“I was looking for you,” the stranger said, unveiling his face.
Her face. A woman with golden hair, braided to each side of her head, was holding the tip of her blade to Aragorn’s throat. Her voice was clear and fitting her attitude, calm, measured. Her doe eyes were dark, and slightly frowned. He felt no animosity from her, no danger. She tilted her head to the side and sighed, sheathing her sword back in its scabbard. Then, the words from Gandalf’s letter came back to the Ranger’s mind. He was supposed to travel alongside a Shieldmaiden from Rohan to escort the Hobbits to Rivendell. Though the wizard did not disclose her identity thoroughly to stay as discreet as possible, even in his letters. The Magician was supposed to meet them all at the inn and do the presentations, but he was also missing.
“You’re late,” Aragorn replied, picking up his own weapon from the ground of leaves.
”I met the rest of your party, outside the forest,” she replied, brushing off his words, “You have a very badly wounded Hobbit.”
”Frodo has been stabbed by a Nazgùl!” japped Sam, jumping out from behind the Dunedaìn and reminding him of the urgency of the situation.
Her eyes met Aragorn grey blue ones, he frowned, anxious. The stranger nodded, and no more words were needed. They began to run for the clearer where the other three Hobbits were waiting.
“I was waiting for you at the ‘Prancing Pony’,” Aragorn said, catching his breath between his words.
”My apologies,” the woman replied, “I was ambushed by Orcs on my way from Rivendell to Bree,” she explained, “They seemed like they were looking for someone, or something.”
https://archiveofourown.org/works/74746476/chapters/195232026#workskin
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