Summary: A young man finds that appearances can be deceiving. This was written for the Middle-earth Express challenge #23: Stranger.

Third place in the Best Pre-LOTR story category of the 2006 Mellon Chronicle Awards.

Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters, except maybe Edric. I don't have any claim to any of Tolkien's works, worlds or characters.

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The stranger had returned. Edric peeked around the corner of the counter to stare at the dark, mysterious figure sitting at one of the tables in the rear. Edric examined every detail of the man's appearance, trying to find some clue that would tell him who and what this man was. He could see more of the man tonight than he could have last night. Last night, all he had been able to see of the man was the heavy cloak that covered him from head to foot, hiding his face and concealing all of his clothing as well.

Only his large rough hands had shown where they rested on the table. Those hands had been rough and callused from holding a sword. Edric was quite sure that many had died at those hands. The stranger had smoked a pipe most of the evening, and the red glow of the pipe occasionally lit up the inside of the cloak, reflecting off of the dark eyes gazing out of the cloak. Edric shivered as he remembered catching a brief glimpse of those cold eyes. Those eyes had watched every movement within the tavern, missing nothing. They had regarded everything and everyone with a cold, malevolent gaze.

The cloak was gone tonight, and Edric was taking the opportunity to examine the stranger in more detail. He wore travel stained clothing that looked like they had not been washed in a very long time. A long leather coat covered a rough woven shirt and trousers, all of which were rather stained by mud and grass. His boots were liberally caked with mud as well, but it was not the clothing that had so captured Edric's attention. A long scabbard hung at the stranger's side, and the shiny hilt of a sword stood out above the scabbard. The gleam of the metal hilt contrasted sharply with the disheveled appearance of the man's clothing, and Edric knew that the sword would be in pristine condition if it were to be pulled from the scabbard.

'Of course he would keep the sword clean,' Edric thought to himself. The man was surely an assassin. He must be here to kill someone, or to meet someone and find out who he was to kill next. The stranger had a dangerous feel about him, which Edric knew meant he spent a great deal of time fighting and killing. He wondered who the man was here for, and hoped it was no one he knew. But then, there would be no reason for an assassin to kill anyone he knew, so they were probably safe. He jumped as a hand came down on his shoulder.

"What are you doing hiding behind the counter?" his father asked as Edric straightened and turned around suddenly. He handed Edric a tray and a cloth. "There are tables that need cleaned. We don't have time for you to stand around staring at the customers. Get moving."

Edric gulped as his father gave him a gentle push in the direction of the assassin. The men sitting at the table next to the stranger had just left, and it was Edric's job to clean off the table for the next customer. His hands started shaking as he moved toward the stranger. The man's eyes followed his movements, and the scrutiny made Edric even more nervous. He dropped his gaze, looking away from the man and hurried over to the table. His movements were more jerky than usual as he gathered up the plates, cups and other utensils. After he placed everything on the serving tray and wiped off the table, he spun quickly around, trying to make his escape. Apparently, he moved too quickly, and everything went flying off of his tray. His face flushed with embarrassment as he knelt to begin picking everything up off the floor.

He started when a hand reached down in front of him and picked up a bowl. He jerked his gaze up abruptly to find himself staring into the face of the stranger. The blood that had suffused his face drained away in his fear as he stared at the stranger.

"Here, let me help you," the stranger spoke in a deep, yet oddly gentle voice. He held the bowl out to Edric.

Edric reached out carefully and took the bowl from the stranger, placing it back on the tray. He lowered his gaze back to the floor as he went back to picking up the fallen items.

'Thank you," he said softly. If the man had offered to help him, the least he could do was say thank you.

The man just nodded and knelt down beside him, helping him to clean up the mess in silence. When Edric finally had everything back on the tray and the spilled food and liquid cleaned up, he stood up and looked back at the man who still knelt beside him.

"Thank you again," Edric said, minding his manners. His mother would not have been happy if he had accepted the man's help without thanking him.

There was a trace of a smile on the man's face as he inclined his head toward Edric. "You're quite welcome, young sir."

As Edric turned away, he couldn't help but think how a simple thing like a smile could change a man's face so much. His eyes no longer looked cold and dark, but warm and even a little amused. The lines on his face that Edric had earlier thought to be a sign of the man's cruelty now seemed to speak of the man's weariness. Edric put the items away behind the counter and turned back to look at the man that was once more sitting at his table. Looking over the clothing once more, Edric began to feel sorry for the man. It was obvious that he spent a great deal of time outside, traveling from place to place, and he probably did not have a place to call home. The sword that he had noticed now took on another meaning. Anyone traveling that much would be in danger from a great many enemies, animal or otherwise and would have to keep his weapons clean and in good condition, or he would not survive long. Such a man probably took comfort in whatever inn or tavern he came across for a good hot meal when he could get one.

Acting on impulse, he spooned a bowlful of his mother's stew and carried it over to the stranger.

The man raised his eyebrows as Edric placed the bowl on the table. "Thank you, but I did not order this."

Edric flushed slightly. The man probably did not have the means to pay for the meal, he thought. "It is my way of saying thank you," he replied. "Please take it."

A wide smile crossed the man's face, making him seem to be someone else yet again. He did not seem to be either the menacing assassin that Edric first thought, or even the weary traveler, but a much younger man, one able to laugh and enjoy his life. "Then I shall take it, and it is you who have my thanks. May I ask your name?"

"Edric," he said, still staring at the smiling face in front of him, trying to figure out who this man was.

"People around here call me Strider," the man said, inclining his head toward Edric once again.

Edric turned as he heard his father calling his name, and hurried back to tell his father why he had just given away a bowl of stew. His father thought it an appropriate gesture, though he wondered at the wisdom of giving it to such a strange, mysterious man.

"He is not what he seems to be," Edric said as he picked up his tray to go clean up the other tables. He was busy for the rest of the evening, but he nodded to the man when Strider got up and left the tavern. Moving back over to clean up his table, he found a small coin left behind. It was more than the soup was worth. He picked it up and looked around, spotting Strider's face through the glass as he stood outside the window. The man gave him a smile and nodded, indicating he should keep the coin, then strode out of sight into the shadows of the evening. Edric was left holding the coin and wondering who the man truly was.