Title: Through the Eyes of the Dunedain

Summary: A character study story set in Bree years before the War of the Ring. The innkeeper's daughter and a Ranger--it was never meant to be a match made for the Valar, but neither were they.

Pairings: Ellen/Gorlim

Rating: PG 13

Category: Drama/Romance

Author's Notes: Thanks to orange.blossom3 for your encouraging words. Now if only you had managed some points to improve on as well. ;-)

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, and I hope the great Professor isn't turning over in his grave. There have been greater blasphemies in fanfiction.

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The time passes as it tends to do, and I find myself ordering round after round of ale. Perhaps not an odd thing, for it has been many nights since I have had the pleasure of a roaring fire and drinks. The odd thing, as strange as it is to admit, is that my greatest pleasure comes from my tavern maid's smiling face as she delivers the mugs. The scowling man had left by the end of our dance, and there seems to be an air of warning about her person. The other men joke towards her, and perhaps let hands wander further then need be, but there is restraint to the passion in their eyes now.

For her part, she does not seem to hold my actions in any regard except her initial gratitude. A part of me hopes that those glances she sends me across the room are meant to say more then "Another ale, sir?", but there is no such indication. I finally decide that retiring for the night would be the wisest course of action, and I hail the girl for the final time.

"Another ale, sir?" she asks, her voice carrying a joke hidden to others.

"I wish to be seen to my room."

She gives an exasperated eye rolling, "I suppose my father did not see it fit to bring you to your room before allowing to drink yourself senseless? No bother."

Her next actions surprise me, a fact I find oddly delightful. She hikes her skirts up to climb atop my table. Cupping her hands to her mouth, she calls out.

"BARLIMAN!"

There is quiet in the room, until a cook mentions that he saw the young boy taking a rest in the storeroom not ten minutes past. She cannot help but smile before the proper annoyance takes its place upon her face.

"I will see which room my brother was meant to bring you to," she apologizes, and walks off. She returns soon, a key in her hand. I follow her silent summons, and make my way down a dimly lit passage.

It is not until we are almost upon our destination that she makes a sound again, and even then it is not words, but merely a small chuckle when I come close to stumbling.

"Does something amuse you?"

"You do, sir."

I suppose I should be grateful she was upfront.

"And what is it that you find so amusing? My clothes perhaps? Does something in my visage bring laughter? Perhaps it is my voice, a rather rough one I fear."

"None of that, sir. Though I do admit they would all be worthy of mirth if our roles were not as they are," she turns to me then, and from the light of the candle she holds I can see her mouth is drawn in a bow of amusement. "It is the mere thought that a Ranger- a Ranger, mind you- comes soaking into the Prancing Pony's common room, dances with a servant, and drinks much more then recommended. 'Tis not a common sight, you can imagine. Usually you folk come a-galloping in on some lovely- if worn- specimen of horse, sit in a dark corner, listen to the local gossip and generally raise suspicions."

When our visits to the lands are summarized in such a manner, it would take a greater man then me to hide his laughter behind the unfriendly facade we are often guilty of. I laugh, something which I have done very little of as of late. A nagging memory was invoked by her words though, and as realization floods me I give a small groan. Alassë.

"What is it sir?"

"My horse. I left him at the front gate, because..." I fear telling the truth, and I hesitate. "Well, because I was unsure of Bree. How well the streets are built for horses, and such. I cannot imagine how I could have forgotten him."

"Well, I fear you've had too much ale to fetch him now. Where did you leave him? I will bring him to the stables, if you do not mind. We're not big on horses here, seeing how we do more trading then plowing nowadays. I am one of the few who ride. Not that I'm particularly special, mind you, it is just faster to deliver message to the other villages by horseback then foot. My father does a lot of business in Archet and Combe."

Her strenuous tone tells me that she only desires to please, and perhaps have the chance to prove worthy in a field that does not involve pouring drinks. Against my better judgment, and breaking my cardinal rule, I tell her where I had left the path and hobbled Alassë. Grinning in delight, she brings me into my room, points out a few key features, and prepares to leave.

"Wait!" I realize too late the desperation in my voice, and try to cull it. "His name is Alassë, but he can be anything but."

She gives me a puzzled look, and I remember that very few humans know much more then Westron.

"Alassë- it means joy. He can give quite a kick when startled, ma'am. Just make sure he sees you coming."

"There are very few who would recommend differently, Ranger," she gives me a puzzled look, as if she suspects there is another reason behind my stopping her.

I watch her leave from my chair in the corner, and wonder about this woman. A tavern maid- the innkeeper's daughter, no less- who could ride, and welcomed a Ranger? It is not a common occurrence, though most definitely not an unwelcome development. I listen as her footsteps recede down the hall, and am startled as they hurry back. She opens the door to my room halfway, peeking her head around the wood.

"Your belongings, sir. Do you wish for me to bring them to your room, or shall I leave them with your mount?"

"It would please me greatly for you to do whichever brings you the least strife."

This is the right answer, for her face takes on a strange glow at the kind words.

"Very well sir. They will be by your bedside come morn."

She hesitates now, and her face is a battle of emotions. Finally, one wins out, and she sets her jaw resolutely.

"If you'll be needing anything else, sir, ask for Ellen at the front desk."

"And if you be needing more rescuing, you know where to find Gorlim, Ranger of the Wild."

This amuses her, and I hear her laugh as she closes the door.

The tavern maid's name is Ellen.

........

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