Disclaimer:
The characters other than Ocs belong to the estate of Professor Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story is not written for profit.
He could have had me for free.
I do that sometimes for the good men, the ones who treat me with respect, if they are lonely or poor or if I just like the look of them. I had seen him plenty of times. He would stay at the inn – old Barliman didn't exactly approve of what I did but he let me help serve the customers with food and ale. Afterwards I would serve some of the customers a different way, not in his tavern of course; he pointed out he ran a respectable Inn but he knew they came to me for services he didn't provide. I have a small cottage it isn't much to look at and the roof leaks every time it rains.
This ranger would often stop at The Pony. Barliman was a bit afraid of him but there are others closer to home more worthy of his fear. Bill Ferny and his cronies for example, I stay away from them and won't go with them however much they offer me. Even I have my standards. Strider's different, he keeps himself to himself for the most part but he always says thank you or at least gives a nod. He has a soft way of speaking but those eyes of his could pierce your soul.
I remember that night very clearly, when I served him I noticed his hand was bleeding and he seemed worn out. I offered to bind it for him and after some hesitation he agreed. I think he was surprised to find that my house of ill repute was quite tidy. I warmed the water and he sat by the fire while I tended his wounds. It was the first time I got a proper look at him – usually he keeps that cloak of his on and you can't see much of him at all. He was obviously used to getting into fights of some sort because he had a supply of salve with him and he instructed me in how I was to treat each cut.
Normally I would have come back with a sharp retort but there was something about him that made me hold my tongue. I made him some tea after that and his hand wasn't too steady when he held the cup. He was exhausted and had a haunted look about him that time that spoke of a battle hard won. I told him to lie down and sleep and he was tired enough not to care what those back in the tavern would think. By coming with me they would already have thought he was one of my customers, so staying longer wasn't going to make a difference.
He had a nightmare, moaning in some outlandish tongue and then waking with a start and drawing his sword while still half asleep. For a moment he didn't seem to know where he was, then as I spoke he calmed once more.
"I have kept you from your bed" he said softly and apologetically.
"It matters not" I told him "I have a tendency to sleep during the day as I am generally employed at night."
I had made a joke out of it and he smiled very briefly before he got a little embarrassed. Why men have such a problem with me selling the one thing that is truly mine I shall never know.
He looked at me then for the first time in the way that a man who has needs looks at a woman. I am no great beauty but I make the most of my assets and I think my customers value comfort over looks in any case. I had bound up my hair when I was tending to his wounds and now I let it loose. He was watching me so I leaned forward a little and picked up my brush from the small table beside the bed.
His expression did not change as I brushed my hair but I could detect that his breath had quickened slightly.
"Did you want something?" I asked him, but softly, as I didn't want to repulse him by being too blatant.
He shook his head. "I am betrothed" he said firmly but for some reason there was sorrow in his voice.
"You are far from her and it will be some time before you are wed." I said guessing the reason for his sadness. "Would it be so wrong for you to seek a little comfort here?"
"I love her!" he protested.
"I did not say otherwise" I told him "I am not offering you love but relief. You are weary and have been alone for too long – would she deny you this release?"
He was willing to be persuaded, I could tell by the hunger in his eyes, not that it mattered who was offering – a starving man does not care what kind of food he eats. I slipped out of my dress and went to him then.
He was reluctant at first but his desires took over and he took what he needed from me. I let him pay me because he felt guilty enough and he did not want to be in my debt. As I have said he could have had me for free.
I heard he was in The Pony the night that the black riders came and I saw him leave the next morning with some hobbits. I never saw him again after that but I am sure it must be because of him that the King in the south sent money to all those in need in our village and that allowed me to buy a small farm of my own.