Aiming the bow, Aragorn studied the target carefully. He nocked the arrow trying to calm his racing pulse. He must not fail .So much depended on him hitting the target. A little to the right- not too much. With a mighty effort he drew back the bowstring and loosed the arrow.
“I won again!” Faramir said joyfully, clapping his friend on the shoulder. ”So as we agreed, you will meet the ambassador while I go riding with Éowyn.
“You shot well, mellon nîn.” Aragorn conceded defeat graciously. ”Give me a sword in my hand rather than a bow any day!”
He always sits in the same corner smoking his pipe. An unsociable fellow, even for one of them Rangers. Where do they come from? I wish they’d choose some other inn save the Pony, especially that one, Strider or Longshanks as I think of him.
The way he just sits there watching. I’m sure it puts off the other customers. Why does he have to look so gloomy? Anyone would think there was something wrong with my ale!
There is something about him that almost frightens me. Those keen grey eyes ! He misses nothing. This Strider is a man apart.
Enduring Hope The characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.
I feel like weeping and clinging to Estel, begging him not to leave. We have been parted so many times before. This time though, is different. He must either emerge victorious or perish, and with him, all that is good. My heart is breaking. Yet I smile and tell him I am confident that soon he will claim the crown and with it, my hand. Hard is the woman's lot, to sit and spin by the fire while the men ride to war. My heart foresees darkness and destruction in the coming days. I can only hope. Hope will endure.
Her sad eyes haunt me. I fear that she loves me. How did this come about? I never gave her cause. My heart belongs to Arwen and no other. The Lady Éowyn loves but a shadow and a thought. She knows me not and sees not the man, but dreams of glory and brave deeds. A woman’s lot is hard indeed, to sit and wait while men venture forth to fight. I know Arwen waits and holds me in her heart as I venture forth on these perilous paths from which I may not return. Alas, my heart is troubled