Reviewers and Other Such Peoples: Much thanks again for the wonderful reviews! This one really only took me so long because I was being lazy and didn't type it up all at once like I should have... I finished writing it in my notebook in like four days... FYI: When she...uh, swam into ME, it was 3013. Hope that clears things up, as it should for those of you who will take the time to look in Appendex B in the last volume of LOTR, or page 1065 if you have the one volume set like me. :D
And now, on with the show! ...er, story!

Chapter 3: Demise

It had been five years. Five years to the day. I always returned to the Pony that day. Somehow by their wonky calendars it was always Thursday. He was never there.
Over the course of those five years, I had learned combat, improved and expanded my blade skills, killed a couple hundred orcs, learned to stay away from Mirkwood, done a bit of assassin work, and aged over ten years mentally (and almost as much physically). I had also been spying on a particularly audacious and suspicious character called Saruman, the "White Wizard". There was nothing "white" about what I had observed, but I had never actually caught him doing anything wrong, even if I could've done something about it. Although, there had been another very suspicious looking character, coming and going. Always at night, as if he didn't want to be seen. He wasn't too good at the not-being-seen part.
That particular Thursday night, a few things happened. The first was my epiphany. I was sitting there, mug drained, thinking. The first thing I thought about was how no matter how much I drank, I never got wasted. Or got smashed, or trashed, or drunk. Or blacked out. After thinking for a while, I came to the conclusion that it was because I wasn't from this world. That was not the epiphany. After the ale-conclusion, I got to thinking about Saruman. The only suspicious person I ever saw was the scraggly man who wasn't good at sneaking. Hang on…that couldn't be right. Sauron had spies everywhere. Unless... You don't need to spy on your...what? Then I came up with it. Ally. You don't need to spy on your allies because they tell you what they're doing, unless you don't trust them. So if Sauron wasn't spying on Saruman, it meant they were in league, and Sauron trusted the wizard. I knew I'd hit something deep. "Traitor," I muttered bitterly. I got up to go back to my room, to mull things over more privately, and was walking past the bar when the second thing happened. Some old, drunk guy grabbed my ass and giggled. I spun around, my hand twisting his wrist, my belt knife against his throat.
"Try that again," I told him in a calm voice, "and next time, I will not stop my knife." I pushed it in ever so slightly so that a thin line of blood formed, making my point (no pun intended). "Am I clear?"
The man nodded carefully as not to drive the blade any deeper and mouthed the word "crystal".
"Good," I said, and pointed the blade at the other men there. "Let this be a lesson to you: don't mess with deadly women. Especially when you're drunk. A pleasant night to you all." I said the last sentence as cheerfully as I could and with a spun-sugar smile. They looked about to faint. Inside, I was laughing at the poor idiots.

Back in my room, I'd been pondering the Saruman Situation, as I'd titled it, for what I judged to be the better part of an hour, when there was a knock at the door. I called for whomever it was to enter, and in came Nob, looking quite petrified.
"Miss Arenius, there's someone to see you, but-"
"Let me in!" interrupted a putrid voice.
I nodded to Nob. "Do so."
Nob backed away, and in came the second-foulest creature Id ever laid eyes on. I raised an eyebrow. "A goblin? So far from the mountains? Surely it is not I, a mere human, who brings you thus far from your home?" I said, quite amused.
"Your skills are legend, even among the goblins. Our king himself praised you highly, even for all of us you've killed." He said this as if he'd had a hard time admitting this, and his voice was little more than a low growl.
"So you have a new king now, after the incident with Mithrandir and his dwarves?" Sure, that had been before I came here, but couple years back, I went to a place called Rivendell, lovely valley, and a very short person-type thing named Bilbo told all about it, and that his race were called hobbits.
The goblin actually did growl at that. I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Who, where, and how much?"
Smelly creature gave me the ugliest smile and said, "His name is Aragorn. They say he favors this inn, 'specially 'round late September. 250 gold pieces."
I thought about it. 250 gold. I could get a new sword, some blades, a new cloak… That was good money. But I wasn't about to say yes. Not yet.
"Who is it that offers this rich sum, all for one man?" I asked, thinking I knew. I was right.
"Lord Sauron." Even he seemed afraid of the Dark "Lord". By then I knew I wouldn't do it anyway, but information is worth more than gold, by all rights.
"And why is this man so important that your Lord pays so dearly one who would kill him? What is he, a god of some sort?"
"The Lord has some…suspicions about him. Will you do this?"
I stood. "I think, sir goblin, that it is very, very lucky for you that it was orcs and not goblins who attacked me when first I came here, or you would have been dead before opening your mouth. I tell you this: I will do nothing for that cretin of a Lord. But I have one more question, and you will answer me or you will not leave this room alive." I too had a suspicion of the Aragorn. "What aliases may this man walk under? What else is he called?"
The evil thing sneered at me, but I could tell he was frightened. A wise thing to be. "I believe," he said mockingly, "that around here they call him 'Strider'." He turned for the door, then fell, dead, with my slimmest throwing knife in his skull. Slim, but strong, it was, and usually did the job when I wished to kill someone discreetly. Like the goblin. I walked over to the corpse, placed my left foot on the back of his neck, and pried my knife out. Lucky for him he was dead, for that would've hurt very badly, sure as night follows day. Then I sat back down and began to clean it off.
I was almost finished when there was another knock on the door. "Enter," I told the knocker.
It was Nob again. "Miss, what ever happened to the-oh." He spotted the goblin. "What did he want?"
I sighed. "Same thing everyone wants from me. Somebody dead."
"Who?"
"Strider."
Nob nodded in understanding.
"I think I'm right in believing that our friend Goblin has quite a large sum of gold on him. If you check for me, I'll give you half."
Indeed, friend goblin did have such a sum, more than he offered me, in fact. Greedy little git. But an information giving greedy little git. I now knew where and when to find Him. Unfortunately, the "when" part left me with five months to spare. Oh well. Saruman could use some checking up on. Traitor-bastard.
"I plan to leave in the morning. Quite early, I should like to think. I would consider it a personal favor if I was not allowed to sleep past noon, or really even past ten-thirty. And I forget those who do me personal favors with as much ease as I forget those who save my life." He knew I meant the man I'd spent the last five years trying to thank. He also knew (or should have known) that while tracking down Strider-or Aragorn, the goblin had called him-was about as easy as a blind man swatting a fly, Nob himself was always here, and I knew where to find him. And of course there was the subject of the 200 gold pieces he'd just obtained due to my "generosity" (aka, laziness), which would equal out to about 550 US dollars. Although, of course, he had no idea what US dollars even were, so he had no need to worry about that (but the ancient-ness and quality of the gold would most likely make it worth double that sum, to give you an idea of it).
Nob nodded and left the room. I was asleep before my head fell.