A Ranger's Temptation
Chapter One
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It was
a warm evening in September, and the taproom at the Prancing Pony was
crowded with customers. Men and hobbits constantly called for pints of
ale, which meant a busy night for Meredith, the barmaid. She wove her way
dexterously between the benches, carrying four mugs at once, and
skillfully avoiding the pawing hands reaching out to pat her shapely
bottom. "Looking's free--touching isn't!" she called out laughingly. Though, to one man with keen eyes who had studied her for many nights, her smile seemed slightly forced, her laughter slightly false. Aragorn, fascinated by the dichotomy of her demeanor, watched her move among the crowd from his customary remote corner of the inn. He let his eyes drift away from her face, from the mask of a smile she wore, to follow her lengthy auburn braid as it bounced from curvy hip to hip along her slender waistline. He half-smiled in appreciation, puffing leisurely at his long, thin pipe. He watched her turn, and then realized while she was still nearly across the room that she was making her way toward him with the last mug of ale. He rested his head against the wall, drawing most of his face into shadow, but still, she approached. *Fearless*, he thought, *or reckless. Either way, an interesting enigma.* When she reached the table's edge, she leaned over--very deliberately, he noticed--and set the full, frothy mug on the table in front of him, affording him a view of her ample cleavage as she did so. One did not need keen eyes to gather the implications of *that*. At the sight, an unwelcome jolt ran down Aragorn's spine and settled in his groin, but he kept his face steady as he cocked his head and gazed up at her from under his rough brown hood. "I have not ordered this," he said evenly, his voice nearly a whisper. Meredith smiled--the fake, practiced grin the Ranger had seen so many nights as she'd handed ale to so many others. "It's on the house. You are the Ranger they call Strider, aren't you? Master Butterbur told me to take you a pint, seeing as you're a friend." Aragorn grunted in approval, though he had never known Butterbur to hand out free ale to anyone, for any reason. The girl was lying, he conjectured, and he wondered what had prompted her to make him this offer tonight, when he had been staying at the inn for nearly a week already. He gripped the mug and forced his eyes away from the smooth, white roundness of her breasts. He knew he had but to place a coin in the slot of her cleavage to make her his--for the evening, at least. He sighed inwardly. Perhaps she was trolling, and though he was wary, he felt a strong inclination to take her bait. It had been so long since he'd lain with a woman--too long. And yet, even "too long" was not long enough, for he'd sworn his love to Arwen Evenstar--daughter of Elrond, his own adopted father--when he was barely even old enough to call himself a man. And since then, he'd struggled to stay true...and had mostly succeeded. The barmaid was still leaning into him, her bosom radiant in the moonlight that filtered in the window from behind. He would have expected her to be gone by now, but there was an odd air of determination about her as she lingered. "Will that be all, Mister Strider?" she questioned in a low, confidential voice. "Stay a moment," replied Aragorn, inwardly cursing his own weakness and yet unwilling to deprive himself of her company so soon. Meredith smiled again and sat down opposite him. *Fearless*, his mind registered again. Surely she knew his reputation, saw by his outward appearance that he was a man accustomed to wilderness and wildness. And still, she was fishing. He studied her face, his eyes taking in every feature, from her white forehead to her deep emerald eyes to her pink lips stretched into a come-hither smile. Well, since she was here, he could do a little fishing of his own--for information. He had been at the inn many days without seeing the hobbits Gandalf had set him to look for, and he was beginning to fear that they had already come and gone, despite Barliman's vague assurances to the contrary. He cleared his throat. "Tell me, Mistress...." "Meredith," she supplied. He knew her name. Everyone in the Pony knew it--some, he imagined, better than others. "Meredith...," he continued, "have you seen any strange hobbits here lately? I am expecting some friends from the Shire." Meredith shook her head, but her darting eyes betrayed her racing thoughts. Aragorn wasn't sure exactly upon what she was thinking, but he was certain that her approach had been deliberate--perhaps more of a fishing expedition than he'd thought at first. And it seemed that the same subject which concerned him was also of interest to her. Certainly, it bore investigating. Though he could hear an inner voice telling him there was more to his curiosity about Meredith than discovering her curiosity about him, he chose to ignore it for the moment...or to use it to his own gain. Aragorn fondled the coin he'd slipped from his beltpouch, sliding its smooth coolness around his fingers, thinking of the promises it held. It could lead him to the answers his brain sought. It could lead him to...relief from a number of troubles. He began to reach for Meredith, but his hand barely cleared the table's surface when he heard Butterbur bellow at the barmaid to return to her duties. "I must go," she said with a practiced, sad smile, her emerald eyes gleaming as she touched his shoulder ever-so-gently. "But should you need...another drink, beckon, and I'll be glad to serve you." She slid from the seat and hurried back to the bar. Aragorn laid the coin down on the table and took up his mug of ale with a shaking hand. It was as well that Meredith had been called away, he thought, for it had removed the temptation from him. And yet, the temptation was not truly removed, for he could still see her easy grace, could still imagine those legs wrapped around his waist, the firmness of those breasts under his hands.... And then there was that little, unsolved matter of why she had been so interested in him in the first place. He tried to push that thought ahead of all the others that crowded his brain, but found it more than difficult. *By Elbereth*, he thought, *What a fool I am! To have the love of a woman as beautiful and true as Arwen, and yet to wish myself in the arms of a barroom trollop. And a trollop with an unhealthy curiosity, at that. Have I grown so base that I cannot resist the lure of a whore, selling her wares to the best bidder?* He drained his ale in one draught, and then rested his forehead on his hands so that he could focus the intensity of his gaze on the table. The coin glinted plainly in his view. He growled and pounded the wood with his fists, causing empty mug and coin to jump and clang together--chiming the doom of his treasured morality as he scanned the room for Meredith's comely form. There had been too many nights alone, too much waiting for the day when he and Arwen could finally be together--a day which seemed, at times, as if it might never come. Besides, Arwen was many miles away at Rivendell, and the fire inside Aragorn needed to be quenched here, tonight. *Oh Arwen, forgive me, but the ache is unbearable tonight*, Aragorn thought as he caught Meredith's eye and beckoned her to him. *And there are dangers best discovered and quelled as quickly as possible*, he added to himself as an afterthought. In an instant, she was standing before him again, so close that he could smell a faint whiff of her scent. "Yes, Sir Strider?" Her voice again was low, a confidential whisper, beckoning him to the one thing he knew in his heart he should not do. She leaned forth, her long braid slipping over her shoulder and onto his hand. He grasped the silken, reddish rope of her hair, bringing the long braid to his cheek, and then to his nose, taking in the scent of woodsmoke and roses that mingled in her fragrant hair. Meredith let him toy with the braid, her amusement with him clearly evident in her eyes. She smiled, and leaned into him, nearly thrusting her bosom to his downturned face. "Sir?" Her question held an insistance he couldn't help but understand. Aragorn released the braid, letting it slide away from his arm and onto the table. He grabbed the coin from the table and eased it into her cleavage. "Third room upstairs on the right." To his shame, his voice cracked when he said it. "When your duties are complete here." "Aye, Sir." Aragorn waited for Meredith to return to the bar before he slipped from his table and slunk up the darkened stairs to his room, his mind losing the battle wih his body between a struggle for information and a desire for something far more obvious. GO TO Chapter Two BACK to Chapter Index BACK to GypsieRose Index BACK to Fanfic Index BACK to Main Page |