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Tales of Life  by Aelaer

Hi guys. I haven't been on lately simply because life has not left me the time or inspiration to write. I'm in the most stressful and busiest year of high school, and it has left me burned out and just completely without energy. Along with work, school, and homework, there was also a death of a close family friend a couple weeks ago, and I have been having problems with my friends. Life has been just completely stressful.

I don't know how often inspiration, as well as time for writing will come. I'll just do my best.

Anyways, I came up with when inspiration to write struck me during a "down" moment, but I believe that the quality of it didn't suffer. I hope you all enjoy.


Prompt 23: Stranger
Fic: The Stranger in the Corner
Rating: G
September 29th, 3018

He always sat in the same corner every time he came to the Prancing Pony. They always sat in that same, dark corner, watching the move of every patron in the inn with just a quick glance. All of their eyes were keen, but his were the keenest. Sometimes he was with others, but most of the time he was by himself. That especially made him stand out.

Rangers tended to come in twos or threes, but this one usually was alone. He certainly was a Ranger: tall with dark hair, sharp eyes, and a mysterious persona. He hardly spoke about himself or his business, if he spoke at all; but when he did, even Bree-landers could hear a silent power in his voice. His tales of the outside world were entrancing, and unlike anything they could imagine in their small village.

He was certainly a stranger.

It didn't matter how often he came, for the people would always treat him as a stranger. He didn't even have a proper name, for he had never given one. One day, someone had watched him walking, and had bestowed on him a name that soon everyone used. And so Strider he was known by, and Strider he remained.

On a chilly day in late September, four hobbits entered the Prancing Pony, wanting a room. Unknown to them, the stranger had followed them to the inn. He immediately went to the dark corner, and as a bar maid took his order, he watched the hobbits leave; into a private parlor or their rooms, he presumed. When Barliman himself came back with his tankard of ale, he tried to convince Butterbur to let him see the four hobbits, or at least to send them a message. The innkeeper refused him, and he was left with the slim hope of them not coming into the common-room that night.

His hopes were dashed when he saw three of them enter the common-room. As Barliman introduced all of the Bree-landers to the hobbits, he was not surprised to be conveniently forgotten by the landlord. He was, after all, a stranger.

When he saw one of the hobbits- Underhill, he thought with a queer smile- watching him, he beckoned him over. However, things turned ill when one of the hobbits started a tale that would make curious minds even more curious about these Shire-folk, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Things went from bad to worse when 'Underhill' distracted the patrons by reenacting the young hobbit's story and disappearing into thin air. Strider could have groaned; this was one of the worst things that could happen.

But in the end, all turned well enough, he supposed. He managed to convince Master Underhill- or Baggins, as he finally admitted- to take this strange Strider as a guide.

He watched the hobbits sleep that night, and while Gandalf's letter had certainly supported him, he knew he wasn't quite trusted- not yet.

After all, he was only a stranger.





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