A Ranger's Temptation

Chapter Six

 

Aragorn wasn't sure what he expected Meredith's reaction to be--shock? Revulsion? Certainly, revulsion and loathing were what he felt for himself after rethinking his course of action for the evening. Under most circumstances, the Ranger prided himself on his ability to keep a cool and level head when faced with even the most pressing situations. But when faced with something as simple as his own need, he had lost all control. And, he thought as he let his head fall slightly to his chest, all sense.

Aragorn certainly did not expect from Meredith the look she met him with--the same wide-eyed, expectant, tearstained expression she'd had earlier, as if waiting to hear the rest of his tale.

"Did you not hear me?" he shouted again through clenched teeth. "I have been promised to another woman for many years now!"

"So are many of the men who come to me," Meredith replied, her voice soft and even.

He was surprised at her calmness in the face of his rage, and its effect was somewhat disarming, knocking his anger off-kilter. He shook his head, trying desperately to clear it. "Does that mean nothing to you? That these men would...shame their lovers so?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how ludicrous they sounded. Why should it matter to her, when it had not mattered to him enough to keep her from his bed? He waited for her to upbraid him for his hypocrisy, but she was looking defeated again, her shoulders bowing as she answered listlessly: "Why shouldn't they come? It's their own choice. If my young man had gone to a whore when he felt the need, instead of asking me to lie with him, I would be preparing for my wedding day now instead of...." Her voice trailed off.

Aragorn blinked in astonishment. "You cannot mean that. Could you have been happy, knowing that he had been untrue?"

Meredith sat on the bed, away from him, tears spilling from her eyes. "It would have pained me very much," she admitted.

The Ranger retrieved his clothing from where he had dropped it near the tub, and silently began to dress again. He could not meet Meredith's eyes. He did not wish to see there the pain that would be mirrored in Arwen's, if his elf-maid were to ever discover his lack of faith, his broken promise.

Finally, Meredith spoke again, with a touch of bitterness he had not heard from her before. "Is it truly so hard for men to wait?"

Furious, he jerked his head up. "You have no idea!" he responded forcefully, now taking care to keep his voice low, as if it mattered. "My heart is hers--it can belong to no other. But...my body cannot always be governed by that decision."

Oh, how bitterly true that was! Aragorn recalled other taverns, other nights spent rutting whores in a desperate attempt to relieve his own mortal lust, excused as only physical weakness, as only a satisfaction of needs of the flesh while his spirit, his soul, imagined it was Arwen with whom he lay. There had never been any toward whom he'd felt the tenderness he felt toward Meredith...but there had been many, and that was reason enough to grieve at his own stupidity.

"You love her, Strider?"

Aragorn lifted his gaze to meet Meredith's. Her green eyes searched his face desperately, though she seemed not reproachful, nor desirous, but eager to hear him speak true.

His fists clenched reflexively. "I do," he said finally. "More than my own life." And it *was* true, he knew. What he felt for Arwen Evenstar transcended physical need--it was a need in his heart, his core, his soul. Without Arwen--even a distant and unattainable Arwen--he knew he would be lost. Life would not be worth living, then.

And lying in whores' beds was how he'd chosen to show his devotion. He clenched his jaw, speaking through his teeth. "And she deserves better than I can give her--than I prove through my own actions, through my weak will." Aragorn was aware that his words sounded hollow, yet he knew that he meant them with all his heart.

There was a long silence before either of them spoke again. She broke it, musing, "Still, you are gentler than most. At heart, anyhow."

In spite of himself, Aragorn nearly blushed at her remark, deeply ashamed at being praised for an action he should never have commited. But to this unfortunate girl, his small kindness had meant something. He could not think of how to respond, and so simply stammered, "What?"

"This is the first time since...since I came here that a man has desired of me more than...what is expected. The first time any man wished to know more of me than what I presented to him." Now it was Meredith's turn to blush. "I have told no other my story, Strider--none have asked it. If nothing else, that shows you are of a different mettle than most. This evening, ultimately, was a pleasure, not a duty. I am sorry if you regret it, but I do not."

This time, Aragorn definitely felt the heat rising along his neck and across his stubbled cheeks. The corners of his mouth turned up in a grim little smile. "It is not the company that I regret--only the circumstances."

Meredith sighed deeply. "Aye. I regret those as well." Her eyes remained focused on the floor, hidden by her thick auburn lashes. "I am sorry now that I tried to deceive you. You did not deserve that payment for your kindness."

Aragorn suddenly remembered something she had said to him earlier--something he had deemed important at the time, but had let slip away when he had become distracted. He now looked to her in earnest. "Your employer--what was his name again?"

"You mean the man who asked me to watch for information? Bill Ferny...." Remembrance of the danger of the situation descended on them both.

Aragorn ran a hand through his still-damp hair and began to pace as he thought aloud. "Ferny will know that I hired you for tonight, and in the morning he will want to know what you learned."

"I could tell him that you had no information...."

"Do you think he will believe that? And what if he tries to beat it out of you?" Meredith was silent, her eyes wide. Aragorn stepped to her at the bed, putting a strong hand on her shoulder, in an attempt to give her some small comfort. "I promised I would keep you from harm, and I will."

She blinked at him in apparent wonderment. "H--how?"

"I have coin enough to get you out of town safely, though the roads are dangerous for a woman alone--"

"No more dangerous, certainly, than staying here in Ferny's employ," she interrupted.

He nodded, amazed equally with her sudden courage and her quick thought. "Well, I have coin enough, at any rate. You could purchase a horse and...but there's no excuse to make to Ferny, and he'd follow you." Aragorn scowled, pounding his fist into his hand, utterly unable to concoct a solution to the problem.

They both sank into thought for a moment, and then Meredith suddenly gave a low chuckle. "I think I have it," she said, her eyes sparkling with sudden mischief. "I saw the kitchenmaid before you came back here, so she knows I left your room early. If anyone heard us talking here, they will think I had another customer tonight. What if I leave a note saying I left with him?"

Aragorn smiled broadly at Meredith's ingenuity. Her former suitor and his family had missed a chance at a worthy acquisition, surely. "An excellent idea. You're lettered, then?"

She positively beamed, the color pouring into her cheeks. "Aye. My family expected that I would marry a merchant. They saw to it that I could read any contract he might be presented with, so that I could be a helpmate to him in his business, too." She gazed up at him, suddenly serious. "Thank you, Strider."

"There's no need to thank me. I've not done anything at all, really. You have thought of everything on your own." He paused, running his fingers through his hair with a sigh. "You're a remarkable woman, Meredith. Under other circumstances...." His voice trailed off into silence, broken only by his shallow, ragged breaths.

Aragorn shook his head slightly. It would do no good to make the girl think on what could not be. It seemed that his every attempt to do something good for himself or for Meredith was spiralling into something he had not intended. *A fine king I am*, he thought wryly. *I cannot even govern my own life.*

But he could at least see to it that Meredith was physically safe. "How soon can you be ready to leave?" he asked.

"I can be ready in just a moment," she responded eagerly. "I have few worldly possessions that need packing."

"I would see you out, but then your plan would be foiled if any should see us together this late," Aragorn stated sternly. "'Tis best if I wait here until you are well away, and then slip back to my own room."

She nodded, tossing the bedsheet aside and hurriedly slipping her common frock on over her shift. "I shall leave the note on my bed. Sally's sure to find it in the morning."

*************************

The next evening, Aragorn sat once again in the taproom at the Prancing Pony as an autumn rain beat heavily down on the roof. He hoped that Meredith had found shelter from the rain somewhere. She had not told him where she was going; perhaps she did not know, herself. She said only that she intended to find a place where no one knew her and begin again, to find another way of earning a living. He hoped she would find it.

Barliman Butterbur himself, slightly harried, was serving the customers tonight. The entire staff had been in an uproar since breakfast-time, and all seemed to have accepted Meredith's note as the truth. Aragorn had even overheard the boot-boy claiming importantly to have seen a man on a white horse waiting outside the inn before dawn that day.

"And why were *you* up at that hour?" asked the scullery-maid, whom Aragorn could now identify as Sally.

"I had to take a leak," the boy answered without missing a beat. "And there he was--handsome as a prince he was, and he seemed to be waiting for someone."

Aragorn chuckled inwardly at the successful conclusion to the scheme. But somehow he felt an aching regret too, and a sense that he had done as much harm as good in the matter. Had he really helped Meredith? He had gotten her out of danger, but then he had also brought the danger upon her through his own weakness. He had tried to be kind to her, but what good was it to give her one moment of tenderness when he could not offer her more than that? And of course, that attempt at kindness had come at the price of betraying the one he held dearest in the world.

If only he'd held fast to his promises to Arwen--in body as well as in spirit! To think that it had taken the simple logical goodness of a tavern girl to make him realize what he'd risked losing with each time he strayed.

The storm raged on outside the inn, the rain running in dreary, dark rivulets down the mullioned panes of glass. Aragorn longed for the day when he could return to Rivendell, to his Arwen; he hoped, he prayed it would be soon.

As if Elbereth herself had been listening, the door swung open, and four dripping hobbits tumbled in.


 

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