Here we are! I'm still struggling with my sequel (thanks to Kat, you're
keeping me going (you know who you are)). Anyway, I've always wondered what
Aragorn's parents were like, so here's my little idea. Let me know if you
want more.
Disclaimer: In case you hadn't already guessed, none of this belongs to me. Got it?
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin . . .
Destiny's Joining
Arathorn trudged through the fields, his dark hair hanging lank about his face. His hand hovered over his sword-hilt, his blue eyes alert for any sign of a threat. He could hear distant shouting. Perhaps he was coming up on a village, though he knew of no village in these hills, only farms and a small market inn where the farmers traded goods.
Cresting the hill, he gazed across the rambling pastures. A small frown creased his forehead as he took note of a group of people below him, by the river that fed every farmstead for miles. He began to walk down to them, feeling anger stirring in his blood.
Five burly farm workers had cornered one of the innkeeper's daughters. They were pushing her about, having taken her basket and thrown its contents to the animals. Her golden hair flashed in the afternoon sun as she turned this way and that, trying to escape them. Arathorn could see tears glistening on her cheeks.
Angry that anyone would treat a woman in such a way, he nonetheless kept his features neutral as he approached them. Kneeling by the water, he filled his water sac, all the while keeping his eyes on the group nearby. One of the men growled,
'Move on, Ranger. This is none of your concern.'
Arathorn merely continued to watch them, forcing himself to relax despite the bruises he could now see adorning the girl's face and arms. Every time she tried to escape them, or fight back, she was shoved roughly to the ground, kicked or punched. He stood, adjusting his weapons to make sure they knew he was armed. The man took a step towards him.
'I said, move on.'
'I heard you,' Arathorn replied mildly, sheathing his dagger. 'What's so dangerous about the girl that five men must harass her so?'
The men glared at him, the girl held fast in their midst. She looked at him, desperate hope clear in her eyes. He didn't allow himself to look at her, maintaining eye contact with the ringleader.
'This is none of your concern.'
He nodded.
'Perhaps you're right.'
Arathorn felt the girl's accusing eyes on his back as he turned away, waiting until they thought he was well on his way out of there. He stopped, turning back to face them.
'Or then again, maybe I should make it my business.'
They rushed him as one, their clumsy attacks easily deflected by his skill. As he fought them off with humiliating ease, one began to run, the others following suit until only the leader was left. He backed away, drawing a dagger and holding it to the girl's throat.
'Not so confident now, are we?' he sneered, as Arathorn hesitated. 'Let me leave, without harm, and I'll let the girl go free in a mile or so.'
'What's to prevent you mistreating her during that mile or so?'
As the sneering man searched for a reply, Arathorn saw the girl's hand move down to the belt at her back. The leader never felt her remove the second dagger. As he tightened his grip on her, she slashed his own dagger down his arm, making him throw her away from him with a howl of pain. She fell heavily, crying out as she slammed into the rocks by the river. The man glanced from her to the Ranger and ran, his weapons forgotten.
Arathorn watched him go, kneeling beside the girl. She flinched away from him.
'I'm not going to hurt you,' he promised. 'I want to see how badly you're hurt.'
Shaking with fear, she let him run his hands lightly over her, checking for any injuries other than those he could see. Her face, arms and throat were covered in bruises, her lip split, her nose bloody. Her hands were bleeding from where she'd fallen on the rocks, and a long gash ran down her leg. Arathorn was appalled at the injuries they had inflicted on her.
'Why did they do this?'
She shook her head.
'I don't know,' she said in a small frightened voice. 'Something to do with my father, they said.'
He began to rummage through his pack, pulling out clean bandages and herbs with which to make a poultice for her wounds. She watched him silently, wincing as he cleaned the gashes that decorated her otherwise flawless skin. When he had finally finished, the sun was low in the sky.
'You will not be returning home tonight, my lady,' Arathorn said, gathering his belongings back into his pack. 'I will escort you to your homestead tomorrow.'
'Thank you,' she said quietly, her brown eyes on him as he moved about. 'What is your name?'
He smiled.
'I am Arathorn. And you?'
'Gilraen. My father owns the market inn.'
'Well, it just so happens, Gilraen, that the market inn is my destination,' he told her, glad when she finally smiled back at him. 'I will take you home tomorrow.'
*~*~*
The fire crackled in the darkness, illuminating the two figures talking together. Arathorn had carried Gilraen, despite her protests, to a thicket near the river, not comfortable with making camp in the open. The night had descended quickly, bringing a crisp cold air that promised a frost. Gilraen was pressed against him as they talked, her slender frame shivering with cold. He dreaded to think how she was going to get through the night.
'So, what is it like being a Ranger?' she asked suddenly, aware that neither of them had spoken for a while.
Arathorn smiled faintly.
'It is a hard life,' he told her. 'I have never had a house to call home, living my life under the unforgiving sky. The skills I hold have taken me forty years to master, and every day I learn something new. I have many enemies, always alert for danger, but I wouldn't change a thing. I am proud to be a Ranger.'
Gilraen gazed at him, admiration in her eyes.
'It must be wonderful to be able to live your life as you wish,' she said softly. 'To be who you wish, go where you like . . . I envy you.'
He turned slightly to her, bemused.
'Why, Gilraen? My life is harsh and dangerous; no one should long for it.'
She bit her lip.
'But it is free,' she said, a hint of tears on the edge of her voice. 'I am not free. I am my father's trump card, that he can play whenever he is threatened. Confined to the inn, forced to tolerate questing hands and drunken advances, and now, he wants to marry me off to one of his gaming partners! That is no life for anyone to lead, Arathorn, no matter how terrible they may be!'
He stared at her.
'How old are you?'
'Twenty.'
Arathorn was horrified that she should know so much hardship and still not have reached her independent age. Something inside him stirred that told him he didn't want her to endure any more of this. Next to him, Gilraen shivered again, pressing closer to him for warmth. Unconsciously, he wrapped his arm about her shoulders, letting her lean into him. He sighed.
'No one should have to endure so much within their own family, Gilraen. You are far stronger than I would have given you credit for. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.'
She didn't answer. Looking down, he saw that she had fallen asleep, nestled against his side. He grinned, moving them back gently until they were back against a tree, before covering her with his blanket. He settled back to sleep, trying to shake the feeling that, somehow, this was how they should be forever.
*~*~*
Arathorn woke early the next morning, blinking in the pre-dawn light. Beside him, Gilraen made a girlish sound in her throat, nestling closer to him, her head on his shoulder. Her golden hair fanned out over the soft ground, catching the light. She seemed so peaceful, so carefree as she slept, her young face soft in repose. He felt his heart move again, for the second time in two days when he was thinking about her. It was odd that she should touch him so in such a short space of time.
A bird gave a shrill call in the trees above them, startling Gilraen out of sleep. She jumped, relaxing when she felt his strong arm about her. Gazing up into his eyes, she smiled faintly and sat up, running her fingers through the tangles in her hair.
'Good morning,' Arathorn said, standing up and stretching.
'Good morning.'
He left her for a moment to fetch some water from the river, allowing Gilraen to watch him go, her eyes lingering on the spot where he had been for some time afterward. She didn't know what had come over her, a sudden certainty that if she didn't spend her life with him, then it would be unfulfilled. She had never been one to believe in fate, but somehow knew that her destiny lay with the Ranger, whoever he might be.
Arathorn returned, giving her a gentle smile as he offered the water sac to her. Gilraen thanked him, wondering if he felt the same way about her. And if he didn't, what would she do?
Disclaimer: In case you hadn't already guessed, none of this belongs to me. Got it?
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin . . .
Destiny's Joining
Arathorn trudged through the fields, his dark hair hanging lank about his face. His hand hovered over his sword-hilt, his blue eyes alert for any sign of a threat. He could hear distant shouting. Perhaps he was coming up on a village, though he knew of no village in these hills, only farms and a small market inn where the farmers traded goods.
Cresting the hill, he gazed across the rambling pastures. A small frown creased his forehead as he took note of a group of people below him, by the river that fed every farmstead for miles. He began to walk down to them, feeling anger stirring in his blood.
Five burly farm workers had cornered one of the innkeeper's daughters. They were pushing her about, having taken her basket and thrown its contents to the animals. Her golden hair flashed in the afternoon sun as she turned this way and that, trying to escape them. Arathorn could see tears glistening on her cheeks.
Angry that anyone would treat a woman in such a way, he nonetheless kept his features neutral as he approached them. Kneeling by the water, he filled his water sac, all the while keeping his eyes on the group nearby. One of the men growled,
'Move on, Ranger. This is none of your concern.'
Arathorn merely continued to watch them, forcing himself to relax despite the bruises he could now see adorning the girl's face and arms. Every time she tried to escape them, or fight back, she was shoved roughly to the ground, kicked or punched. He stood, adjusting his weapons to make sure they knew he was armed. The man took a step towards him.
'I said, move on.'
'I heard you,' Arathorn replied mildly, sheathing his dagger. 'What's so dangerous about the girl that five men must harass her so?'
The men glared at him, the girl held fast in their midst. She looked at him, desperate hope clear in her eyes. He didn't allow himself to look at her, maintaining eye contact with the ringleader.
'This is none of your concern.'
He nodded.
'Perhaps you're right.'
Arathorn felt the girl's accusing eyes on his back as he turned away, waiting until they thought he was well on his way out of there. He stopped, turning back to face them.
'Or then again, maybe I should make it my business.'
They rushed him as one, their clumsy attacks easily deflected by his skill. As he fought them off with humiliating ease, one began to run, the others following suit until only the leader was left. He backed away, drawing a dagger and holding it to the girl's throat.
'Not so confident now, are we?' he sneered, as Arathorn hesitated. 'Let me leave, without harm, and I'll let the girl go free in a mile or so.'
'What's to prevent you mistreating her during that mile or so?'
As the sneering man searched for a reply, Arathorn saw the girl's hand move down to the belt at her back. The leader never felt her remove the second dagger. As he tightened his grip on her, she slashed his own dagger down his arm, making him throw her away from him with a howl of pain. She fell heavily, crying out as she slammed into the rocks by the river. The man glanced from her to the Ranger and ran, his weapons forgotten.
Arathorn watched him go, kneeling beside the girl. She flinched away from him.
'I'm not going to hurt you,' he promised. 'I want to see how badly you're hurt.'
Shaking with fear, she let him run his hands lightly over her, checking for any injuries other than those he could see. Her face, arms and throat were covered in bruises, her lip split, her nose bloody. Her hands were bleeding from where she'd fallen on the rocks, and a long gash ran down her leg. Arathorn was appalled at the injuries they had inflicted on her.
'Why did they do this?'
She shook her head.
'I don't know,' she said in a small frightened voice. 'Something to do with my father, they said.'
He began to rummage through his pack, pulling out clean bandages and herbs with which to make a poultice for her wounds. She watched him silently, wincing as he cleaned the gashes that decorated her otherwise flawless skin. When he had finally finished, the sun was low in the sky.
'You will not be returning home tonight, my lady,' Arathorn said, gathering his belongings back into his pack. 'I will escort you to your homestead tomorrow.'
'Thank you,' she said quietly, her brown eyes on him as he moved about. 'What is your name?'
He smiled.
'I am Arathorn. And you?'
'Gilraen. My father owns the market inn.'
'Well, it just so happens, Gilraen, that the market inn is my destination,' he told her, glad when she finally smiled back at him. 'I will take you home tomorrow.'
*~*~*
The fire crackled in the darkness, illuminating the two figures talking together. Arathorn had carried Gilraen, despite her protests, to a thicket near the river, not comfortable with making camp in the open. The night had descended quickly, bringing a crisp cold air that promised a frost. Gilraen was pressed against him as they talked, her slender frame shivering with cold. He dreaded to think how she was going to get through the night.
'So, what is it like being a Ranger?' she asked suddenly, aware that neither of them had spoken for a while.
Arathorn smiled faintly.
'It is a hard life,' he told her. 'I have never had a house to call home, living my life under the unforgiving sky. The skills I hold have taken me forty years to master, and every day I learn something new. I have many enemies, always alert for danger, but I wouldn't change a thing. I am proud to be a Ranger.'
Gilraen gazed at him, admiration in her eyes.
'It must be wonderful to be able to live your life as you wish,' she said softly. 'To be who you wish, go where you like . . . I envy you.'
He turned slightly to her, bemused.
'Why, Gilraen? My life is harsh and dangerous; no one should long for it.'
She bit her lip.
'But it is free,' she said, a hint of tears on the edge of her voice. 'I am not free. I am my father's trump card, that he can play whenever he is threatened. Confined to the inn, forced to tolerate questing hands and drunken advances, and now, he wants to marry me off to one of his gaming partners! That is no life for anyone to lead, Arathorn, no matter how terrible they may be!'
He stared at her.
'How old are you?'
'Twenty.'
Arathorn was horrified that she should know so much hardship and still not have reached her independent age. Something inside him stirred that told him he didn't want her to endure any more of this. Next to him, Gilraen shivered again, pressing closer to him for warmth. Unconsciously, he wrapped his arm about her shoulders, letting her lean into him. He sighed.
'No one should have to endure so much within their own family, Gilraen. You are far stronger than I would have given you credit for. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.'
She didn't answer. Looking down, he saw that she had fallen asleep, nestled against his side. He grinned, moving them back gently until they were back against a tree, before covering her with his blanket. He settled back to sleep, trying to shake the feeling that, somehow, this was how they should be forever.
*~*~*
Arathorn woke early the next morning, blinking in the pre-dawn light. Beside him, Gilraen made a girlish sound in her throat, nestling closer to him, her head on his shoulder. Her golden hair fanned out over the soft ground, catching the light. She seemed so peaceful, so carefree as she slept, her young face soft in repose. He felt his heart move again, for the second time in two days when he was thinking about her. It was odd that she should touch him so in such a short space of time.
A bird gave a shrill call in the trees above them, startling Gilraen out of sleep. She jumped, relaxing when she felt his strong arm about her. Gazing up into his eyes, she smiled faintly and sat up, running her fingers through the tangles in her hair.
'Good morning,' Arathorn said, standing up and stretching.
'Good morning.'
He left her for a moment to fetch some water from the river, allowing Gilraen to watch him go, her eyes lingering on the spot where he had been for some time afterward. She didn't know what had come over her, a sudden certainty that if she didn't spend her life with him, then it would be unfulfilled. She had never been one to believe in fate, but somehow knew that her destiny lay with the Ranger, whoever he might be.
Arathorn returned, giving her a gentle smile as he offered the water sac to her. Gilraen thanked him, wondering if he felt the same way about her. And if he didn't, what would she do?