A/N: Holy crow thank you for the follows and favourites and reviews! All I can do is say thank you, ask that you enjoy the story, and please please PLEASE continue reviewing and supporting! There is Elvish in this chapter and I tried to incorporate the translations into the paragraphs after it. However, I am including all of the translations at the end of the chapter in case I did not do as well as I hoped. Enjoy! Let me know if you approve, disapprove, are neutral, etc. AND/OR if you speak Sindarin, let me know how I'm doing! I'm a beginner myself. I do not own any of Tolkien's work, if I did I wouldn't be writing fan fiction.

Update: As requested I am placing all Elvish translations right next to their respectful phrases. Hopefully this will make the story flow better for you guys! Thank you for reading!


The wind screams as Taelien enters the Prancing Pony. It was time to look for work. Her coinpurse was lighter than she wished and she was running out of her cheaply made Lembas. She had been travelling, hearing of dark whispers and tidings. She was frightened, yes, but she was also determined to ward off these whispers from the less fortunate by ridding them of local brigands. She may not like the race of Man, but she had made a promise that she intends to keep. Yet, as if the Valar were testing her, a large and very round drunkard is pushed into her, making her squeak in an attempt to twist away. She did not make it. Glasses spill and crack, a bowl of steaming stew splashes over her and the large Man smashes her into the bar.

Her temper flared, "Watch where you walk you unintelligible swine!"

Valar, she had been around Men so long she actually had a temper. The Man turns, his bottom lip hanging open, beer dripping out onto his tunic and mixing with something that looks suspiciously of vomit. She stares at him, lip curling with disgust, he stares at her with vacant eyes that blossom with an emotion she cannot discern from anger or arousal. Now she feels like vomiting. Before he makes a move to trap her she feels a gloved hand grip her wrist and pull. She is yanked away quickly, up the stairs and away from the drunkard.

The rest of the tavern did not notice her anger.

"I've never seen an Elleth with such a temper." a curious and soothing voice states. She is pulled into a side room that overlooks the street and a Man stands before her dressed in dark green and leather. A sword hangs off his belt and she notices his hood is up as well.

"How did you-"

"I have lived among the Eldar for most of my life. I can tell when one walks into a tavern of Men."

Taelien is shocked. She must be getting too confident and sloppy in her deceptions. Two men in the last three months had recognized her heritage when she did not wish them to. She wiggled her wrist away from his grip and pulls down her hood. She is suspicious of this man, a Ranger of the North she now realizes. His eyes hold knowledge beyond his apparent age, much like the elves.

"Pedol Edhellen?" ::Do you speak Elvish?::

"Thand." ::Yes.::

She sucks in a breath. Who is this Man, this Ranger, who thinks himself able to live among the eldar and speak their tongue?

"I Dúnadain?" ::You are a Ranger?::

"Thand, i eneth nîn Aragorn." ::Yes, I am called Aragorn.::

Aragorn, she knows this name. Lord Elrond spoke of him in her last visit to Imladris. He is the heir to Gondor. Her jaw almost drops. She spent many years in Gondor and she knows of the strife within the kingdom. Yet, she wants to make sure it is really the heir. Lord Elrond said the heir came to live in Imladris with his family.

"Mas dorthong?" ::Where are you from?::

He smirks, and Taelien can see the shadow of stubble across his jaw.

"Telin o Imladris." ::I come from Imladris.::

If Taelien cared more for Gondorians she would have leapt for joy. Minas Tirith finally had its king! Yet she did not care for Gondorians. They were the most distrustful of all the Men she has seen and met in her travels. She likes Gondorians the least. They were arrogant and stubborn, unwilling to change or accept others. They reminded her too much of the Elves, though the Gondorians held all the wrong qualities. She begins her nervous habit of pacing. The Ring Wraiths. The return of Sauron. The search for the One Ring. The heir to Gondor. All of these things happening at once after so many years of relative peace gives her a nasty feeling in her stomach.

"Aníratham limma an Imladris, anírathar ista." ::We will want to travel to Imladris, they will want to know.::

Aragorn looks at her and raises an eyebrow, of course they would need to travel to Imladris, of course Elrond and his court would want to know. She does not know that he is already aware of almost everything. She does not know of the Hobbits. She does not know that the One Ring has been found.

"Aníratham an darth an tâd periain." ::We need to wait for two halflings.::

Hobbits? Why would they need to wait for two Hobbits? Then it hits her. These halflings must have it. The One Ring. She looks at Aragorn sharply, surprise gracing her features. She suddenly feels physically older. Tiny, young, innocent halflings are tasked with such a burden. she sighs, and looks at him, letting the Westron roll off her tongue. "Do you know when they will be here, Ranger? I have heard many dark whispers of the Nine Black Riders; they are searching."

Aragorn looks as though a weight has been placed on him as well and the room feels somehow colder, heavier.

"Soon. That is all I know."

Taelien sighs again, she may not be paid for such a task but her nature as a bounty hunter must be contained and her Elven ways seemed to obligate her to help in any way she could. She still paces in the room and Aragorn stands still, eyes watching her from the center of the room. She abruptly spins on her heel and walks towards the window, watching the street below. The sun is setting on a clear sky, orange and salmon hues blending into navy. The moon is a sliver of growing light in the Eastern sky. Her green eyes meet Aragorn's brown ones before they shift back to the sunset. "Then I guess I will rent a room here."

Aragorn turns and walks over to her as she stands by the window, eyes ever watching. "I never asked you to stay, nor should you feel the need that requires you to stay. This is not something you have been tasked to do."

She looks at him smirking and bows her head, "I eneth nîn Taelien ned Lothlórien." ::I am called Taelien of Lothlorien.::

Aragorn smiles, but it does not reach his worried eyes. "It is a pleasure to meet you Taelien."

Taelien smiles once more and walks out of the room. The sun has set and her promise of help is final. She walks down the old wood stairs and back down to the bar where she orders bread, cheese, some mead, and a room. The innkeeper takes the last of her coppers and tells her where her room is before bringing out her food. The Prancing Pony seems impossibly busier and she begins to feel as though she can only breath sweat, dirt, alcohol, and vomit. The fat man who pushed her lays unconscious on a table near what she presumes are his friends and she curls her lip in a sneer. A Man looks up from the fat one's table and spies her staring. He looks at her, eyes growing wide, her hood is still down. Taelien closes her eyes in an attempt to calm herself, as the Man stands and makes his way towards the bar. She mumbles and curses under her breath in Elvish. He is right in front of her, drunk but not incompetent at the moment. "I knew you fer a freak. Ears like...knives, not natural, not right. You hurt good ole Vignar's feelings. He was right though, you are pretty one and methinks I need to tame your tongue after what you said to him."

Taelien's eyes grow wide, she was not expecting him to say that. He could not be insinuating trying that right here, in the common room could he? It was far too crowded for her to use Annun and Amrûn, and while she did not mind harming this Man, she had promised to protect as much life as possible, which unfortunately included the race of Man. A gloved hand snakes between her and this defiler and pushes the Man back.

"Leave her alone."

The drunk stumbles backwards and takes one look at the one who helped her and stammer out,"S-sorry Strider, I-I was j-just—"

Strider cuts him off, "You do not want to touch her. In case you did not realize, she is armed and as an Elf she knows how to use her weapons."

The man looks at her once more but in a different light and he focuses on the hilt of Annun peaking from the left side of her cloak. He nods and scampers back to his fat friend. Taelien looks to Strider in thanks to see Aragorn's hooded, mischievous features. Her eyes widen in surprise and questions. The ranger grabs her food and bottle of mead and leads her to a table near the stairs with a full view of the common room. Taelien sits with her back to the room while Aragorn sits back, watching whilst stuffing a pipe with tobacco after setting her things on the worn wood. Taelien breaks apart her bread and takes a bite. It is tough, with a decent flavour, though she has tasted and made better. The cheese is...aged but she is no stranger to rotting food. Strider watches her after lighting his pipe. It is not until she uncorks her bottle of mead that she realize all her food was gone. The Elleth flushes pink, she is not used to eating in front of anyone she is acquainted with. Keeping her mead in hand, she rises from the table and mumbles some pathetic excuse to make way to her room, tripping over the man's boot as she did so. Aragorn chuckles and turns, watching her leave before returning his eyes to the common room.

Taelien rushes up the stairs, spilling the mead on her leather armour. She feels her face burning even more as she walks into the rented room. She sits down on the straw filled mattress and looks at the bottle of liquid in her hands. The amber liquid swirls in the glass, spilled but untasted. She sets it down on the night stand, near the burning candle. She wants to drink, but only for the taste. She would not be able to become inebriated even if she wished to, and for the second time in her almost three thousand year lifespan, she wanted to.

Though she did not know why.

Could it be the return of the One Ring and Sauron? Could it be the fat drunkard's friend? Or was it the return of the Heir to Gondor? The answer, Taelien did not know, perchance it was a mixture off everything. No matter the answer, Taelien decided that it was time for her to rest. So she blows out the candle and takes a rare sleep.


It is still dark when she awakens, as it usually is when those of the eldar decide to sleep. She lays in the bed, and after a while and feels much better than she did before. After swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress, the Elleth stretches. First her toes and feet, next her legs, then her abdomen and back, and finally her arms and neck. She pushes off the bed and grasps at the full bottle of mead, takes a sip, and coughs. The drink is old and the night air had made it stale. She looks around, she must have been exhausted. Her weapons are still slung on her hips, cloak still clasped at her neck, boots still laced on her feet. She at least had the good sense to sling her travelling pack off by the door.

Walking over to the pack reminds her of her promise, she did not forget of course but the weight of her decision comes to the forefront of her mind. She searches through the worn, brown, leather pack and finds some leftover Lembas she made a few weeks ago. She considers taking a bite but thinks better of it, it is travelling bread and the Valar know she will be travelling soon. She fetches out a tunic, leggings and another set of used but strong boiled leather greaves, spaulders, breastplate, and bracers. After dressing herself she pulls out a book she had long since finished and begins to read. A few hours later the sun begins to rise, breathing life into the Prancing Pony and the town of Bree. Taelien walks downstairs, cloak on and hood up, and orders a plate of bread, fruit, and cheese. She returns to the table she shared with Aragorn the night before and begins to eat whilst watching the door. She is taking a bite from a strawberry when the Ranger walks down the stairs to sit with her. She gives a nod and continues to eat her breakfast.

They watch the door.

For five days they watch the door and Taelien's rent is up, her coin has almost run out and she is tired of waiting.

Taelien leans back with a small half of bread and pops it into her mouth. The sky had grown dark near the middle of the day and Taelien can sense the rain about to come. She rises from the perch they have taken up and walks to the bar for a bottle of mead. She waits as the barkeep attends to four children who seem to have lost their way. To her the room seems suddenly heavier and darker though she cannot understand why. The Man hands her the drink with a sigh and shake of his head. The common room is as packed as the night she had met Aragorn and she walks back to the table after pushing her way through the Men, fighting her temper. Aragorn seems focused and she follows his gaze to the four children. The Elleth freezes, those were no children.

They were Hobbits, they were here, and the wait was over.