Day 7:

Challenge - Belegost: Overcoming prejudices is as hard in Middle-earth as in our primary universe. Write a story or poem or create artwork where the characters try to reach across racial or gender or any other barrier.

Stranger

She was alone in her small home. More a cottage than house, but home nevertheless, she thought as she went to the window to draw the curtain. The draught made it loose again, and that was not good. When Death danced in the streets, one shouldn't look.

She paused for a moment, thinking what would happen if she looked. She has lived long enough to be more curious then afraid. It could very well be her that the Dancing One will take with her tonight. With a sigh she drew the curtain, and returned to the shaky table. A single candle burned in the room, and painted a map of shadows over her face, rough and wrinkled like the face of the desert itself.

The flame wavered.

Someone knocked on the door.

Her heart beat faster. She heard it like a bell echoing in the entire room. Did Death really come for her? And if she did, was there any reason to resist? She has lived a full life. She buried a husband, and raised four children. There was nothing left for her, just days spent in memories and waiting. She waited for the door to open.

But they did not. The knocking was repeated, as quiet as before but more urgent somehow. She stood up, and slowly made her way to the door. Strange, she was calm again. She was not afraid… more curious, really.

She opened the door – and nearly cried out. She would not be afraid to look into the face of Death – but facing her was a stranger. She wanted to shut the door close, but he leaned his hand on the weak doorframe and stopped her.

"Please," he said quietly, with a strange accent. "I just need some water…" his words were accompanied by a demonstration of the empty water-skin, as if he wouldn't be sure if she understands him.

She frowned, measuring him from head to toe. What was he doing out during this night? "There is a well before the tavern," she said with reserve.

He shook his head, and looked behind as if someone was after him.

She looked into his eyes. He returned the look honestly. She watched long and careful, and something she saw made her change her opinion. "Come in…" she said shortly, and stepped aside from the door.

The expression of gratitude in his face after she took the water skin from his hand and went to refill it from the water she was saving for cooking warmed her heart in a way that she didn't experience for a long time.

"Here…" she put a little sack of dates into his hand together with the full water skin.

He wanted to exchange it for a coin, but she shook her head in resolute refusal.

He put his hand on his heart and bowed in a gesture of thankfulness… and in the next moment he was gone and only the dancing flame of the candle betrayed the gust of wind that brushed past the closing door.

She wondered who he was. But he did not tell, and she did not ask. Maybe it was better this way…