"Well look here boys, an Elf that does not carry a bow."

The seven Men chuckle as they surround the cloaked figure.

"And a She-elf at that."

The elleth looks at the men with defiance flickering in her dark eyes. The brigands encircle her and she shivers in the wind, wrapping her deep grey cloak around her tighter. The Men laugh at her weakness.

"Who is this She-elf to dare wander into our camp my fellows?" one of the brigands boom.

The She-elf is looking around the circle, shivering as she does so, before she speaks her voice crisp and clear, flowing towards the brigands ears like cool water. "Which of you Men can tell me where Glarthas is?"

The Men laugh once more, and one steps forward with hunger in his eyes. He is a large creature, cords of muscle tightly bound beneath muck-covered tan skin. He is wearing iron mail under a simple, brown, slightly cracked leather cuirass. He brandishes a steel, two-handed great-sword that this elleth can see has been stained with the blood of many innocents. His hair is long, greasy, and sour smelling. A large and proud nose hides under a large scar across his face. The elleth almost wishes he had dirty whiskers to accompany the look, but his face is lined with a simple stubble. The black depths of his eyes trace the lines of her pale face and attempt to trace the outlines of her body, but her cloak hides her well.

"Why do you need to speak to Glarthas? What business do you have here at our...humble camp?" The elleth smiles, her pale, pink lips flashing into a charming shape that these Men do not resist. The sun bleeds through breaks of angry grey-black storm clouds, parts of the warm life-force covered the group with the brazen hues of the setting sun. "I have a message from the people of Archet in Bree-Land," She paused and the Man who previously stepped forward is looking at her with dark intrigue and humour in his eyes.

"I am Glarthas, what message have the poor people of Archet formed for me to receive?" he lent out his hand as though the elleth were giving him a letter. Her lips tugged upward in a smirk and looked at Glarthas' leather clad hand. He looked at her curiously while the other brigands stirred nervously. The sky was getting darker, the warm hues of the sky becoming more concentrated and slowly, though eventually fading to a deep blue. The dark storm clouds begin to swallow the sky. "The people of Archet have declared you and your...fellows to be a public menace and brigands. They have sent me to demand your immediate retreat from their lands, never to return." The boisterous laughter the ruffians give her was her answer, but she wants to hear their rejection from their leader. Once his laughter has subsided he looks at her with cold, furious eyes.

"Tell them we will not be leaving, and in fact there might just be a bit more accidents on the roadways." he smirks triumphantly. The She-elf's hands rustle beneath the wool of her cloak and she sighs, turning away to leave.

"So be it."

She moves too quickly for the Men on her sides to react, two Elven daggers have been lodged in their throats. She spins, her cloak wrapping around her tightly, and silvery blurs leave her fingertips and two more ruffians are felled. The one on her left swings his mace down as if to crush her skull but she rolls to the right, feigning an attack while another dagger snakes to the chink in his armour, slides between his ribs and drags. He shrieks in pain. She abandons her dagger in the Man and pulls free her father's curved sword, Annun. Using both hands she turns around and blocks the sword swinging towards her in a side swipe. The unusually sharp shriek of metal upon metal hurts her ears and she does not notice the shield of oak and iron bolting forward to smash into her face. It sticks true and her head is knocked backwards violently.

There is a haze clouding her vision and shrill rings echoing in her ears and she is blinded, but not completely. She smells Glarthas, the stench of a man who has cared not for cleanliness for many years, he is closer than before and her vision comes back just in time to witness his steel blade rushing towards her face. She brings up and using its curve, directs some of the great-sword's blow towards the earth. Thunder rolls through the sky, but the clouds are not yet ready to birth their rain. The elleth swings her left leg under him and kicks out, the old cuirass and chain-mail bending to the form of her foot easily. He exhales a foul breath of air in her direction as he stumbles away from her. Annun is skittered on the ground to her left and she rolls to the side, pushing herself up from the earth. With Annun in hand she spins and strikes at Glarthas' chest.

Her sharpened blade cuts through the leather easily. With her right hand she unsheathes her short-sword Amrûn and swipes across his chest in an X-fashion. The Elven blades cut through his chain-mail as if it were parchment. Glarthas however recovers quickly and angrily bringing in his great-sword from the side. The She-elf uses both swords to block the blow, the force of it shakes her arm violently and she jumps backwards. Her weapons did not stop his, instead they simply slowed his down and his steel cuts the earth in front of her. She springs forward and brings Annun across his chest as he tries to pull his great-sword from the ground; he yells in both pain and fury. Using the momentum from her jump she brings Amrûn around behind him and its sharp edge cuts through his hide boots and through his tendons. Glarthas collapses on the hard ground screaming.

His remaining companion however had yet to fall, so he rushes her, shield first. She simply rolls away from him and waits, crouching like a predatory animal. He charges once more, swinging his mace madly and inaccurately. Just before he passes her, she sticks her leg out to trip him. The Man tumbles forward, his chest landing on his own mace. Bleeding to death and cursing at her, she leaves him. He was not her bounty. With Elven grace, she seems to just skim the surface of the earth, a light bounce in her step, with both longsword and short sword within her gasp. Glarthas looks up at her from his blood-darkened bed of grass. A tired but angry flame in his eyes.

He bears bloody teeth at her and she gives him a sad smile, "I gave you a chance to leave, but" she sighs, "I guess this is for the better. You would have just caused more havoc in another settlement."

Glarthas smirks and spits blood in her face. She scrunches her nose and draws her mouth in a thin line. She sheaths Annun and wipes her face clean with her hand. After wiping the blood onto her cloak, she swipes Amrûn across his throat. A gurgling gasp escapes him as he began to laugh. Foamy blood bubbling to the corners of his mouth. The light in his eyes fade and he dies his mouth still open form laughing.

The elleth scowls at the scene. She expected it to go this way, but she never wanted it to. She only likes eliminating her bounty, not everyone around him. She stands and searches through Glarthas' pockets looking for something other than the excruciatingly heavy sword of his. To no avail she finds nothing that could identify him, so she walks over to his great-sword that is still wedged into the ground. She sheaths Amrûn and grasps at the handle of the sword, the angle of it awkward in her hands. With all of her strength she pulls the weapon out from the ground and stumbles backwards, almost falling. She whispers a quick prayer of thanks to the Valar, thanking them for their protection and the gift of Elven strength. Thunder rolls once more and she wraps the blood stained blade in the cloak of one of the highwaymen.

She carries the great-sword with both hands after pulling her grey hood around her face and begins her brisk walk back to Archet. The sun had finally died and the rain begins to pour down in buckets. Her leather clad feet push into the thick mud that doesn't wish to release her easily. She pulls at her foot which the mud releases unexpectedly. The elleth stumbles and falls forward into the mud, Glarthas' sword skittering in front of her. She scrunches her face in disgust and spits out mud from her mouth. The mud is slick and her first three attempts to rise fail. She pushes herself up once more and grasps onto a nearby tree branch, her fingers finding purchase just before she loses her footing. The rain comes down impossibly harder and she groans. The elf makes her way to the great-sword and picks it up to continue her journey. Thankfully the bandits didn't make camp too far away from the town of Archet so she makes it back to the town quicker than what she expected, but later than what she would have liked. The city gates open for her after she gives her name to the gatekeeper and she walks in. As usual she received suspicious glances from the towns people. A woman in a hooded cloak with weapons was not something to be trusted, but it was better they not discover she was Elven; the people tended not to easily trust other races in Archet. So the Elf keeps her eyes away from others as she walks to Council's Hall, where she is greeted by a guard asking of her business. She reveals the great-sword in her arms, "I am here to collect the bounty on Glarthas' head."

The group of Men around a large rectangular table glance up from their discussion as the sound of heavy rain becomes crisp and the large wooden door groans open slightly. At first they would describe the figure as small, muddy, and cloaked. But as the stranger walks forward, their description changes. How they would later describe this stranger and their encounter would be mysterious and surreal. The stranger, an Elf, the Head Councilman deduced was a bounty hunter. A bounty hunter that not only gave the victims and their families peace from further danger, but also saved the lives of many guardsman they would have needed to send.

"You mean to tell me that one person, no, one woman killed the bandit leader, Glarthas and his men." The bounty hunter nods with a small, sweet smile on her face. Another of the Men stands with accusation in his eyes.

"How can we trust this woman? She walks in here, well past our public hours during our urgent meeting, with a great-sword that she proclaims to be Glarthas'!" The bounty hunter sighs and walks forward, the guards tense up but relax as she simply sets the sword on the table. Her voice clear and sweet and relaxed, "Check for yourself my lord." the Head Councilman stands and silences the other members, whilst stroking is greying beard. "I believe her. In fact so much so that I believe she could use the reward and the knowledge that she is welcome in Archet for as long as she lives."

The bounty hunter smirks into the knowing eyes of the Head Councilman. "That is an awfully long promise my lord, are you sure your fellows will not forget such a blessing?" He walks from his chair and to the edge of the table where the sword sits. He disrobes it, seeing the bloodied steel and trademark saw toothed edge. There is no doubt in his eyes.

"Well then my lady, tell us your name and show us your face so that we do not forget." Now the bounty hunter seemed taken aback, she had no problem showing her face and she was aware that he knew of her heritage, but she thinks it will simply cause more of an outrage within the council and city. Yet, if he wished it then she would comply.

"My name is Taelien of Lothlórien"

She pulls pack her hood, revealing dark brown hair in a wavy, muddy, and damp tail. She has pale skin, but it is of a darker shade than most Elves the Head Councilman has seen, it appears closer to the colour of Men. Her eyes, like most Elves, were the most striking feature. Her eyes were of a dark green hue, like the colour of the trees after a good rain. They were full of an enchanting mischief and promises that the councilmen could not decipher. The Council tenses at the sight of her, she was not even attempting to hide the pointed tips of her ears. One of the two members that spoke out against her before explode. "I refuse to give this...this Elf my blessings to enter Archet whenever she may please!"

"Elleth."

"What?"

"Elf is male, Elleth is female. I would prefer that or my name if you are going to speak of me."

The Councillor's neck turns a bright shade of red and Taelien closes her mouth quickly. The Head Councilman intervenes and states that she is to receive her gold and that the gatekeeper can let her in at any time. But she stops them after being handed a heavy coinpurse, "Where do the victims families live? I would like to deliver something to them." The red necked councillor calms down, though he is startled, and tells her where the families live.

With that information in her mind and the coinpurse in hand the Elleth bids a respectful farewell and leaves the chambers. She lets the heavy door close slowly behind her. The guard outside stands still and solitary despite the early cold rain. It is still raining heavily, though she could actually see her hand in front of her now. She walks along the streets filled with mud, crushed stone, and straw heading towards one of the small shacks at the end of the lane. The late summer leaves rustle in the wind and dance before her pitifully, weighed down by the rain. Her hood is up, hiding her ears once more as she counts out her coin.

Ten gold...

Twenty silver...

Fifty coppers...

The metal clinks into another small purse, just in time to reach her first home. She raps a knuckle across the rotting door and waits for the shuffling sound of the inhabitant before dropping the purse on the porch loud enough for the man to hear and dashes into the night. She repeats this process until she has nothing but twenty coppers left for her own use.

Then she leaves.

Taelien of Lothlórien, the stranger, the Elven bounty hunter, leaves the town of Archet as quickly as she had come. She leaves to travel, listen to the troubles of Man, and help when she is able. It is when she comes across a small inn some many nights and days later that she hears the bar chatter and rumours speaking of a great evil rising in the East. It is Autumn in the small town of Bree when she hears the rumours of the Black Riders return, screeching in the night, searching for their master's One Ring.