Disclaimer: 'If you don't have anything witty to say, don't say anything'...Okay, Okay, I know it's compulsory, and it doesn't actually have to be witty, so, um...I own the LotR merchandise, but I don't own them. See, wasn't that a waste of space?

Canon Notes: This is an AU that looks like the real thing, so I just want to clear up any flaws here: I've had Aragorn travelling with Halbarad (whom I love, really!), so they arrived together along with Frodo (uninjured), Sam, Merry, Pippin and Gandalf. Less importantly, I have assumed that Legolas and Aragorn knew each other before any of this took place. All will become clear...

Dedication: OK, how could I not dedicate this to ShadowDreamer? Without your constant nagging and encouragement, I would have given this up a long time ago. Thank you!

AN: *sweeps dust off fic* So, uh, long time no write, huh? I want to thank my muses for their impromptu vacation from the LotR fandom just after I posted the prologue, but now they're back, and I've tied them up to make sure they won't run off again, so hopefully updates'll be more frequent now. This chapter's more introductory and respective, but it gives you most of the background of the 'Heartbreaker' game, so I hope it's not too dull! Speech in italics happened in the past. So, that's enough talk from me, and I think you've waited long enough, so S_Star and her many muses proudly present:

Light filtered through the leaves of the ever-blossoming cherry trees and dappled against the walls, seeming to soften the harsh, grey stone as the shadows stroked the slabs.

The soft waving of the branches in the spring breeze seemed to lull the inhabitants to sleep, and the whole citadel seemed serene on that calm morning.

In reality, however, the whole of Rivendell was awash with activity, awaiting the arrival of the delegations from the other races of Middle Earth. Lord Elrond, ruler of Imladris and his second, Lord Glorfindel, were rushing around the council rooms, readying themselves for their guests, blind to any other trivialities that may have distracted them from their frantic preparations.

A few days previously had seen the arrival of the first, although uninvited, group of travellers; four hobbits – presently enjoying Elrond's private gardens – an Istari by the name of Gandalf the Grey, and two men, one of the true Dúnedain, Halbarad, and the other also a Ranger, who went by the name of Strider, but was also known as Aragorn, heir to the throne of Gondor and rightful king of men.

And, at that moment, he was doing as any other human ruler would have done is his position: taking on a more managerial role in the proceedings. Put in layman's terms, he was doing absolutely nothing.

Well, nearly nothing. He was sitting in the main outside council area with Lord Elrond's daughter Arwen, evening star of the elves, and, judging by the delicate laughter floating across the courtyard, having a very good time.

The source of the laughter was draped across her father's throne (as it had come to be known), leaning back elegantly to expose more of herself to her lover's intent gaze.

Her clear blue eyes shone in the early sunshine, alight with the joy of being courted, her long hair, free from the circlet that traditionally bound it, seemed to shine too, strands of chestnut silk gently wrapping themselves round the couple in a loose yet tender embrace.

Aragorn stood behind the chair, arms wrapped lazily round Arwen's neck as he whispered sickly-sweet nothings into her ear while taking a long look at the pale flesh disappearing into her loose purple shift.

The Undómiel was indeed a great prize to be won, especially by a mere mortal man, but he had done it.

To be honest, he was actually quite surprised at the ease with which he had accomplished his task and the willingness with which she had submitted to his hushed demands and ghostly caresses.

It had started only a month before, when he and his fellow Dúnedain, Halbarad, had first arrived at Imladris after a long, seemingly pointless journey to Rohan and seen Arwen's face again.

Aragorn himself had looked upon her and seen only a sister, the elf with whom he had grown up (though obviously, he more than she), and when he met her eyes he had been met with long forgotten memories from his childhood of the games he, Elladan and Elrohir would play as she looked on, her fair face torn between amusement of distaste at their hilarious (although admittedly muddy) exploits.

But Halbarad had seen her for what she really was, or at least what she should have been to him.

'Look at her,' he'd insisted. 'Tell me what you see, and I will explain exactly how wrong you are.'

So Aragorn had, and he did.

Apparently she was beautiful beyond compare, and, after listening to his companion waxing lyrical about her, Aragorn began to see what he meant, and finally realised why the twins were always so protective of her around any potential suitors: essentially, any males, regardless of race, who dared to enter her presence uninvited, or, indeed, with prior permission not granted by their father.

However, as he soon found out, these rules did not apply to their dear foster brother Estel, and that was where they made their biggest mistake.

It had, he insisted again, all been Halbarad's idea in the first place. He had seen the way Aragorn and Arwen embraced upon their reunion, and decided that she would be their next target, or, more accurately, their next victim.

He had come to Aragorn with the challenge 'Make her love you,' and the initial response had been, 'But, as you said, she already does.'

He was her brother, she was his sister, and he had believed that nothing could ever change that. He had, of course, been wrong.

She had been the one person he didn't want to hurt, the little sister he could protect and love in security, without having to feel pressured or trapped by the conditional bonds of romance, but the challenge had been issued, and there was no turning back.

Arwen had revelled in the attentions he bestowed upon her, and had taken so naturally to this supposedly predictable advancement of their relationship that (at least for the early weeks) Aragorn had believed in it, too.

But then, as with every other challenge Halbarad had issued him, it had grown stale, and he again longed for the elation a new lover induced. By now, these emotions had become almost routine, and he knew to soften the emptiness with the knowledge that his current project was completely and desperately in love with him, but this never managed to fully blunt the sharp pain, only to dull it to a slow, black ache.

He shook his head in worry – it was scary how natural it felt to him to feel like this and how easily he referred to his 'challenges' and 'projects' as if it was second nature. He didn't want to admit that it was.

'Estel? What's wrong?' asked Arwen in concern, and he had to smile at the tears appearing in her eyes at the thought that he might be hurt in some way.

'Nothing's wrong, melamin,' he insisted, and that was true. By now, he would readily state that his misgivings were another routine, purely reflex at this late stage in the proceedings, and that he wouldn't give up for the world.

Nothing could be more fulfilling than his way of life: he could make any beautiful creature, male or female, love him, and they were, indeed, beautiful – Halbarad and the other Dúnedain always picked the best for him in the hopes that one day he would fail, but he never did, and therefore came out on top of the situation every time. He asked himself how anything could outweigh these benefits, and the answer always satisfied him.

But how could they even try to top the legendary Evenstar in beauty? He relaxed forward, leaning his weight against the back of the chair and moving further into her clinging embrace, knowing that there would be no further challenges for a good, long while.

Suddenly, Arwen released his arms from her tight grip and shot up.

At his puzzled look, she gave him small smile. 'The delegation from Mirkwood is to arrive here shortly. Surely you had not forgotten about your reunion with your best friend?'

In truth, Aragorn had not forgotten about the pending reunion: he had been looking forward to it for a long time, and had found that he could hardly wait for the elves' arrival at Rivendell.

Understanding his expression, Arwen's smile grew. 'Good, because if you had, I would have had to break it to Prince Legolas that you no longer cared for him, and a heartbroken elf is not a pleasant sight to behold through anyone's eyes.'

He laughed despite himself. 'Dearest Arwen, I have warned you not to exaggerate so.'

'And I have warned you not to doubt my knowledge of my kin. Such a thing has happened to many of us before, including those who have lost true friends. It is not a condition exclusive to lost love, and you know that as well as I do. Come now, I think I hear the horses arriving.'

Halbarad watched, disinterested, from the balcony as his companion and his current paramour greeted the new arrivals, none of which were particularly breathtaking, he noted, except-

The final Mirkwood elf to arrive was beautiful, he could tell even from such a distance. His interest grew as the elf ran towards Aragorn and hugged him tightly, seeming to be talking in rapid Elvish of his travels.

The Dúnedain's mind made the link, and he realised that the elf had to be Legolas Greenleaf, crown prince of Mirkwood, Aragorn's beloved best friend. He frowned slightly, realising his companion had never mentioned the elf's shining blond hair and slender frame, or the way his eyes seemed to sparkle when he laughed.

Halbarad's own eyes lit up as he made another easy mental link, and a slow smile spread across his face as he watched the pair talking below him. This was just too perfect...

AN: So, whaddya think, was it worth the wait? Oh, and thank you to everyone who reviewed the prologue! I hope you like this as much, as different as it is...