Memories of that terrible time came floating back to him at that moment, and Aragorn stumbled, only just avoiding tumbling to the ground. He forced back the memories – and the rising tears – only long enough to make it to his room. Collapsing to the floor beside his bed, he was unable to hold back the tears any longer, and they spilled over, tumbling down his face. He made no attempt to wipe them away.

The memories tormented him again, more cruelly, more vividly, than ever before, this time intermingling with Elrond's words, causing the tears to fall harder and faster, and Aragorn's body to shake more violently in his curled-up position. He shifted position and, through his tears, his eyes caught a glint of moonlight on a knife of his that he had placed on the floor by the window, with his other weapons. It was within reach – always he kept his weapons within reach, as a basic precaution – and he stretched out his arm, hand closing over the cold metal.

He hesitated only briefly before easing his left sleeve up his arm so that it was exposed and, hand shaking, placed the cold blade against his skin. He felt nothing emotionally except the ever-growing pain in his heart. Suddenly he was seventeen again, curled up against his bed late at night when all others were fast asleep in their beds, using a knife to draw his own blood to ease the despair and agony in his heart. Each cut that he made was at least three inches long, on the inside of his left forearm. The knife was sharp (he ensured that his weapons were always sharp), the pain real, physical, intense as he cut over old scar tissue, the wounds deep. He cared not that he would carry the scars of tonight for the rest of his life, nor did he care that he was heir to the throne of Gondor, that he was seen by many as important. He moved the knife to the outside of his upper arm. All he cared about at this moment in time was easing the pain of his shattered soul.

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Elladan paused as he and his twin walked along the halls of their home. They had been having an impromptu archery contest with one of their father's closest friends and advisors, Glorfindel – and much to the twins' dismay, the older elf had won (although only by a tiny margin). "Do you hear something?"

Elrohir also stopped and listened. "It sounds as though someone weeps."

"We should investigate," declared Elladan, taking his twin's hand and tugging him along. As they approached the source of the sound and the sobbing grew louder, Elladan's eyes widened in alarm and anxiety. "The sound comes from Estel's room!" The twins still called Aragorn by his childhood name.

"What could be troubling him? And at this late hour?"

Elladan stopped outside Aragorn's room and quietly eased the door open. He stared in shock and horror at the sight that greeted his eyes. His little brother was shaking from violent sobs, weeping as though his world had been completely, irreparably, shattered.

"Oh no…" whispered Elrohir in dismay. He had caught sight of the knife, glistening with wet blood, in Aragorn's hand, and the bleeding gashes on his arm.

The twins silently made their way over to Aragorn and knelt beside him just as he drew the blade across his skin. Beads of blood welled up from the wound to join together and slowly slip down his arm to mingle with blood from other wounds.

Elladan felt tears well up in his own eyes. "Estel," he whispered, "please. Stop. Don't do this to yourself. Not again." He gently placed a hand on Aragorn's right shoulder.

Aragorn looked up, startled, and met his foster brother's eyes. Elladan felt his heart twist; it was almost impossible for him to look into Aragorn's grey eyes. They reflected pain, despair, loneliness, anguish and, above all, complete hopelessness and utter rejection. Elladan did not need to look at his twin to know that he too had seen it all.

"What are you doing?" hissed Aragorn angrily through his tears and trembling voice. "Do you not have the courtesy to at least knock?"

"When our little brother is sobbing as though his world has ended? I think not!" retorted Elladan. His tone was sharper than he had intended, and Aragorn drew back, shrinking into himself, as though he had been slapped in the face. Elladan's eyes widened in dismay. "Estel, I'm sorry! I did not mean to hurt you! Truly I did not!"

"It does not matter," whispered Aragorn. "It is only me, after all."

Elladan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Now leave me. Please."

"We are not going to leave our little brother when he is in such pain."

"I am not your brother! You are Elves; I am but a human. Mortal. Inferior to you."

Elladan's eyes met with his twin's identical ones. It had been long since their foster brother had been in such emotional torment.

The elder twin turned back to Aragorn. "You are our brother, Estel –"

"I am not Estel; Estel died when I was twenty! He was a young, innocent child – something that I could not be further from!" Aragorn hissed through clenched teeth. He placed the knife against his arm, but Elrohir's hand shot out and gripped Aragorn's wrist. "Don't," the younger twin pleaded, allowing Aragorn to see his tears. "It won't help. You know that."

"We've been here before, remember?" added Elladan. "When you were seventeen, that night you were all set to take your own life?"

"That was in the past!" Aragorn snapped. "Now get out!"

"No," Elladan replied fiercely. He paused, fighting back tears. "Why are you in so much pain, Estel? What has caused this? And why have you fallen back into the cutting again? I thought you had defeated that!"

"I have told you; it does not matter!"

"Yes it does! Estel, when you hurt yourself, you also hurt Elrohir and myself! You hurt Arwen –"

"Don't!" Aragorn cut in furiously, wrenching his hand from Elrohir's grip and, sobbing desperately, brokenly, slashed the knife across his forearm. Blood immediately began flowing from it; the cut was deep and long.

Elrohir reached out and squeezed Aragorn's wrist tightly, causing him to drop the knife. Both twins were openly crying now and Elladan pulled the human into a tight embrace as Aragorn broke down completely. Elladan rocked him gently, not caring that he had blood on his hands or sleeve from where he had come into contact with the cuts on his youngest brother's arm. All he cared about now was comforting Aragorn and unearthing his troubles so that he could ease them. Elladan had felt a strong love for Aragorn ever since he had come to Rivendell as a two-year-old child, and had long ago vowed to always protect his human brother. Elladan had held the child on his horse for the entire journey. Aragorn's mother Gilraen had ridden with Elrohir. She had died from old age eleven years ago.

Elrohir carefully picked up the knife. "I shall return shortly with the necessary items to treat Estel's injuries," he whispered in his twin's ear. The two had done this quite a few times before, when Aragorn had been seventeen and in emotional turmoil.

When his brother nodded, Elrohir rose and slipped out of the room, pulling the door almost shut. Nobody else needed to witness Aragorn's despair.

Rounding a corner, he encountered Glorfindel. "What keeps you awake at this hour, Glorfindel?" he asked in surprise.

"The requirement of a drink of water," the older Elf answered. His blue-eyed gaze fell to the knife and the smudge of blood on Elrohir's fingers, and he frowned. "What of you?" His face and eyes showed clear concern.

Elrohir bit his lip.

"Are you hurt? There is some blood on you."

The dark-haired Elf shook his head. "Not I. It is Estel's blood. And Estel's knife."

Realisation sank in, and Glorfindel's eyes widened with worry. "He has slipped back into his ways of old?"

Elrohir nodded sadly. "He has. He has not yet spoken of what troubles him, though. I seek bandages and suchlike."

"Allow me to assist, if Estel will let me. What do you plan on doing with the knife?"

Elrohir shrugged. "I contemplated putting it in either my room or Elladan's but they are such obvious hiding places…"

"Then may I offer to look after it?"

Elrohir's eyes lit up. "Oh, would you? Estel would not consider searching there – and if he did, he would not dare actually search."

"Gladly. It may also be wise to remove all sharp items from his room for the moment. He is safe from attack in Imladris." They began walking.

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Elladan looked up a few minutes later as Elrohir returned with Glorfindel in tow. Aragorn still sobbed desperately, and Elladan was no closer to getting any answers from him. His twin and Glorfindel were welcome sights.

Elrohir placed the warm, athelas-tinted water on the floor, and Glorfindel placed the box of dressings and a towel next to it.

"Estel, will you allow us to treat your wounds?" asked Elladan gently.

Aragorn shrugged. "Why are you doing this? I can do it by myself; I am used to treating my injuries when I am out in the wild."

Elladan attempted to meet his eyes, but Aragorn was too low in spirit to bear being able to make eye contact. "Estel, we love you and care more deeply for you than we can express. When you hurt, we also hurt. Please allow us to take care of you."

"But why? I am not worth bothering with."

Fresh tears sprang to Elladan's eyes at the despair in Aragorn's eyes and voice. "You are worth bothering with, Estel! You're sweet and intelligent and funny and caring and skilled and warm and loveable and gentle and…and our brother." His voice cracked at this point, and he was unable to carry on. He tightened his hold on Aragorn and rested his cheek on top of his foster brother's head, not caring that his tears dampened the human's dark, unruly hair. He was desperate to make Aragorn see how much he was loved.

"Please, Estel?" pleaded Elrohir, taking one of Aragorn's rough, battle-scarred hands in his own smooth, delicate ones. "Let us help you."

Slowly, Aragorn nodded. Relief filled the room as Elladan loosened his hold. Aragorn struggled to sit up, drained and exhausted. He leaned against the elder twin for support.

Elrohir gently and carefully washed the blood away and cleaned the cuts, flinching at both the exposed gashes and also the other, older, white scars that were revealed. Aragorn sucked in his breath every time Elrohir touched his wounds. Elrohir could not help but notice that the tears continued to slip down his foster brother's face.

The task took a considerable length of time, as many of the cuts were deep and bled quite a bit. Eventually, Elrohir withdrew. "I am done, Estel. Glorfindel will bandage your arm."

Aragorn nodded briefly in acknowledgement and allowed Glorfindel to place two dressings over the cleaned cuts and wrap bandages around them to secure the dressings. "I will check them in three days, Estel. Will you allow me to do so?" He was met with another brief nod.

"Why, Estel?" whispered Elladan, brushing away the tears from Aragorn's face, noticing how pale and drawn he appeared. "What has hurt you so deeply?"

Aragorn stubbornly shook his head.

Glorfindel reached out and touched the human's shoulder. "If you will not speak, it will eat away at you until it has consumed you. It will drive you to such despair that you will see no way out but to take your own life. It is not just you that suffers, Estel. The twins suffer deeply because they love and care for you, and yet they can do nothing to ease your pain. It is the same for myself. Please tell us."

"Perhaps I should fetch Arwen?" Elrohir suggested, in the hope that his sister might draw information from her beloved.

Aragorn's eyes widened. "No! She cannot know of this!"

"Ada, then?"

Aragorn stiffened, and his eyes and voice took on a hard, bitter edge that scared all three Elves. "Why would I wish to see the one who has driven me to this? Except to show him the consequences of his words?"

The twins exchanged horrified looks. Elladan drew Aragorn to him again. "What has he said to you, Estel?"

Aragorn buried his face in his brother's shirt. "I cannot speak of it; the pain is too great."

"It will only grow worse if you bottle it all up inside of you and speak of it to no-one," Glorfindel pointed out.

Aragorn was silent for several minutes. Finally, he took a deep, shaky breath. "He – he said that I must break my alliance with Arwen. That – that I am not worthy of her. That I cannot continue to call him 'Ada' and that he is 'Lord Elrond' to me. That – that…" He broke off, unable to continue, sobbing desperately as Elladan held him. Neither twin could comprehend their father's cruelty.

"He – he rejected you?" asked Elrohir in distress. Aragorn had been rejected by many in his life, and the son of Elrond knew that each rejection injured Aragorn's fragile spirit further.

Aragorn nodded. "In every way possible. I know not why I am not ordered to stay in the guest quarters. Or perhaps with the servants. Or perhaps even outside, where I would normally sleep while out in the wild. After all, I am fit for nothing more. If I expect nothing, I shall not be disappointed. How could I ever hope for him to accept my love for Arwen? She is far too high for a common Ranger."

"You are no common Ranger!" Elladan cut in, his own heart aching with the pain Aragorn was experiencing, his mind reeling with his father's cruel words. "You are a king! You will be a king one day!"

"She is still beyond my reach. How can I not be sure that I am not merely an object for her pity?"

"Oh, Estel!" The depth of his foster brother's insecurity, and complete lack of self-esteem and self-worth broke his heart. Aragorn had never had a very high opinion of himself, but neither twin had realised or comprehended how deep it truly went.

Elrohir moved the bowl of pink-tinged water away and squeezed Aragorn's hand tightly. "Why do you see yourself in such a poor way, Estel? You are a wonderful person." His heart was tearing in two.

"Because I can never be good enough for anyone. I cannot hope to come close to your kind in abilities. I will never be good enough for Arwen. I would be a bad ruler for Gondor, whose citizens have suffered long enough. I did not do enough to obtain information from Gollum and then I let him escape. I was not able to get Frodo here fast enough. There have been many whose lives slipped away under my care or who I led into battle and then lost their lives there; those under my command. I did not pay as much attention as I should have done when the Enemy laid traps for me and I was fooled, and now I waste Imladris' precious medical supplies because of my own weakness! Weakness is in my blood and I will never conquer it!"

Silence fell for a few minutes as the three Elves absorbed this, Elladan still holding Aragorn tightly.

It was Glorfindel who spoke first. "You are far from weak, child. You are one of the strongest people I have ever met – and remember I have seen several millennia."

"Mouldy oldie," Elladan teased lightly, unable to resist the opportunity.

Glorfindel glared at him. "I would be very careful, young Elladan. I have been on the receiving end of entirely too many of your pranks. So mind yourself."

Elladan rather inelegantly stuck his tongue out at his father's advisor.

"Childish brat," muttered Glorfindel (and not for the first time).

Elladan buried his face in Aragorn's unruly hair. The moment of lightness had passed. "You cannot control everything, Estel. Nobody is perfect. Even those such as Gandalf and Ada cannot save everyone. Everybody has problems. Some are more serious than others."

"Concentrate on those, then, and stop wasting your time on me," Aragorn mumbled.

"The most serious problems in Imladris at the moment are the wounds of Frodo Baggins – which are being dealt with by Elrond and Gandalf as we speak – and yours," said Glorfindel. "I am scared, Estel. Scared of the view you have of yourself. How can we make you see how important you are to the people around you? How can we make you see how much good you have to offer? We could spend hours telling you of the good things about you. How can we make you see how much you are loved for who you are, not what people want you to be?"

Elrohir, seeing Aragorn shake his head, chose a different angle. "Take us back to that night when you nearly took your own life. When we nearly lost you. I never did understand."

Aragorn blinked at him. "Why?"

"Please."

"What is there to speak of?"

"Estel, you had been cutting for months before that night! You had been low in spirit for months! What pushed you that little bit too far? We want to understand. We want to help you!"

Aragorn hesitated, then took a deep, shaky breath. "I – I realised that I was nothing but a burden. A burden on A – on Lord Elrond, a burden on you, a burden on Rivendell as a whole…I was tainted. Different. Inferior. Unwanted."

The last word hung heavily in the air.

"If I was unwanted, why stay? Why not rid you all of my pathetic presence?"

"How came you to feel unwanted? What did we do?" asked Elrohir, devastated, desperately trying to recall anything that he may have said or done to make his foster brother think such things.

"I am no Elf, Elrohir! I am nothing but a human! Inferior in every way to you and your kind!"

Elladan nervously took a deep breath, not wanting to ask the question in his mind but knowing it had to be asked. "Have you ever hurt yourself when you were out in the wild, Estel? Have – have you ever contemplated taking your own life since you learned of your true name?"

Aragorn laughed hollowly, causing the other three to shudder. "Of course I contemplated it, though I never took a knife to myself, tempting as it often was. But before, I had the hope of one day being with Arwen. That can never happen now, though. Now I have nothing to look forward to. I was named 'Hope', but now I have none."

"Yes you do! You will be with Arwen one day, Estel! She loves you with all her heart! All of Imladris sees it! Ada does too, and it scares him."

"Do you not understand? He cannot bear a mere human taking his precious only daughter from him forever, to live and die as a mortal. I could not be that cruel to him; he has done so much for me and I am forever in debt to him for it."

"Estel, he rejected you! How can you speak of cruelty?"

Glorfindel, whom none had noticed leave the room, knelt in front of Aragorn, a steaming mug in his hands. "You need to rest, Estel. We can talk more in the morning." He held out the mug. "Drink this. It will help you to sleep."

Aragorn did not fight, as he would normally do when given a sleeping draught, instead taking the mug and drinking the hot liquid. "It tastes reasonable for once."

"That is because I made it."

"But Ada says that if we add things to make the medicines taste nice it counteracts the effects they have on healing and are rendered useless," said Elladan, confused. "He says that is why they always taste so foul."

The corners of Glorfindel's mouth twitched upwards. "That is false. Have you not considered that perhaps the reason they always taste so is because he wishes to provide you with an incentive to avoid troublesome and dangerous situations in the future? A deterrent, if you will."

The twins' faces wore identical looks of utter horror. "He deceived us!" Elladan hissed furiously.

"He lied!" Elrohir added, equally furiously.

Glorfindel regarded him mildly. "Perhaps with good reason, would you not agree? Although it seems to have had little effect upon you two."

This time he was met with identical glares.

Glorfindel wisely decided to change the topic. He turned to Aragorn. "Come. Let us get you into bed."

Aragorn complied, allowing the twins to help him undress, for he was exhausted and the drink had already begun to affect him. As Elladan eased the covers over his almost-asleep foster brother, who lay on his back, Aragorn reached out and caught his sleeve. "Please don't leave me," he whispered, grey eyes desperate, lonely, scared, pleading.

Elladan felt a rush of love for the human. "I shall be right beside you all night," he promised.

"I shall also be so," added Elrohir.

"I – I don't want to be alone again," Aragorn whispered. "I am always alone."

"Then you will not be alone tonight," Elladan promised. He lay down on one side of Aragorn, taking his hand and squeezing it comfortingly. Elrohir lay down on the other side of Aragorn. Glorfindel smiled down at them and somehow managed to manipulate the covers so that all three were covered. He silently prayed to the Valar that Aragorn would survive the next few days – the most crucial ones. Some serious issues needed to be addressed, and soon. At this precise moment in time, though, the human needed his brothers, perhaps more than ever before.

Closing the bedroom door, Glorfindel went to his own room, hoping for a change in fortune for Aragorn. Valar knows he needs it, he thought before drifting off to sleep.

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