So if you are a new reader this may get confusing but I am revising the fanfic while I write it. I have changed my OC's name to Mirien so it is no longer Rilwen (found out it meant something weird like daughter of brilliance or something)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Mirien and possible OC's later.
This is an Aragorn/OC and also if you really like Aragorn/Arwen you might now want to know what I did to her...
In the dim shadows an old man walks down the street, his shoulders stooped and his arms wrapped around himself in the cold air of the night. A hooded figure steps out of the shadows and approaches the old man cautiously. The old man looks up and seems to be listening to the figure as it speaks. The old man nods and, using his hands, starts pointing directions. The figure nods once he has finished and sets off in the direction the man pointed out. The man watches the figure for a moment then turns and trudges away shaking his head slightly.
The figure looks around to make sure no one is following, her blue eyes searching left and right. She keeps heading down the road until she sees the lights of her destination, The Prancing Pony. She smiles to herself and her pace quickens as she nears the bustling inn. She reaches for the door handle and quietly opens the door.
Inside there is an abundance of Men. They all seem to have some sort of drink and are making a lot of noise in the small inn. She makes her way over to the bar where she sees a man, whom she assumes to be the owner of the inn, serving drinks to the already half intoxicated Men. He walks over at her after filling a Man's drink and asks, "Is there anything I can get you?"
"Yes, is there a Ranger here by the name of Strider?"
"Strider, Strider, Strider…Ah yes! Over there in the corner, but I don't see why you would want to see him." He leans in to whispers, "Seems like a shady fellow if you ask me."
"Well no one asked you, did they? My business with him is between him and I," she says coldly as she makes her way to where the Ranger is seated in the corner of the noisy inn.
He is sitting with his head bowed over a tankard of ale and seemed to be thinking very hard. She studies him for a moment.
He is still tall; she could tell that just by looking at him, at least six and a half feet or so, which towers above her meer five and a half feet. His hair, she knew, has dark and his eyes the color of clouds before a storm. Her hand slips to the scroll tucked in her belt and she knows she must make her prescence a deep breath, she pulls out the scroll and walks over to his table, not even giving him a chance to look up, she slams the scroll on the table and throws back her hood revealing long black hair braided down her back in Elven style. He looks up and smiles at her, recognition in his eyes, "Hello Mírien, it's been a long time hasn't it?"
Review Below Please