Disclaimer: Yup, uses some of Professor Tolkien's characters and places, which (and I cry bitterly over this every night) I don't own. But here goes …

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White light, a thunderclap.

Aragorn opened his eyes with a start, and waited for his blurred vision to clear. Where was he? His head throbbed, currents of tightness winding around his scalp. What had happened to him? He lurched into a sitting position and squinted into the powdery darkness.

He could hear a storm pounding the earth outside, and gradually, by staccato flashes of light, he found himself in a strange room – small in size, walled with smooth, brown stones and simply furnished with sturdy wooden furniture. He felt fine spray of rain on his hand as the wind blew it in under the wide eaves and through the large, glassless window which punctuated the wall beside him. Moisture-laden air filled his lungs.

He attempted to rise, but as he staggered off the straw mattress his head swam and a sharp pain drilled into his right temple. He sat down again and raised his hand to his head. It was bandaged tightly but he could feel a patch of caked, dried blood on the rough cloth. He stilled himself and cast his mind back. What had happened?

Then he saw the scene as if through gauze: he is riding fast in the pouring rain, Fleet missteps on a slippery stone, both he and the horse had go tumbling down a steep incline. Then …? He lost consciousness – someone must have found him lying there by the side of the road and taken him in, healed his wounds.

A wave of gratitude swept over him for a moment; and with it a kind of relief. There were yet good people in the world.

But just then, a sudden thought occurred to him and he almost leapt off the bed. What had happened to Fleet? He must know if the horse – his friend, his companion - had been injured too; if he had been left behind.

With his head a little clearer, Aragorn peered out of the window. Through the silver rods of rain, he could make out a square structure not too far away. It was a barn of some sort … or a stable? If they – whoever they were – had saved Fleet as well, they might have put him in there. He would not wake the good people of this house, but he would go and check now. He must know, he would not be able to sleep until he had at least looked inside that building.

He left the room, quietly felt his way down a thickly silent passage and suddenly found himself in the breathless, moonlit open. The cold, bracing wind flowed silkily over him, coaxing him into alertness. It was still raining, but the thunder had died down to a low, occasional rumble. With little more than a cursory glance around, he sprinted across the sodden ground to the wooden structure; but as he reached the eaves, he was surprised to find a dim glow coming from inside.

He stopped and stood on the threshold – stood mutely and looked. There was Fleet, unharmed, standing quietly in a stall. A single candle stood on the floor, radiating a flickering sphere of dusty orange light. And standing by the horse, stroking its nose and whispering to it, was a girl.

Seeing that Fleet was safe, Aragorn turned to leave, but a soft roll of thunder made the girl look up instinctively. She saw him and smiled – a calm, somehow knowing, smile – while the horse whinnied in recognition.

"I was mistaken," she said, returning to her task of combing the blond mane. "The storm did not appear to disturb him at all – I came down to settle him, but he was perfectly placid." Her fingers expertly weaved their way through the horse's hair. "I do hope you do not mind me tending to him, but rarely do I have the chance to groom such a beautiful beast."

"No, I do not mind." (His voice, to his ears, sounded a little cracked and stiff. How long had it been since he had actually talked with another human being on his solitary travels? It must be some weeks, at least.) "I believe he is glad of a more gentle groom than myself." Fleet snorted. Aragorn hesitated for a moment on the front step, then walked inside – the dry, mossy smell of the barn filled his head, comforting. He gave Fleet a friendly rub and took a seat on a nearby bale of hay, however habit, as much as anything else, dictated that he keep out of the candlelight so that his face was obscured in shadow.

Respectfully, the girl kept her eyes locked on the horse as she tended to it, and there was silence for a moment. The last of the raindrops could be heard dripping into overflowing pools of mud outside; thunder murmured, far away. Finally, without looking up, she ventured to comment.

"I did not expect to see you up so soon – it was only last night we found you, and you have been asleep all day. Even now I think it would be better for you to be in bed."

"Forgive me, I was concerned about my horse. But now I see there was no need, for he has been well looked after." He looked down. His hands - callused and scratched – had also been bathed in herbal water, he realised, as the subtle scent came to his attention and he examined the way in which the wounds were healing "We have both been well looked after," he added. "May I ask whom it is I should be thanking?"

She tossed a friendly smile in his direction as she began to rub the horse down. "There is no need for thanks – after all, if we do not help one another in these times, who will? But, if you wish to know, my own name is Larynia. It was my father who found you in the ditch, however – he is called Hambard. And my mother was the one who tended to your wounds. Irina is her name. But these things are not important at the moment. More importantly, how do you feel now? You were badly injured last night and you should not be outside yet."

"I believe I am fully healed, and may take my leave in the morning so that I will burden you no more." He stood up and stroked Fleet's nose, as if to prove the point. "I only wish I had some way to repay you for your kindness."

She stopped, and looked at him. "You may repay us by staying a little longer until you are truly well. I cannot believe you are fit to ride already."

"But I will not stay here in idleness, taking the hard-earned food from your mouths! No. Thank you, but I will leave in the morning."

"Please, we would like very much for you to stay for a little while, at least. We so seldom have any travellers stopping through anymore, and Papa and Mama would like to hear any news you can give use. And besides, if you wish for employment, I am sure there are many things you could help us with on the farm. Consider this the price of any small service we have rendered you."

Aragorn smiled a lopsided smile. "As you wish then, Larynia. Though I have the feeling that the price will be but another debt in disguise."

She laughed lightly. "Then you must stay yet longer to discharge that debt."

They fell into an amiable silence, and as she tended to the horse and he watched her. She could have been no more than twenty or so years of age, and was obviously a daughter of the land. She had a slim frame, but strong and wiry from years of manual work. Her face was not beautiful – it was rather brown and rough, as were the faces of all the sun-kissed farmers of the region, her features were rather large and her bony nose was slightly crooked, as if from a childhood injury. However, overall it was not an altogether unpleasant face, he thought, for it appeared open and honest and completely without guile.

"Oh!" Her exclamation interrupted his train of thought. "Forgive me but I have not even asked your name."

"My name?" The corner of his lip curled upward slightly. "I have many names, but there are those who call me Strider."

"Strider," she repeated, then paused as if considering the sound. "No, I do not think it suits you … it is coarse and common. "

He sent forth a sudden, clear laugh. "Indeed? If that is the case, I would have thought the name perfectly fitting, for I am nothing but a weary traveller."

"Somehow I do not believe you are either coarse or common," she said seriously. "Although I know very little of such things, there seems to be something about your manner, and your look, and your carriage that makes me think … I do not know … that you could be a captain … or a nobleman … or even a king."

His face was grave now, but he casually picked up a piece of straw and twirled it about between his fingers as he examined it. "Perhaps your eyes are so keen they see things that are not there."

Her eyes searched his face, and momentarily met his grey ones as they glanced keenly upwards. "Perhaps, " she replied.

She began to clean up the tools and return them to their leather satchel.

"You have a noble steed, at any rate." she said pleasantly, without looking up. "What is his name?"

"Fleet. He is called Fleet."

"And where did a weary traveller obtain such a fine creature?" Had the tone not been so playful and teasing, Aragorn thought he might have detected a note of irony in the words. However, he shook off the unpleasant feeling – she, naturally perhaps, suspects me of thieving, he thought. He responded gently and truthfully.

"He was a gift to me from a captain I once served, far away north in Rohan."

"Rohan?" Her tone was deeply curious. As she looked at him, he thought he saw the shadow of sadness flicker across her eyes, but the next moment it was gone, leaving him to guess whether or not it had been his own imagination.

"That is the country to the north of Gondor, is it not?" She continued eagerly. He assented. "That is indeed far away, traveller. You must tell me of all the things you have seen on your journeys, for I am sure that you have seen much and many wondrous things." She glanced outside through the large doorway, and turned back to him with a slightly regretful smile. "But another time must suffice – it is but a few hours until daybreak, and we both need to rest."

He nodded, and offered her his arm. They returned to the house in silence.