Life had become a lonely existence in the dark days of the War of the Ring. My husband left weeks ago to join the fighting in the Westfold but no word of him had returned. I spent days without meeting another soul, days that dragged one into another. I felt safe in our home, hidden away in the foothills overlooking the River Adorn, but my uneasiness continued as my contact with the outside world dwindled to nothing. The Rohirrim were fleeing their towns- should I as well?

After completing my chores by the fading sunlight, I came inside and locked the door before stoking the small fire higher. Taking no pleasure from eating or later from my needlework, I craved the company of another, even that of my indifferent husband.

Turning in early I tossed for an hour or more, but after finally drifting away the crash of thunder woke me. A harsh rainstorm raged outside and lightning flickered repeatedly. I dozed off again and awoke to find the fire low and the house cold as a wind howled past the windows. I sat up and listened: was someone knocking at the door? Leaping out of bed I cast a coverlet about myself before lighting my lamp from an ember in the fireplace. Cautiously I approached the door and nearly dropped the lamp when I heard a man’s voice call out. Opening the door slowly, I held up the light to see his face.

“Please forgive the lateness of the hour but this ranger is in need of your aid,” came Aragorn’s urgent plea.

I could not believe my eyes. “Come inside!” I implored him. He was soaking wet and seemed to be in great pain. “What has happened?” I begged. He promised to tell me but nearly collapsed in my arms.

“Please sit,” I told him and guided him to a chair at my small table. “May I get you something to eat or perhaps you should get out of those wet things first?”

“I would appreciate both, my friend,” he replied wearily.

I ran to add firewood and stoke the embers. Watching Aragorn remove his outer garments I could see that he was injured by a deep gash marking his arm. After hanging his soaked clothing to dry by the fire I noticed he was still clad in his wet tunic and pants.

“You will never get warm wearing those soaked things. Now is not the time for modesty,” I chided him. I removed the coverlet I was wearing and handed it to him without thinking, revealing my nightdress in the process. It came nearly to my ankles but the thin, gauzy material and open neckline were evident. Now aware of his eyes on me I offered, “Let me find something for you to wear,” as I hastily moved away.

I tried to find something suitable in my husband’s wardrobe and could not believe Aragorn had returned. So many years had passed. I returned to find him huddled by the fire still wrapped in the coverlet. “These should fit but they may be a little short.”

“Anything will be fine. Thank you.” His eyes were sincere yet very troubled.

“My sleeping quarters will give you privacy to change,” I offered. He entered the small room wearily and as an afterthought closed the curtain behind him. I rushed to prepare what food I had: just a bit of stew and baked bread from that morning.

Catching my breath, I tried not to stare as he emerged from my sleeping area; the firelight cast a glow that reminded me of his eventual place in life. He would be king.

“Does this remind you of anything?” he asked with a smile. I looked down and saw the pants were at least three inches too short.

“The time we fell in the stream and you had to wear my brother’s clothing home?” I could not contain my laughter at the memory of my brief adventures with him during our adolescence in Rivendell. Estel had been the bright spot in my life at that time.

“Please eat.” I lay the bread on the table along with a few pieces of fruit that remained from the harvest. “The stew will be warm soon,” I told him. He sat and carefully tore apart the bread, every movement slow with discomfort. “Will you tell me how you have come to me on such an evening?” I asked.

Wearily he recounted a mission of utmost importance and a journey most would never make in a lifetime. Sacrifices had been made, alliances challenged and the fate of all Middle Earth hung in the balance. “As this day began I traveled with King Theoden. Edoras has emptied of its people and they are making for Helm’s Deep,” he began quietly. The rumors I’d heard were true.

Aragorn continued to relay his tale: their company had been waylaid by wargs and a skirmish ensued. In confrontation with an orc scout, he was unable to release himself from the reins of its mount once the orc had been thrown free. He was dragged off a cliff by the unstoppable beast and made an agonizing tumble down sharp rocks into the river.

“By the grace of the Valar was I saved…and also by a friend who rests in your stable,” he concluded. “Your horses are gone...where is your husband?”

I lowered my head and rose to collect the warmed stew. As I served him I apologized for such a small meal. “It is plenty. Please join me, Ralina,” he implored as he took my hand. The sound of his voice was a caress for my ears and I was reminded of sweeter times in a golden forest.

“Perhaps I will,” I relented and sat with him.

As I filled two cups with water he spoke. “I say again, Ralina. What of your husband?”