YDREAM08


With You


Chapter 4

"Keep close to the fire, with your faces outward!" Aragorn warned, drawing his sword in that instant. "Get some of the longer sticks ready in your hand."

Good thing he had assigned Gamgee to set fire once they had settled for a place to camp for the night. As it seems, they would be fleeing at best chance or battling with the Riders at the worst.

The terrified squeak snapped Aragorn's head to the source, and he found Lady Parkinson holding onto a short wooden stick like it was the deadliest sword. It was not lit with fire.

"I said the longer ones from the campfire! We need fire to-"

"It's my wand, you twat! I heard you the first time! And I could bloody well conjure a fire-"

Aragorn only allowed himself that short glance at the Lady. Although he was concerned with how ashen she looked, her chest heaving and outstretched arm shaking, her snake like biting-tongue aside, Aragorn could not solely focus on her.

The ring was with helpless Frodo and it was Aragorn's duty to see him safely to Rivendell.

It was a split second decision to sheath his sword back, but Aragorn knew no sword of men could harm a RingWraith. His eyes darted around to find their campfire and he drew two suitable woods lit with the yellow flames. Fire stood a chance, and if he had two sources, perhaps death would evade them this night.

Now armed, Aragorn swiftly looked around for Frodo. Pippin was blindly swinging a lit stick around while Merry tried to cover his back. Aragorn could spot Sam Gamgee not far off, on guard but frantically looking for something, no, someone.

It was then his seeking eyes were alerted to the hasty shadows that were unfitting to the blackness of the night. There was no mistaking the plea that reached his ears to belonging to Frodo: "O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!"

Aragorn lept to attack, unsure where to catch the assailants, but he held the flaming sticks confidently at either hand to swing them about. Halting a few steps ahead where he had thought the shadows lay, Aragorn returned back to see if he had caught anyone, burned them if he could. However there were no sparks, let alone a person on fire. At a second check, he found that the haze had cleared and there was no shadow to speak of, as well.

"Oh, it's Master Frodo!" cried out Sam Gamgee. "Merry, Pippin, come here! Isn't this Master Frodo?"

Aragorn knelt next to Sam Gamgee where the hobbit has found an unmoving body laying face down. Gathering that the clothes belonged to Frodo, Sam turned the hobbit around and everyone worriedly called for Frodo to awaken.

Noticing a wound in the little hobbit's shoulder, Aragorn knew they had no time to waste. It was a wound inflicted by a sinister weapon, no doubt.

"Take him near the fire. Keep him warm and safe."

He had to find Athelas, the healing herb of the Men of the West, if Frodo wished to stand a chance against such a wound. They were far from a skilled healer who could tend to Frodo this very instant.

Aragorn had to move.

Rising from where he knelt, he noticed a person missing from their group. He counted the hobbits: There were four of them. Even their pony, Bill, was trotting by the perimeter of their campfire.

In the faint glow of the camp, Lady Parkinson was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is she?" Aragorn muttered, feeling his lips dry at the sudden worry at the young woman's absence.

She could be hurt.

The realization that Lady Parkinson carried a mystery ring very much like Frodo's, felt like a dagger lodging hard in his gut. He couldn't breathe for the life of him.

The Riders were after a ring.

She could be dead.

"Where is Lady Parkinson?" Aragorn demanded an answer from the hobbits. If not Aragorn, they should have seen her at least!

Why had he lost her from his sight? She had been right beside him only a few moments ago, snarking at him for Valar-knows-what.

The silence that met his question twisted that dagger, his insides squeezing with pain.

Remembering how they found Frodo, on the ground and unable to respond, Aragorn frantically searched the close area.

He dared not call her name, knowing full well the Riders could be close.

Gritting his teeth, Aragorn determinedly continued his search, aware that Pippin and Merry were helping. He found the last place he had seen her, having traced his own tracks back. But there were no footprints or broken twicks around that might shed light to the direction of Lady Parkinson's departure. Blood pounded fiercer in his ears as his eyes failed to find even a trace of her.

"What will become of Frodo?" Aragorn's fruitless search was cut by the voice of Sam Gamgee. "His wound is bleeding, I don't know what to do! We should take him to a healer, but where will we find one?"

Aragorn came back to Frodo's side. Angry at failing to find Lady Parkinson, but knowing that there could be help from him to someone still.

"Boil water and clean the wound. Keep Mister Baggins warm. I shall do whatever I can."

Aragorn would set out to find the herb that could help Frodo and while doing that he could trace Lady Parkinson to the best of his abilities.


She couldn't breathe. She was a mess. How could she freeze like that? Unable to do anything?

Was she not a witch? Did she not know how to cast a spell? Even a basic charm like Incendio! They had learned that fire-making charm in their second year, for Salazar's sake!

Why was she such an incompetent useless freak!

Yes, she was a freak. What else would anyone call a witch who couldn't do magic?

Pansy couldn't breathe.

Sodding hell, why was she even crying? Wheezing and spluttering like… like…

Even a baby cried with a bit more dignity!

Her lungs hurt and throat burned but for the life of her Pansy couldn't stop. Her legs gave away underneath her and she found herself sitting on the ground, her back to a thick tree trunk.

Oh, Merlin! Please help her get a hold of herself!

Pansy gave up trying to stop this hysteria, but as she gave in, she started to feel light-headed. Would she pass out? Drown on her own spit and die?

She didn't want anyone to see her this way. Pathetic, her mother would have said. She had always scrunched her nose and dismissed Pansy at the slightest quiver of her lips as a child. Crying is for the weak, Pansy dear. Get lost out of my sight until you learn that.

Pansy forced her hand to cover her mouth, with her other hand grabbing hold of her side, she dug her nails to flesh so it could distract her from her current state.

Breathe, Pansy reminded herself, you have to breathe.

No more crying.

It did not happen in that instant. It did not happen in the following minutes. It took half an hour for her to calm down, if she had guess. And by that time Pansy felt spent. Her head ached and her limbs felt lifeless. She could have fallen asleep into a black abyss.

Thinking back to it, it was like a nightmare, all that had transpired.

Aragorn had been issuing orders, but the man had taken her as a fool failing to act as he said, and Pansy was not a person to shy away from a reply. Before Pansy could finish her rant, he had heroically went to grab flamed wooden sticks and ran along. That was when that shadow had emerged in front of her. If it was after the ring, it would be sorely disappointed to find that she had enchanted its container to be locked to respond only to her magical trace.

Yet it was set to attack either way.

A silly part of Pansy wished the vile thing to be a Dementor. It sounded miserable, but if that had been the case perhaps Pansy wouldn't come to the conclusion of her idiocy for failing to defend herself. Of course, a Patronus charm was a spell only a handful of wizards and witches could master in full force.

Incendio, on the other hand..?

She had to be a complete and utter failure of a witch to be unable to cast that spell.

Fire should scare them, Pansy knew as Aragorn had informed everyone. Only if she had grabbed a burning stick like those Muggles!

So, yes, Pansy Parkinson was lowlier than even a Muggle. Hurray!

"Imbecile," Pansy berrated herself.

It was like back in the Battle of Hogwarts. She had frozen that time as well. A wand in her hand, she had been helpless.

This time the difference was that Pansy had spent the past years to learn the basics of Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons to be able to defend herself, unlike how she used to learn enough to pass the lessons.

Professors never cared how long she could hold a Protego charm as long as she had been able to conjure it, for example. However, after the War, Pansy understood those skills were irreplaceable.


"Look, sweetheart," Pansy hissed through her red painted lips at the witch who should have shown the way to their table already. The heat of shame was climbing up her spine as Pansy was aware her society friends stood behind her, probably exchanging knowing glances. "I don't have the time to introduce myself to a new employee like you. Me and my family have been a regular in this restaurant longer than the span of your pathetic life. So, if you are smart enough to keep your new job, I suggest you show us to the table reserved for Pansy Parkinson. Don't ever forget the name."

The obvious tears that welled up in the poor girl was rightly deserved, so Pansy only nodded and made space for the girl to scamper and lead them to their table.

Five of them were seated and discussing what to pick, the sneak peak of the few gossips they would share slipping now and then, when an older man with thick grey hair and light blue eyes stared down at them. His hands were gathered at the back, brows crossed and the man looked irritated as his eyes finally settled on Pansy.

"Miss Parkinson," he spoke with a deep baritone. "I would like to-"

"Oh, Mister Lewis, your restaurant is as marvelous as always. My parents send their apologies that they couldn't visit with me, but as you see, I wanted to dine my friends-"

"Miss Parkinson." Mr Lewis sounded sterner now. Pansy was astounded how the man could cut her polite conversation. "You better leave. Your family will no longer be accommodated in any of my establishments. The famed War taught as more than a few lessons."

Pansy's mouth was agape, her skin aflame with what Mr Lewis has just said.

"Of course, if Miss Sayre and her friends wish to stay we would be honored to have them." Eliza grinned to the remaining three of the occupants of table. The witch then turned to look down on Pansy, and the Slytherin witch knew that instant that she would be escorted out the restaurant alone.

Mr Lewis added at last, "Miss Parkinson, I would suggest you leave now."

Clicking her tongue, Pansy came to a decision.

"You have to make me," Pansy challenged. Her dignity was already crushed, in front of snobs like Elizabeth Sayre no less, so Pansy Parkinson would not make things easy for Mr Lewis. If he would have her kicked out, everyone should know how lowly he treated the member of a respected (perhaps not much anymore) pureblood family.

No wands were drawn, which was much more humiliating on hindsight. A security had came and grabbed her by the upper arm. In between her shrieks and complaints of the establishment, Pansy was dragged out. Later her bag and coat shoved to her arms.

"Outrageous! I'm a Parkinson; my family has been dedicated customers for decades. And is this how you treat me? Your establishment won't get away with this, I will make sure you lose everything, do you hear me!"

At least there were no flashes of camera, for that Pansy could be spared. Huffing and cursing, she wore her coat and walked back to the main route of Knockturn Alley. What did Mr Lewis think of his restaurant anyway? It was an expensive place but no where the level of any restaurant in the Diagon Alley.

Her leg burned so suddenly that Pansy tripped, hardly keeping her balance. She doubled to see what was wrong, to find her lower calf bleeding in a thin but long cut.

"What in the name of Salazar…" she touched the wound and flinched at the burn. It was a Stinging hex.

Next, she saw the spell that was aimed at her but she was slow to draw a wand. It landed on her arm.

"I knew I was right! That is the whore Parkinson, the one who would have sold Potter to You-Know-Who."

"Why have they not locked her up in Azkaban? Her family must be rotting there, along with the likes of Malfoys and Notts"

"Dunno. Some of them must have paid their way out."

Pansy could not think of a single spell to cast in that moment, shocked at the conversation and the twisted faces of her attackers. They were younger than her, two boys around eighteen.

They seemed to think the situation was somewhat similar to cornering a student in the corridors of Hogwarts, but as it stood, it was outright assault. Pansy knew how to act if something like this happened in school, but right now, any wrong move from her could mean an unfair trial.

Would that have stopped Pansy?

It wouldn't have if she hadn't accepted the contract of marriage last week. It was a conditional one, and she knew for her family it was best to not disobey it openly. That meant, drawing her name into a criminal investigation even if a minor one like a street assault, was not an option.

One couldn't start to imagine what the Prophet could twist that story into.

Pansy drew a breath and hesitantly raised herself upright. Her wand was still in hand but aside from retaliating the stinging hex, she knew nothing that could aid her to safely slip away.

Here was a side-street that connected Knockturn Alley into Diagon Alley within two blocks. Her best bet would be confusing these boys and running to the safety of the crowded street across.

Since the War, certain anti-Disapparation charms were cast around these shady streets so Disapparating away was unfortunately impossible.

"I wouldn't go around sticking your nose where it doesn't belong," Pansy sneered at the boys. She had to buy herself some time but she was already in a foul mood. "It is obvious you lack the money and means to get around an Auror investigation. So why don't you two little boys get lost before I get you locked up in Azkaban for attacking me."

Pansy cast Protego even before she noticed how their faces turned purple.

She didn't need to feel the pain of the stinging hex on her face to know that her magic had failed. From her wand a wisp of white had spurted, and for a second there it had hold like a shield, but it was gone in the blink of an eye.

"You Death Eater bitch!"

At the scream, Pansy did the only thing that was wise.

She turned around and ran, gritting her teeth to ignore the pain in her leg.

Pansy knew she couldn't send a cutting charm in their way to bodily harm them, but seeing lines of laundry above their head, she spelled them to fall to give somewhat of a distraction.

It helped and she stepped into Diagon Alley without the two following her heels.

Casting a quick Glamour charm on her face, Pansy Parkinson corrected her coat and bag. Not that anyone would give her a second glance, but she did her best to lay low as she walked to the nearest Disapparation point.


That had happened when she was nineteen, shortly after the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. After that, nobody actually cast a spell against her but the words spat her way became crueller as her father's public trial dragged along.

In the meantime, she had been practicing numerous spells to protect her just in case.

Still, finding that those studies were in vain at the face of actual danger like in the Battle, Pansy felt conflicted about her capabilities as a witch. Hermione frigging Granger had fought in the war, but Pansy Parkinson had been unable to protect herself from two eighteen-years-olds.

And now, seven years later, she has been equally paralysed.

Pansy had not seen what that shadow that attacked her hid inside, but cold slimy fingers had clasped around her neck. There had been a hiss Pansy had failed to decipher, but as she gradually had lost the ability to breathe, she had been sure she would be finally dead. Free of the cruel world that seemed to never give her what she deserved.

Maybe, it was death she deserved.

That was an interesting thought.

However, as the shadow let go of her and she found herself heaving for air, Pansy knew she would not get lucky again to be left alive.

The shadow had not gone.

So it was smart to assume she had to leave. That very moment.

It was relieving to find that her magic accepted her desperate need of Disapparation, and she had landed where they had camped the night before.

Nearly an hour later since then, Pansy knew she should go back. There was the risk that the shadows had not yet disappeared, but if she were to stay longer here she could lose the party.

Pansy would go back to that inn in Bree if that ever happened.

Wiping away her face and burrowing deeper in her coat, Pansy thought it better to wait a bit longer. Afterwards she would Apparate back to Weathertop. If the party was there, they were there.

Absurdly Pansy felt the uncomfort that came with knowing that she was sat with a skirt. It wasn't awfully short, with it being a pencil skirt that matched with her coat in colour, but the garment comically annoyed Pansy.

Swishing her wand, she did a variation of a spell she had done very frequently as a teenager.

The charm cut and resized the skirt into slacks and knitted according to her size. It took a good three minutes to finish it, but Pansy felt the giddy feeling of accomplishment as she watched the spell in action.

She wasn't a lost cause in the end.


Aragorn returned by dawn. Shameful to admit it, he had spent hours to find a trace of Lady Parkinson even after he had found Athelas to help Frodo's injury.

He had come bare-handed in regard to the Lady.

For all he knew, she could be on her way to imprisonment in Mordor to answer Sauron for the means with which she has found that ring.

With those grey clouds hanging about him, Aragorn dejectedly returned to the camp.

So it was with great shock that he took in the scene before him. There, next to Frodo, sat down Lady Parkinson, her black locks giving the lad shade from the campfire. She had a cloth in hand, carefully wiping at the hobbit's shoulder.

Across her, Sam Gamgee stood hovering above Frodo. When Lady Parkinson gave the cloth to the nervous hobbit, he immediately went to clean it in the boiled water. Close to them sat Merry and Pippin, seemingly looking out for the camp and their wounded friend at the same time.

It was why Merry had been the first to notice Aragorn.

"You're back!"

Aragorn walked a few steps to where they sat by the fire. He noticed first that Lady Parkinson wore slacks underneath her coat instead of her skirt. Odd, Aragorn thought, but not as odd as having her in their camp in the first place. Where had she disappeared to?

She finally met his eyes and Aragorn knew the look of a defeated one the moment he saw it. There were traces of redness around her eyes, her face looked sullen and hard. She must have cried.

It angered him. Seeing her like this. He has learned she is a witch who cared little else than to return to her homeland, but even with her mighty magic tricks, she has been cornered and taken. How she has returned, Aragorn knew not. However, she should have not suffered at all. She had not known of Sauron until a week ago, and simply that was proof how unfair for her to be hurt by the hands of an evil so foreign to her.

Aragorn, on the other hand, was destined to cross paths with that evil and help put a stop to him anyway he could as the heir of Isildur.

The two should not even have crossed paths. She suffers for it now, he thought knowing that he was the one to drag her into this.

Clenching his fist, Aragorn forced himself to depart from her hollow eyes, that the soothing green colour of them on any other day, had been what he kept recalling in the forest that he has spent hours tracking her down.

His own eyes landed on a heep of black on the ground not so far from where he stood. He knelt down to collect it and saw that it was a cloak.

"It must belong to the Rider," Aragorn explained. Sam Gamgee had hastily come next to him. "Look here where Frodo must have slashed it."

There a glint of steel caught his eye as well. Crouching again, he conjured a long thin knife. The sharp end of it was broken off, but there was not much more time to examine it, as between the gasps of the party, the knife puffed into smoke. There remained only the hilt in Aragorn's hand. "I doubt many know how to counter a injury delivered by such a evil weapon. Yet I shall try to do whatever I can to aid dear Frodo."

The hilt in hand, Aragorn walked over to Frodo.

He would not have looked directly at Lady Parkinson, knowing it was more likely she already watched him, but a side glance showed she gave little interest to him. Her eyes were cast by the fire, the flames dancing in her green irises to make them glow yellow.

Aragorn was not aware how long he watched her himself, but his breath caught the moment she sharply turned to meet with his gaze.

"You were right," she provided. Her anger seemed to be directed at herself.

Aragorn was confused so he let her continue if she would. Noticing his silence, Lady Parkinson sighed.

"About the sticks. You were right. I should have listened to you."

Aragorn did nothing to confirm her confession. It disturbed him to know that she thought he would care about the righteousness of their actions under peril. He did not care to be right. He cared that she was harmed.

He would learn what has transpired.

"Are you well?" Aragorn asked instead.

That gave Lady Parkinson a start. Her pretty eyes popped open and her lips parted to answer, but Aragorn was left waiting.

"It's fine—" she finally managed to whisper.

"Are you well?" he insisted, unable to comprehend how the young woman was able to irritate him more under the circumstance that he was desperately worried over her well-being.

"Better, I think."

Aragorn searched her eyes, and to his small delight, the longer he concentrated on her, the more she sparked to life. Her brows knitted together and her lips puckered in annoyance. Good to see she could be back to her everyday self regardless of what has happened.

He nodded and set to take care of Frodo.


OKAY, I'm doomed to take Pansy through the whole of the LoTR triology. I can't see how she and Aragorn could find each other any other way. In a substantial sense, anyway.

Did you know Arwen and Aragorn have already promised to wed? Apparently, Elrond has not given his permission, saying Aragorn would only marry Arwen if he became a King, so it is a period of uncertainty.

But really, things have to get really messy to make Aragorn x Pansy.

Hopefully, you are up for the ride!

Stay healthy and safe!

Ydream08

*Bold and Italic sentences are directly quotes from LoTR: Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Guest review reply:

Amy: Your review is the proof that such kind words indeed effect me! Aragorn's P.O.V.s in this chapter is all for you, because of you, and I thank you so much because I really liked writing it. I know I was purposefully being vague about his thoughts in the previous chapter, and I'm aware even in this chapter, it kind of falls short, but hopefully in the future I will develop that part a bit better. INTENSE is the perfect word to describe their relationship, and I'm craving for the chapter that I will let them live up to that under M rating. Thank you for reading and letting me know your thoughts! I hope you liked this chapter :D