Summary:

You have always wondered about the hooded stranger who frequents the inn where you work. Coming across a wounded man in the forest one day, your curiosity is finally satisfied.

Set in Aragorn's youth, long before the Lord of the Rings.

For Darth Fëanor

♡

Hooded Stranger

Strider had returned. As always, you were intrigued by the sight of that extraordinarily tall figure, occupying his favorite corner, a trail of pipe smoke slowly escaping from under his hood. He did not have to place an order, all staff at the Prancing Pony knew to serve him a platter of assorted hams and cheeses, with a piece of hard bread on the side, and keeping his keg filled with your darkest ale.

You could not remember when he first came here. Maybe five or six years ago? Since then, he would show up every two months or so. Always alone, always hooded, always silent except for the occasional 'thank you', or 'another one, please'. He paid well, so you were not complaining – just curious.

It was the hood that buggered you most about the fellow. You were dying to know what he hid underneath it. A horrible scar? Disfiguring pockmarks? Just plain ugliness? You did not even know if he was old or young.

Sometimes you had toyed with the idea to 'accidentally' brush against his hood in passing, uncovering him, but had quickly decided against it. You needed this job. Butterbur was a good-natured boss, but even he would not take well to your slighting a good customer.

As you carried Strider's platter over to him, skilfully balancing a tray of ale kegs in your other hand, you came to the conclusion you would probably never know more about him, and you had better stop racking your brain. You owed it to your peace of mind.

"There you go, sir." You placed the food before him, and inhaled some of his smoke. Longbottom leaf. The finest brand.

"Thank you." He had a deep, refined voice, with a lilting accent you could not entirely place. Another of the many mysteries surrounding Strider. Which, you were certain, was not his real name.

When you walked away, you had a sneaking feeling he was looking at your retreating back. It was not the first time you had suspected he did, and if so, he was certainly not the only customer to scope you out – when one worked at an inn, getting eyeballed by the clientele was almost part of the job description. Even Nob, the hobbit, got his fair share.

Did Strider like your looks? Or why else was he observing you so closely? If he was; under that hood you could not be sure. Perhaps he thought you had a nice bum? You had been told you did.

Then you chided yourself for pondering over him again. Had you not just said to yourself you needed to stop that?

Folding your arms sternly, you deliberately turned your back to Strider's corner. Starting today, you would never give him another thought. No need to trouble yourself over a mystery man whose face you would never see, and whose real name you would never know.

Or at least, that was what you believed.

♡

The small village where you lived was located several leagues from Bree, and you could therefore only rarely go there. Instead, you slept in a spare room at the Prancing Pony, which you shared with two others of the staff.

Today was unusual, and with light feet you were walking the long way home, carrying a nice packed lunch and a few changes of clothes in a bundle. It was soon Midsummer Day, and Butterbur had kindly given you a few days off to visit your parents.

The path took you through a spruce forest, where a thick carpet of green moss covered all sharp obstacles, making the ground soft and bouncy. On both sides of the path grew tiny, wild strawberries, and you walked slowly so you could pick them and thread them like pink beads on a long straw before gobbling them up. This you repeated every two yards, which resulted in much delay. You did not care, however – you had all the time in the world at your hands.

You had strayed a bit from the path in your strawberry hunt, when you suddenly heard a voice in the distance: "Help!"

Straining your ears to figure out from where it came, you formed your hand into a funnel and called back: "Hello?"

"Heelp!" the voice replied.

You thought you knew the direction now, and started walking that way, while wondering who it could be. Perhaps a wanderer who had gotten lost?

That reminded you... Picking out your eating knife, you scratched up some moss and turned the black, earthy side up. This you repeated at intervals, leaving a visible trail to follow on your return. The forest was enormous, and you knew of villagers who had disappeared into it and never returned. Not because it was dangerous – or at least you hoped so – but because it was so large and confusing. Even this close to the path, the forest looked the same in every direction.

The voice kept calling, and you replied every once in a while. Then finally you found its owner, splayed out on his back in the moss.

The first about him that caught your attention was his leg. It was bent at an odd angle, and it looked sickeningly wrong. Quickly turning your gaze away from the ugly sight, you looked at his face instead.

Your mouth almost fell open. He must be an elf!

You had only seen elves once, many years ago, but you remembered how beautiful they were, with smooth, ageless faces, long hair and clear eyes the same color as water. This one looked very much like they had. He was youngish and exceedingly handsome, with dark, shoulder length hair, a straight nose and a masculine jawline.

You hurried up to him, falling on your knees beside his outstretched form.

"Thank you for coming." His voice sounded weak and strained, but also strangely familiar. "I thought nobody would ever come. Do you have anything to drink?"

"I do." You pulled up a flask of beer from your bag and passed it to him. When he put it to his lips, you noticed he had a short beard. Did elves really have beards? You had heard otherwise, but then people said so many things, and not half were true.

He drank eagerly, and you realized he must have been lying here for a long time. You felt sorry for him; the pain must be gruesome.

When he had drunk his fill, he tried to sit, and you helped him. He gave his leg a morose look.

"How did it happen?" you asked.

He smiled wryly. "In the most stupid way imagineable. I had climbed a tree to get my bearings, and slipped on a branch, and fell." He shook his head. "It needs to be straightened out and set. Do you have any linen I could use?"

"I'll sacrifice my spare undershirt." When you began to rip the linen, you stifled a sigh. An elf like he would probably not understand you were ruining the equivalent of half a year's salaries. Your parents would not be happy.

"Thank you. I shall pay you for it."

You met his gaze in surprise. It seemed he did understand then.

"Here, let me finish that." He took the garment from you. "Could you cut two straight branches, about this thick?" He held up his thumb.

You did what he asked. When you returned, he was glaring at the broken leg like it had done him a great injustice.

"I'll set it," you offered. Having grown up on a farm, you had set sheep legs a few times. Surely an elf leg could not be that different?

"I wish you had something stronger than beer," he muttered miserably, but obediently leaned back, not questioning your ability to help.

"Um, I do, actually." You gave him another bottle, one full of apple brandy, which you had intended as a Midsummer Day's gift to your parents. Liquor was never hard to come by when one worked at an inn – one of the perks.

He gratefully gulped down a generous measure before laying back down. "Can you wait a little?"

"Sure." He wanted the alcohol to muddle his senses, to help ease the pain. You looked sympathetically at him. "Can I do anything else for you? Are you hungry?"

"Ravenous." He flashed a smile at you, and to your surprise it changed his face entirely. He had looked handsome before, but when smiling he was stunning.

Realizing you were staring, you quickly bent over your bag, spreading your packed lunch between you.

While sharing the food, you glanced at him again, and noticed something strange. Were not elves supposed to have pointy ears? His looked round and normal. That time when you saw elves before, they had been at a distance; you could not remember what shape their ears had been. Maybe the pointy-ear thing was another wive's tale?

His movements were getting gradually slower and a bit clumsy, and you knew it was soon time to begin. You did not like the thought of the pain you would cause him, but it was the only way. Trying to walk anywhere with a leg bent twice would probably hurt even more.

A thought struck you. "I don't even know your name," you said.

"How rude of me." He met your gaze unsteadily. "I'm... Uh. I've got many names. But the one I like most is Estel. Means hope." He smiled at you again. Good gracious, what a smile he had!

"Are you an elf?"

He chuckled. "You think I look like one? I'm flattered. But nay. Sadly, I'm a human."

"Why's that sad?" You ambled closer to his leg, gathering the willpower to straighten it.

"Because I'll die. Isn't that sad? My dad will be sad. Step-dad. My real one's dead. Dunno why I'm telling you this."

"I should introduce myself," you suddenly remembered your manners.

"No need."

"No?"

"I know you from the Pony." He grinned. "Prettiest of the staff. Am always hoping you'll be the one to bring my ale."

You felt your cheeks heat in pleasant surprise at his praise. Had he been at the inn, and you had served him without knowing? But that could not be possible. You would have remembered such an attractive man for sure! And even if you had somehow missed a face like his, his height would have made him stand out. I mean, look at the length of that leg! He must be taller even than... Even than...

You stared at him. Could he be...?

"What are those other names you mentioned?" you asked, suddenly certain you knew the answer.

"Around here I usually go by Strider." He burped, and covered his mouth. "Pardon me."

Strider. Of course. No wonder you had recognized his voice! But why would a man as handsome as Estel hide his face under a hood?

Actually, come to think of it, it made sense. If he did not want to be stared at, and hit on, and receive indecent suggestions, then a man looking that good might very well choose to cover himself.

"You should probably begin." He sighed. "Don't stop if I wail. I'll try not to, but it already hurts like... like a bad word I won't taint your pretty ears with."

You positioned yourself and drew in a breath. You could do this. One pull to straighten the bone. Hopefully that would be enough.

Estel clenched his fists in anticipation, and his face was stony.

Without further ado, you began. Keeping one hand under his knee to hold his leg fixed, you grasped his calf and gave it a steady pull, trying to align it into the right position. Estel vainly tried to muffle his howls in his arm, and your eyes filled with tears of sympathy.

Doing this on a human was harder work than on sheep, you discovered. His strong muscles worked against you when he involuntarily tensed, and you had to apply a much greater force than you had anticipated. Thankfully, your heavy work in the inn, carrying water buckets and firewood, had strengthened you.

The leg finally snapped into place, and you gratefully released him, feeling cold despite being drenched in sweat. Estel's forehead was damp as well. He was trembling and drew in air in deep gulps.

"Almost done, I hope," you said. "I just need to see if the bone is straight. Can I cut your hose?"

"Of course," he rasped, his voice hoarse after the screaming. He wiped his face with his sleeve.

You took out your knife and carefully cut his hose off from the knee down. Around the injury his skin was swollen and red, going on black, but when you softly felt over the broken part you did not feel bone jutting out. With luck, it had been a clean break with no loose shards. Then it could heal completely and allow him to walk again.

"Seems to have worked," you said.

He breathed out in relief. "Thank you. Now... Can you tie it to those branches you cut? And then I'll need a crutch or something. Sorry for bothering you so much."

"It's no bother," you objected. You placed the splints along his leg and tied it securely with the remains of your undershirt. He grunted a few times, but it did not seem as painful now the bone was realigned.

After you had cut a stout crutch from a nearby thicket, you helped Estel on his feet. Standing this close, his height really was impressive.

He had dropped his pack some way off, and you went to pick it up for him. Then you walked slowly towards the path, with him leaning heavily on the makeshift crutch and partly on you, and with your marks in the moss as a guide. It seemed the effects of the alcohol had worn off, and Estel kept mostly silent, his expression almost brooding. He must still be in much pain, you figured, or perhaps he regretted being so open with you before.

It took a long while to get out of the forest, and it was a warm summer afternoon. When you had finally reached the path you were both soaked in sweat again.

"A break, perhaps?" you suggested.

"Yes. Thank you." He sunk down on a fallen log. Picking up a money pouch from his bag, he counted out three large silver coins and placed them in your hand. You stared at them incredulously. Just one of those could have bought you five shirts – or more. Not that you complained! Money was money, after all.

But seriously. How rich was he?

"I will not delay you further. I am sure you have somewhere to be."

"I'm not just gonna leave a wounded man. Tell me where you're heading and I'll take you there. Bree?"

"No, I am going north, where I have a friend who knows some healing." He glanced at you. "Will your people not wonder if you just disappear?"

"Nah, my parents don't know I'm coming. It's not every year I get Midsummer off. Besides, I'm rich now. I can hire a horse there and ride home!" You flipped one of the coins nonchalantly.

He grinned. "Rich?"

"Yeah. I mean, look at the size of these! They must weigh at least an ounce each."

"Exactly an ounce, actually. There's a stamp. Here." He turned it over, and accidentally brushed against your palm with his fingertip.

"I can't read," you admitted. "But I'll take your word for it. What's it saying there, then?" You pointed at a row of runes winding their way around the outer edge of the coin.

"It says: 'One Penny Sterling Silver. Mint of Independent Bree-land.'"

"Fancy that. What does independent mean?"

"That there is no king here."

"Ah. Yeah, never heard of no king coming this way. Probably can't find their way." You chuckled. "But that's alright. We don't need one."

"Lucky for you, there are no enemies around to threaten your independence." For some reason he smirked.

"Yeah, we're a lucky folk." You smiled back at him, and your eyes met briefly. His irises were clear and gray like rain clouds.

"Hum. I think this is enough rest," he said, his cheeks coloring. Rising, he offered his hand to you. "Shall we?"

"It ought to be me helping you up, with that leg." But you took his hand. You enjoyed touching him.

When the two of you began walking, the sun was already sinking below the treetops, and you cast a worried glance at it. This forest was safe, but still... you didn't much care for being out after dark. At least you had a tall man for a companion, and by the look of it, a very fit one too. He wore a snug woolen tunic which accentuated his broad, flat chest, and the arm he used to lean on you was muscular.

After perhaps an hour more, the forest had turned quite frightening; full of shadows and mysterious shapes. This time of year it would not get entirely dark until very late, but this was bad enough. The various noises of nature that you had not even noticed in daylight, suddenly sounded ominous.

It had gotten a bit chilly too, and you stopped to don your cloaks. Wearing his usual dark hood, Estel turned into the Strider you knew, who had intrigued you so much.

"All that's missing is a trail of smoke coming out of there," you said.

He folded the hood back. "Actually I would not say no to a good smoke. But I prefer enjoying it in a pleasant inn, with a pint of Butterbur's finest in my hand."

"And his pretty staff serving it?" you teased.

He looked away uncomfortably. "Sorry about that. The drink you gave me was strong..."

"Why are you sorry? I like compliments." You grinned, and slipped in under his arm. "Let's continue before it gets dark."

"You afraid?" Now it was his turn to sound teasing.

"No," you lied.

"Then why are you jumping every time there is a rustle in the undergrowth?"

"Am not!"

He sniggered at you, but then seemed to think of something. "Actually... Maybe, just in case." He pulled a long, narrow object from his pack, and strapped it around his waist. A sword scabbard.

"You're a warrior," you gasped, not a little awed. You could not resist touching the scabbard, curiously tracing the smooth leather with your fingertip, wondering what his sword looked like. This was a peaceful area, and the only swords you had seen were two blunted ones Butterbur kept nailed onto a shield over the fireplace. He claimed they were ancient heirlooms which had been passed from father to son ever since the Battle of Fornost, but he tended to make up such things as he went.

"Well. I am a ranger actually."

"What's a ranger?"

"One who makes sure there are no enemies around." He winked.

"Are you saying you're the reason this area's safe?"

"Not single-handedly. There are a few like me."

"What, so you're just roaming around the country all day, chasing off... whatever you're chasing off?" This was getting ridiculous. Did he think you were born in a barn? Actually, you were, but that was beside the point.

"Basically, yes." He chuckled at the look on your face. "You don't have to believe me. Come, we should continue. My leg hurts."

Feeling guilty that you had almost forgotten he was injured, you slid under his arm again, allowing him to use you as his other crutch. He was heavy, but you did not mind. Quite the contrary, if you were honest with yourself.

♡

It was very late when you finally arrived in the village where Estel's friend lived. The last part of your walk had been spent in silence, and it was obvious he was both tired and in more pain now.

The village was surrounded by a wood palisade, and a man dressed in a similar cloak as Strider guarded it. He let you inside without fuss – your companion was apparently well-known, and you probably looked perfectly harmless.

"You're limping. What happened?" asked the man when he closed the gate behind you.

"I had a little misfortune. Nothing important, but I shall let Legolas take a look at it just in case."

"Right." The man bowed politely.

You hid a smile behind your hand. Estel obviously did not want his friend to know the nature of his 'misfortune', and he had wrapped his cloak to hide the splints and linen wraps. But did he really think he could hide for long the fact that he had broken his leg?

In the darkness you could not see much of the village, but it seemed small and rather grim. No decorations, or flowers, or even market stalls.

Estel's friend's house was a small cabin in the outskirts of the village. When you entered it, you gasped in surprise at its inhabitant. He was one of the most handsome persons you had ever seen, apart from Estel. This had to be an elf, at least! His long hair was blonde and partly braided, and his face was smooth, without even a hint of stubble on his chin; just like you had heard about elves. And his ears – pointed! So, that was true too, then.

"Aragorn!" The elf smiled fondly at Estel and said something in a foreign language, and the man replied with ease. You were deeply impressed by your new friend's knowledge. Not only could he read and write – he could also speak a second language! But why had the elf called him Aragorn? A third name of his?

Turning to you, the elf greeted you in the common tongue. He introduced himself as Legolas of Greenwood, wherever that was, and you told him your own name.

After examining the broken leg, Legolas complimented your work earlier. "This is set as straight as it could get. Well done."

While you proudly basked in the elf's praise, he gave Estel something to drink from a tiny glass vial. Then he bandaged him anew, this time with more traditional healing equipment.

"There you go." Legolas patted the neat wrapping. "But now you must keep still for six weeks. How will you manage that?" He smirked.

"I will manage. And... You don't have to mention this to my people, right?"

"Oh, you think they would find it funny that their chieftain fell down a tree?" His smirk widened.

"Just shush," Estel muttered.

Estel had his own cabin in the village, and since it was late, he offered you his spare room.

"So, you're a chieftain then?" you asked when you helped him prepare the guest bed.

"Yes."

"And the ones living here are rangers like you?"

"Yes."

"I guess you did tell the truth before then." You smiled apologetically at him.

"I did." He smiled back, making your stomach flip.

You had hoped he would stay and talk for a while, but sadly he did not; as soon as your bed was made, he bid you a good night and left. But at least the bed was comfortable and the sheets freshly laundered, and you slept remarkably well. Instead of waking up before sunrise as you did on a working day, you slept long, and when you finally entered the main room you felt relaxed and well rested.

Estel sat at his table, busily whittling a pair of more comfortable crutches.

"Morning." He gave you one of his dazzling smiles. "There's beef jerky and cheese for breakfast. And the ale is in the barrel over there."

While you ate, you thought about your return journey and felt a bit worried. You did not know the lands around here very well.

"Anything wrong?" he asked.

"Nah. Just hoping I'll find the right way. Never been this far north before."

"Hm." He looked thoughtful, and then brightened. "I can take you there on one of the horses. It's the least I can do after all your help yesterday."

"But you have to rest for six weeks. The elf said so."

"Riding is very restful."

"Is not!"

"Is too. I'm a good rider." He smiled.

You could not say no to that smile. "Alright, then."

♡

Before leaving, Estel packed a few things, and donned his cloak to hide his bandaged leg and the crutches.

The village looked no more cheerful in daylight, and you felt a bit sorry for its inhabitants – who seemed to be almost exclusively male.

"Where are all women and children?" you asked.

"Further north, near the ruins of Fornost. This is only a ranger outpost," he explained. "There are several places like this in the wildlands surrounding Bree and the Shire."

"Weird that nobody knows about this," you said. "Or do they, and I'm just ill informed?"

He chuckled, but then turned very serious. "We don't advertise our presence; it's not a good idea to draw the wrong people's attention. There are evil powers at work in Middle-earth."

You felt a chill trickle down your spine at his ominous tone. Seeing your expression, he added: "But there's still some good in this world, and it's worth fighting for." The way he looked at you made you feel included in that 'good'.

"There certainly is," you agreed earnestly. Your eyes met.

He broke eye-contact first. "That building over there is the stables," he said, a bit breathlessly.

When you entered it, you drew in the pleasant smell of horses and hay. They only had a few horses, and Estel explained they were mostly used for sending messages between the ranger settlements.

"Is it alright if we share a horse? Otherwise I must lead the spare one back afterwards, and it's a bit cumbersome."

"Of course."

Despite his injury, Estel had no trouble mounting the large bay he had chosen. Reaching down to take your hand, he pulled you up to sit behind, and soon you were off at a canter.

A short way outside the outpost he stopped to remove his cloak, which was too warm for a summer ride. He gave it to you to sit on instead, since the saddle was only wide enough for one.

You bravely snuck your arms around his waist, pretending you needed it to remain seated, and leaned your head against his broad back. His stomach felt hard and flat under your palms.

On horseback, it only took a few hours to reach your home. When you neared it, you suddenly wanted the journey to last longer. You did not want Estel to go.

"How are you celebrating Midsummer Day?" you asked.

"Not much. Perhaps splitting a keg with the men. Why?"

"Well, now you had the trouble of riding all this way, perhaps I could invite you to our village feast? There will be plenty of food, dancing, games, all sort of things."

To your surprise, Estel promptly accepted your offer. "That sounds fun!" Then he added: "But don't tell them my name. Call me Thorongil."

"What? How many names have you?"

"Several. This is my alias. For safety."

You shook your head amusedly, but agreed to do as told.

When you entered the main road, everyone stared at the horse, and even more so at the tall man in front of you. Your parents seemed a bit suspicious of your guest at first, but when you explained how you had helped him, and gave them the three silver coins, they instantly changed to become very friendly indeed.

He was even offered the only bedroom, forcing your parents to sleep with you and your younger siblings in the kitchen.

As much as you enjoyed being with your family after spending a year apart, you very soon got tired of their chattering and many questions, but Estel seemed not to mind at all. He answered everything readily, making up clever lies about who he was and why he had broken his leg. And thus both the evening and the morning after were spent amiably.

The next day was Midsummer, and the celebration lasted all evening. Estel could not join the dance or the games with his leg, of course, so neither did you. Instead you ate, and drank, and talked, and laughed, and had just about the best day of your life.

The more you got to know Estel, the better you liked him. He smiled almost constantly now, and was so handsome your chest contracted whenever your gaze fell on him – which was often.

In the evening, you did like many other couples, leaving the feast area to take a walk in the twilit summer night.

He took your hand, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to walk hand in hand with him.

The sound of chirping crickets filled the air, and it smelled faintly of wild roses. Around you, the trees were covered in the fresh new greens of Midsummer.

"Did you enjoy your day?" you asked after a while.

"Much."

"Me too." Your eyes met, and this time neither of you looked away.

Estel cupped your cheek. "I should not do this," he admitted, and closed the distance between you to press a kiss on your lips.

He was right, you should not do this either. You should not respond to his kiss so fervently, and certainly not let your hands slip around his waist and explore his back and shoulders. You were a decent, orderly person; not a flirt like some inn staff.

But right now you did not care about decency.

His lips tasted from the sweet fruit wine you had shared, and he smelled of pipeweed, and when your exploring fingers travelled under his shirt, his skin was warm and smooth. You loved all of it. He overwhelmed your senses.

As your kiss intensified, you felt his hands on your body too. Everywhere they went, your skin burned.

You paused to breathe. Estel's face was flushed, and his eyes dark with want. Knowing that he could read the same emotions in you, you took his hand, pulling him down with you on the soft grass.

He spread his cloak, and you lay side by side, gazing deep into one another's eyes. He kissed you again. In the heat of the moment, the surroundings faded, everything narrowing down to the two of you. Here, and now. Like you were alone in the world.

It was Midsummer; the longest night of the year, and you would make the most of it.

A/N:

I wrote this story for my Wattpad friend Darth Fëanor! I hope you liked it. :)

PS. (Bonus!)

I have written two different epilogues, if you want to know what happened with Arwen and all that! Depending on if you like to follow Tolkien's canon or an alternate ending, you can pick below which you prefer. :D

1. Canon Compliant Epilogue

Aragorn and you had the best summer together, during which he came to visit you at the Prancing Pony as often as he could. But you both knew it could not last.

Too soon, Aragorn had to leave your country to fulfil his duty as the Heir of Isildur. He travelled the world as a great warrior, and sixty years later he joined a certain quest with the Fellowship of the Ring, after which he was crowned king of Gondor and married the beautiful Arwen.

Meanwhile, you met another amazing person, and you discovered that the human heart is capable of loving more than one. Estel would forever hold a special place in your heart, however, and you knew he would not forget you either. You had shared a magical Midsummer Night's dream, and would carry that fond memory with you always.

♡

2. Alternate Epilogue

Aragorn and you had the best summer together, during which he came to visit you at the Prancing Pony as often as he could. It did not take long until he proposed, and you accepted of course.

After you got married, he brought you with him on his many adventures as his warrior spouse, and later you joined the Fellowship as a Tenth Walker. Arwen sailed west with her people, and you became a ruler of Gondor together with your husband, living happily ever after!

♡