(requested by the splendid Eleftheria01! Thank you so much for the request!)

Type: One-shot

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Hope you like!

"The sky bodes well this night. We should walk with ease."

I nod, draw the straps of my pack a little tighter on my back, then do the same to my thin gloves. The seasons are changing across the world; cold seeps into every evening and most dawns these days. Daylight fades faster and we have heard news of travel up North being slowed by wind, sleet, and snow. Time for rest and relaxation is rare to the Dúnedain and those traveling with them- in this case, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, rightful heir to the Throne of Gondor, and myself. Aragorn is also, to my neverending delight and affection, my fiancé, as of about a month ago, though I have loved him from the first, and he has long felt the same. Eight years have passed since our first meeting, and I cherish every moment, the good, the bad, and everything that comes in between.

 We have not long known we would need to make this journey- to Bree, that is -for it was only a week since we learned of the Nazgûl's reappearance in the Free People's lands and determined we must track their evil purpose. To our good fortune, it seems, the air tonight has retained the sun's warmth, at least for a little while longer, and so our travel is pleasant. As we walk, I hum a tune Aragorn taught me a few years back, the song remembering the love of Beren and Lúthien, and he joins in after a minute, and we harmonize, at peace together for just a moment.

Having been tipped off by an old friend of both of us, Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood to the East, of the Nine making haste toward the West and knowing of Frodo Baggins' possession of the One Ring through Gandalf's careful deductions, we began our journey as soon as we knew which way to head: South. Here in the North, barren, frigid wastelands are roamed and inhabited by the Dúnedain, which is where I first met Aragorn. A Ranger not entirely by choice, I was not prepared for the harsh conditions and loneliness this life would bring, and Aragorn saw this and took me under his wing. For that, I am forever grateful.

"See anything down there?"

I grunt, swat his arm. Peering above the tall grasses, I move swiftly, Aragorn keeping stride right beside me, as always. He can run much faster if he so chooses, but in all of eight years of knowing him, not once has he gone ahead. It is a subtle gesture, yet endearing. His mild teasing of my short stature, however, is still affectionate, but not quite as sweet.

"If there's a goblin nibbling at my knees, you'll be the first to know."

I glance at him and see he is smiling, though barely, his lips quirked up just enough to express his mirth to no one in particular. I like his smile, as small as it may be. It is often the only thing that can bring me joy after a rough day. Even after all this time, seeing him smile never gets old. 

"Wyn."

He touches my arm, abrupt and urgent, and at this motion and the whisper of my name, I freeze in sync with him. There is a light up ahead, in the brush, I see it a moment after he has. A rustling swishes through the grass, echoed by the sheer rock scattered upon the earth in this marsh-like plain.

"Bandits?" I ask, knowing they are common in the area just North of Bree, though unsure of how their numbers have grown (or, perhaps, diminished) in the year or so since we've last come down this path.

"Stay low to the ground."

A scream pierces the air, mixing with the crackling of the distant fire and the rustle of the grass in the twilight breeze. Instinctively, I make a move forward, but Aragorn grabs my arm, halting me.

"Wynter-"

"Someone needs help."

And I drop my pack beside him, taking off like a speeding swallow. I am the stealthiest of us pair, we both know that, and so at first I assume I will be able to get close enough to see the cause and source of the cry, but within a few moments, I realize the encampment is closer than I initially thought. It is only when a shout picks me out from the thin grass at the sides of the boulder shielding the fire, the sheer wall casting its light farther along the ground than I'd assumed at first, that I realize three things: first off, I have been seen. Secondly, there are two women, one barely out of girlhood, clutching each other by the fire- possibly hostages. Third, Aragorn is not by my side anymore.

"Get 'im!"

I break into a run, skirting the edges of the camp, keeping an eye on those within it. Two men are reaching for crude axes, a third is running at me, too close and quick for comfort. Before I think to give a shout, a hand roughly grabs my arm and spins me around. It is the man who has chased me, and I feel a sting of embarrassment to have been caught so swiftly. I move to draw my dagger and wrench my wrist from his grasp, but one of the other men has his axe at my throat before I even touch the hilt of my blade.

"Down, missy."

With a huff of wry annoyance, I drop down, sweeping the legs out from the man holding the axe and using the leverage of the other man's grasp on my arm to flip him over my back and shoulder.

"You-" I elbow the side of the second man and take note of the third, who now approaches without his axe, cracking his knuckles and smirking. "-better watch your tone."

It does not take long for me to take down the three men, though they are all taller than me, for I have learned well from Aragorn and other Dúnedain who have been willing to tutor me in the last few years. Where is he, I wonder as I punch my first assailant in the jaw, hearing a satisfying thump as he hits the ground a moment later, where is Aragorn? My question still goes unanswered as I connect my foot with the chest of my last remaining opponent and knock him to the earth, from where he groans and does not get up, but rubs at his shoulder, dazed. Turning to the two women by the campfire, I see the young one has now taken up the frying pan on the coals of the fire, though I hesitate, confused by the anger in her eyes.

"Aaaaah!"

Her cry seems meant to be threatening, but it is meek to my ears. The panful of coals, however, that she also tosses at me is much more effective at getting the message across. I stumble back, covering my face with the side of my cloak, though my bare neck has already been struck twice, as well as my hands and clothes, peppered with hot embers. I give a yelp and stumble back, as the young girl shouts something at me in a language I don't quite understand. I look up at her face and see no malice, only fear- these are not bandits, I now realize, seeing how the wagon across the clearing is clearly that of a traveling merchant's. though the impact of my actions has hit me all the same. In shame, I turn and flee into the tall grasses all around, patting at my smoldering tunic, cloak, and other affairs, not giving myself the leeway to wince at the burns on the palms and backs of my hands.

"Wyn?"

I shake my head, turning from the familiar voice, and begin jogging, still patting at the more stubborn spots on my sleeves. I am leaving the fire behind me, though it doesn't feel like I'm doing so fast enough, so I break into a run. I know the stars well by now and so follow them Southward, towards Bree, silenced by my guilt and embarrassment. Footsteps fall evenly beside mine, and it is only after a good hour or so that I, feeling the burning of exertion strong enough in my chest, slow to a jog once more, then a walk, then stop at an outcropping of tall bushes.

"What were you thinking-"

"I know, I know."

"Do you know?" Aragorn seems genuinely upset, more so than I have ever seen him. I wrench my gaze up to meet his, though reluctantly. "Reckless! Not to mention violent, and stubborn-"

"I made a mistake-"

"A mistake? Wyn, you might have killed a father, a husband, a brother back there-"

"I know-"

"-and this isn't the first time you've rushed into a situation like this without thinking it through-"

"And I regret it every time!"

"But you never learn!"

My eyes flash, and though my anger and guilt are defensive, both at his accusations and myself, I am wounded by his tone and words. My mouth is dry and my chest heaves; I am still catching my breath after that sprint away from that... incident.

"Eight years and you still don't wait for me-"

"I have waited, for years, always following your lead-"

"You know little of the world!"

I scoff, offended. "You said it yourself, I've been out here eight years, and you still think I know nothing-"

"You shouldn't have come."

My brow, creased, now unfurrows, and my hands, fidgeting with the side of my cloak, clench worn fabric. He runs his hand through his long hair and looks away, uncomfortable. My gaze goes to the ground, then back to him, then the ground again, and once more to him.

"I have every right to be here-"

"You are going to get yourself, or some other innocent, killed."

A wave of anger sweeps through me and I blurt out, "Really? Am I that useless to you?"

"No!" His tone, too, is angry now, which only fuels my frustration.

"You would just let me run in there alone, wouldn't you? Completely unaided, while you just stayed back and watched, practically ignored it-"

"That's enough-"

"I thought you were better than that."

"Do not turn this on me, you took down three innocent men-"

"They might have been bandits!"

"You could have killed them-"

"I KNOW THAT, ALRIGHT?!"

Hot tears sting my eyes, and as I wipe at them, the pain of the burns on my fingers only causes more to fall. I turn away from him, move to cross my arms, but my hands smart and sting and I drop them by my sides instead, stiffly. There is a silence between us now, though the night around us is coming to life in the grassland. Distant singing, distinctly elven, drifts ever so distantly on the breeze, which has started to pick up, rippling through the grass around us in a near-constant whir.

"You're right, as usual. I shouldn't have come."

He hesitates. I can tell by how he takes one step toward me, shuffling the earth underfoot, then a moment passes before another footfall disturbs the soil, followed by another right after. He lays a hand on my shoulder, and though his touch is gentle, I don't want to face him now. We do not fight often, but when we do, it is never insignificant. I have my flaws, so does he, but I hadn't realized my impulsivity was affecting our relationship so much until now. Perhaps he's right. I should have stayed with the Dúnedain, traveled with some of them to the Winter Solstice festival in Imladris, helped show the newer Rangers how to make the most of this life. I mostly say he is right, though, because of my shame of the mess I just made and then ran away from.

"Wyn..."

"Once we get to Bree, I'll resupply, head back up North. You hardly need my help tracking... them, you're the better hunter of us-"

"No, no."

I turn my head first, then the rest of my body, and he draws me into a hug. I bury myself in his embrace, not bothering to wipe away the tears, though the pain on my hands and neck causes me to try and keep those away from pressure. He notices quickly, though, and has me sit down, drawing herbs from a small pouch on his belt. He is silent once more as he leans over my hands, a healer at heart, taking gentle care of me despite the tension still hovering between us. I love him, deeply, and I know he hates it when we fight, he always ends up blaming himself for any hard feelings between us, so I scoot closer until he lets me sit halfway on his lap, leaning against his chest.

"I'm sorry." It's a whisper, but I need to say it, even if my throat is a bit dry.

"So am I." He reaches for his waterskin, hands it to me, I take a sip gratefully.

"You shouldn't be."

"I loathe any place where I am without you." His gaze is dark, but his body is warm, and I lean into his touch, though the side of my neck aches at the movement. "Do not leave me at Bree."

"I won't." My voice is growing steadier now, though the shame and guilt of my actions just a short time earlier this evening still permeate my mind. He begins to wrap my hands in a light cloth after covering them in some sort of medicinal herbal combination that has begun to ease the pain of the burns and I move to kiss his cheek, but wince halfway through the motion, my neck once pained. He finishes with my left hand and leans his head toward my lips, and the ghost of a smile crosses them as I complete the gesture, the scruff of his beard familiar to my touch.

For the next few minutes as he treats the burns on my neck, we talk a bit about my actions with the traveling merchants, then lapse into silence, then speak again, until we have reached a certain level of understanding. He will not call me a fool, though I am one, and I will not fault him for staying out of the fight, though if he had pulled me away, I would not have done much injury to the three men. We both made mistakes back there, mine certainly greater than his, and though he may be a Dúnedan, he is just as human in imperfections as I. A small sigh flutes away through my half-parted lips and he kisses the top of my head as he finishes wrapping my neck with the same cloth he tenderly bound my hands with.

"I should hope you enjoy my company," I murmur to him, "you are marrying me, after all."

He huffs a soft laugh into my hair and I smile, just slightly, wanting to stay here for a moment more. I know we must move on, though: we are too exposed in this little space in a vast grassland. The bushes behind us provide some cover, but it is no place to make a safe camp, he knows this too, and I can sense he is eager to get moving again, at least until we find a better spot. I get up first, and he quickly follows, but he does not move to take my hand for a moment, as he often does before we start off on a walk to anywhere. The lack of the gesture would bother me a little, if not for how sensitive my hands are after being burned by embers straight from the campfire. That girl's expression will remain in my memory for a long time, I am sure of it, and another wave of shame sweeps over me. Still, Aragorn's presence by my side calms and reassures me, and I slip my pack onto my shoulders, wincing just a little as it rubs against my neck.

"I love you," he promises to me, his words floating up into the night air. My breath leaves a little puff now, lit by the nearly-full moon high above, and I see it has become colder now that some time has passed since the sunset. A warm night was not meant for us, it seems, despite my earlier optimism.

"I love you, too."

I glance at him and he offers a little smile, and that is all I need to start walking, right by his side, as I always will be.