As Aragorn sat by the fire and watched the sleeping form of the golden Elf on the last night of their journey to Rivendell, he could not help a pang of regret in his heart. He knew tomorrow when they enter the city, he would have to be Aragorn again, the trainer and commander of the joint Elven Army. Though he would see Lasgalen every day, he would have to pretend that he did not know the Elf; that he was not Strider. For some unfathomable reason, Aragorn felt more than a bit sad.