Odob the walrus patrolled the bottom of the Bay of Forochel. The oldest and largest of the walruses that inhabited the bay, Odob's normally bad temper was currently augmented by extreme hunger. There were simply not enough clams in the icy waters to feed the entire walrus population. The shortage forced Odob to look further afield for his sustenance.

He was in a very deep part of the bay where even the walrus usually hesitated to go. He skimmed through the meagre plants and worms that grew along the silty bottom, searching for the evermore elusive clams.

Something flashed to one side of him. Hopeful that the glow meant food, Odob glided towards it. The faint light shimmered fitfully, drawing the walrus into an area that had once held a ship. The vessel had been lost beneath the waves of a storm over a millenium ago. It was now barely remembered in the myths of the Lossoth, the ice people of the Bay of Forochel. The ship's mighty timbers had long since dissolved in the icy brine, leaving only the occassional stub of a nail above the silt. Of the unhappy crew, passengers and cargo, nothing visible seemed to remain.

Odob swam onwards, oblivious to the history of his surroundings, the light beckoning him.

At last he was directly above the luminescence. Odob could not believe his luck. Half buried in the silt was the largest clam he had ever clapped his beady little walrus eyes upon.

He approached it greedily and shoved it with his tusk.

It was also the most solid clam he had ever come across.

Odob pushed the glowing clam with his flipper.

Add heaviest to that list.

Again he tried to pry it open with his tusks.

It was by far the strongest clam he had ever encountered.

With such an impressive list of superlatives, it was not a clam to be left behind.

Odob pushed, pulled, rolled and body slammed the recalcitrant mollusk across the floor of the bay. He finally walrus-handled it into the shallow water near the shore in the vague walrus hope that exposure to the sun and air would weaken it enough to be opened and eaten.

Screaming gulls circled overhead, intent upon theft.

The cries of the gulls were interrupted by the shouts of the Lossoth who had made their winter camp on the edge of the sea.

Odob, for all that he was the fiercest walrus in the bay, would not risk a confrontation with the Ice Men's spears. Roaring in frustration, he paddled into the deeper water and abandoned his prize to the rapidly advancing men.

Two figures sat on a desolate, rocky beach. Cold, grey waves lapped upon the stony shore.

The first was tall and fair. His golden hair shone in the sun, his bearing was straight and proud, his clothing immaculate.

The second was completely obscured by a cloud of biting insects.

"This had better be really, really important," Haleth growled as she waved her hand about her head in a vain attempt to drive away the flies. The cloud expanded slightly and then contracted, drawn by the scent of fresh blood. In all of her years of wandering over mountains and through marshes she had never experienced such torment from insects. They buzzed around her at every hour of the day and night, the only variance the pitch of the whine of their wings. Every bit of exposed skin had been bitten ten times and some of the more intrepid bugs had crawled beneath her clothing to inflict damage on her covered flesh.

The misery of flies could only be alleviated by sitting in the thick, pungent smoke of a fire fueled by damp peat. Even this relief brought misery as Haleth would immediately become aware of the itching and burning of her well-chewed skin. In spite of the discomfort, she would stoically sit within the smoke until her eyes almost swelled shut.

The elf was the only target for her unhappiness and Haleth was in the mood to share.

Inglor, however, was his usual mild, polite, completely oblivious self. His attitude did nothing to temper Haleth's increasingly foul mood.

"Are you certain it is this particular beach?" she asked for the twelfth time that hour.

"My messenger is seldom wrong," Inglor replied calmly. The wind gently ruffled his hair, then thought better of it and set it back in its usual perfect position.

"I'm going for a walk," she announced, jumping to her feet. The cloud of flies immediately buzzed upwards.

"I shall accompany you," Inglor said mildly.

"I'd rather go alone," she snapped.

"I would rather you did not," he answered calmly.

Haleth glared at the elf who looked back at her impassively. 'He thinks I'll find it, whatever it is, and run off with it.'

She had to admit that the lack of trust was well deserved. She had abandoned him on three previous occasions and the last one had been a particularly bad episode.

Inglor strode along the beach, easily keeping pace with Haleth, who was jogging in a futile attempt to outrun her entourage of insects.

They reached the headland of the stony beach. An icy blast of north wind stole away Haleth's breath and scattered the flies. She faced the open sea, relishing the absence of insects, the cold wind soothing her inflamed skin.

Elf and human stood together in silence, the lonely cries of the seabirds playing counterpoint to the steady rhythm of the waves.

At length Inglor looked the way they had come.

"We should go back," he said firmly when it became obvious that Haleth had no intention of moving.

"But maybe it's on the next beach. We can at least go and look," Haleth wheedled. Despite the onset of hypothermia she was loath to return to the protected bay and the biting flies.

"We can look tomorrow," Inglor said uncomfortably.

Haleth said nothing, her attention captured by a tern that spun and dived for fish on the sparkling waters.

Suddenly something small scampered over her foot. Haleth looked down to see a small, brown, mouse-like creature running full tilt for the edge of the headland. It charged straight over the edge and disappeared from sight.

Startled, she spun and drew her weapons, expecting to find a predator following the mouse. Instead, there was a large troupe of mice, all scurrying toward the edge of the cliff and disaster. Before she could move they were all around her. Dozens of tiny claws scratched the tops of her boots, trying to buy purchase. Then they were beyond her and gone, vanished into the water beyond the edge of the point.

"What was that all about?" Haleth asked.

"There are many mysteries in Middle-earth," Inglor answered. "I have no answer for this one." He began to walk towards their original beach, Haleth reluctantly trailing behind him.

The cluster of flies settled over her the instant she was out of the wind, eager to continue their interrupted feast.

"I can't blame the mice for throwing themselves over the cliff," Haleth snapped, waving her hands about ineffectually. "They were probably trying to get away from the flies."

"The creature that live here are accustomed to the conditions," Inglor said calmly. "The insects do not bother them to any great extent."

"That's easy for you to say," she hissed. "How would you know anything about it? The stupid, blood-sucking flies don't even know you're here! I've never even seen one land on you much less bite you. They ignore you while I'm weak from blood loss. And you have the nerve to say the mice aren't bothered by the flies. I wish I was an elf so that the flies wouldn't notice me, either."

Inglor blinked at the verbal attack. It was as much of a reaction as she was likely to get. He thrust his hand into his belt-pouch and pulled out a small, delicately carved vial.

"What," Haleth asked, already suspicious of the answer, "Is that?"

"It is insect repellent," he answered mildly. "I have been using it since we entered the area. Do humans not have it?"

Haleth stared at the vial. An evil smile spread across her lips as she took the salve.

"Inglor," she said calmly, "Look up there." Grinning maniacally,  she stared at the elf’s face and pointed upwards.

The unsuspecting elf did as she had suggested and immediately went tumbling upwards and then backwards, from a vicious uppercut delivered to his jaw.

Several hours later.

The westering sun was quickly approaching the northernmost peaks of the Ered Luin. Still on the headland, several feet away from the edge, a tall figure was lying spread-eagle. Mildly confused and with a sore jaw, Inglor awoke to find himself tethered to the ground. His sensitive ears harkened the approach of hundreds of tiny, scampering feet that scrambled and scratched their furious way towards the sea.

Haleth sat cross-legged on a nearby flat rock. She watched the approach of the lemmings with the calm interest of a maniac contemplating a razor’s edge. Inglor's brief, confusing experience with the woman cautioned him that this was no time to attempt a reasonable discourse.

The scrambling grew louder. The elf turned his head in the direction of the sound. A three-inch wall of furry flesh was barreling down on him.

Haleth, insect free for the first time in days, had briefly considered freeing Inglor before he awakened. Other than immediate, pure, hot-tempered revenge, there had been no reason to slice her fist into his jaw.

Shortly after the insect repellent had taken effect, she had realised that being in the middle of nowhere with an angry elf was probably not the safest of locations. Several other places, including an angry dragon's den, presented themselves as more secure environments. For lack of a better idea, she had carefully tethered Inglor to the ground, fiddling with the bonds until she was certain that he would eventually free himself. She would use that eventually to run as far away as she could. He would likely have calmed down by the time he caught her.

She had been ready to leave when, against her better judgment, she had turned back for one last look at him stretched out on the rocky bluff. An unwanted but not unexpected pang of conscience had assailed her. It was neither fair nor right to leave him there. After all, he had not intentionally done her any harm. He had innocently left her to be slowly eaten alive by millions of bugs while on a fool's errand of his own invention. But he had been quick enough to share the insect repellent once he knew she did not have any and was not suffering out of some perverse choice.

She had plonked herself unhappily on a flat rock and reflected upon the entire situation. It was Inglor's complete lack of understanding of what, to Haleth, was completely obvious, that so often drove her to hair-ripping distraction.

For example, Inglor was completely obliviousness to the effect he had on human females. At first, and when it did not involve her, Haleth had found this extremely amusing. But more and more often it was becoming a source of silent, screaming frustration. She had spent more nights than she cared to count staring into the velvety blackness of the sky, alternately wishing things were different, then calling herself a fool for harbouring the wish.

She glanced again at the elf's slumbering form, shaking her head sadly. His utter lack of interest in her, at least in that way, was plain enough. Haleth was too proud to embarrass herself by announcing her affection.

She could try to leave, but she had tried that before and he had always found her. There was always a perfectly reasonable excuse for his continued, distracting presence. Haleth narrowed her eyes, trying to think of some defense against her own frustrating reaction to Inglor.

A movement in the corner of her eye distracted her from her thoughts.

A large group of lemmings were charging toward them. Haleth glanced at Inglor. He had turned his head toward the onrush of rodents. She briefly considered attempting to free him before they charged over him, then decided it would be more interesting to watch his reactions to being trampled by a herd of suicidal rodents.

Inglor lowered his head and turned his face towards the water. The first of the lemmings charged over him, leapt into the air with a small war cry and landed on solid ground on the opposite side of the elf. The lemming scampered up to Inglor's face, chittering indignantly. Once satisfied that he had given the elf his opinion of those who deliberately impersonated cliff-edges, the rodent completed his journey to the bay.

The leader was immediately followed by a crowd of lemmings who swooped over Inglor's body, launched themselves into the air and landed a disappointing few, dry inches from where they had begun. There was lemming pandemonium for several minutes as the crowd pushed, shoved and cursed at each other and Inglor before hurrying off the edge of the bluff.

Haleth calmly watched the elf's face. The expected expression of confusion was mixed with a minute amount of surprise.

Again the only sound was the rumble of the surf on the shore and the shushing of the wind.

Inglor finally looked at Haleth with something that might be described as expectation.

She dislodged herself from the rock and, using her sheathed knife as a lever, pried Inglor free of the ground.

She handed him the vial and they wordlessly made their way back to camp with Inglor rubbing his wrists.

Haleth awakened in the middle of the night, fearing that Inglor would have taken the opportunity for some well deserved revenge. The elf sat with his back to her, his head tilted upwards, watching the stars.

He was singing softly in time to the beat of the waves. Haleth could not make out the words, but his song was plainly a lament for beloved things passed beyond recovery. He became silent when she approached, his eyes still trained upon the heavens.

Haleth sighed inwardly. It was lecture time. She felt like a misbehaving toddler who was about to be taken in hand by a strick but loving parent. It was utterly humiliating.

"Haleth," Inglor's voice was as close to stern as it ever got. "Why did you hit me?"

"I am sorry, Inglor," Haleth said, dragging the apology out of herself. "I did it without thinking."

Waves shushed along the beach.

"It is not a good thing to act without thinking, Haleth."

"I am aware of that," Haleth said stiffly. "But being a meal for every blood-sucking insect within a hundred mile radius for two weeks will often impair the Second Born’s ability to think."

He finally deigned to look at her. His expression could only be described as mildly interested.

"Especially when in the company of someone whom the flies do not attack,"  Haleth finished gruffly.

Interest turned to confusion.

"There's an old saying that misery loves company," Haleth explained. "The other side is that misery despises being in the company of anything but more misery. It only breeds frustration that leads to still more misery. And that can lead to far less pleasant things"

Haleth stopped and let Inglor digest the ideas. She fervently hoped it would take him some time. Having to explain her motivations was often uncomfortable and the probing questions he tended to ask often made things downright embarrassing.

"So it was misery and frustration that led to you hit me after I offered the salve to you?" He sounded confused and disappointed.

"Well, that and the fact that you could have given me the bug repellent two weeks ago and spared me a great deal of unhappiness," she said. "That was probably what really drove me over the edge."

"Speaking of edges," Inglor said when it was apparent that she was not going to continue without serious prodding. "Why did you restrain me?"

"Well...," Haleth stammered, "Directly after I hit you, I knew you would eventually wake up. And most people would not be very happy about being hit in the jaw unexpectedly by someone whom they thought was a friend. So I thought it would be a good idea to be a long way elsewhere when you awakened."

"But you did not leave."

"No," she answered sullenly.

Again, the conversation lapsed.

Finally Inglor faced Haleth. He placed a hand on either of her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes.

"Haleth," he said, "You must promise to tell me when there is something between us that is making you miserable and frustrated. I do not want you to attack me again. From what you tell me, this sort of thing can be averted if caught early. So promise me."

Haleth swallowed hard. "I promise," she whispered, her fingers crossed behind her back.

"Good," he smiled. It was devastating.

"Well," Haleth said, moving away from his grasp, "I think I'll try to get some more sleep."

She lay wrapped in her blanket, staring at the rocks until dawn.

The sun's rays shone golden over the edge of the world when Haleth gave up pretending to sleep. Inglor was nowhere to be seen. She did not feel inclined to search for him. He would catch up later. He always did.

She began walking west and north, beyond the lemming's suicide point and across two beaches. Voices pierced the morning air when she climbed the next bluff. She had found the Lossoth.

A familiar blond head shone among the short, dark-haired men. Inglor had arrived before her. Irritation followed quickly on the heels of Haleth’s surprise. She quickly stifled both reactions. A shout from the crowd in the beach brought her back to her surroundings. Inglor waved and beckoned her to join them. 

The Lossoth seemed to be having a celebration of some sort. Several children ran, shouting, along the beach. Most stood in a respectfully silent cluster around Inglor and a white-haired Lossoth. They stared in open wonder at the elf.

The adults talked, cooked or ate and glanced surreptitiously at the elf. As she approached, Haleth noted that some of the ice men were playing an unfamiliar game. It involved knocking over a set of thin rocks with a large round stone. 

Her arrival, if it was noted at all, was acknowledged by brief glances. 

The Lossoth elder shooed away the children who had crowded closer to get a better look at Inglor. He moved off, shouting at them, without greeting Haleth.

Inglor and Haleth stood in relative isolation. Haleth watched the entire tribe. Inglor's attention was fixed on the game. Haleth noted his rapt concentration.

"What are they doing?" she asked Inglor quietly.

"It's not so much what they are doing as what they are using to do it," he answered softly in Sindarin.

Haleth stared at the Icemen, the upright rocks which lay scattered in every direction and finally the round stone they were rolling at the others. It seemed to sparkle faintly with a dim interior light.

"Inglor," Haleth whispered in the same language, her face a careful study in mild interest, "Is that a palantir?"

"I believe it is," the elf answered.

"Maybe we could wait until nightfall and take it?" she suggested.

"No," Inglor smiled at a group of young Lossoth women who were openly staring at him. They immediately broke into a chorus of giggles. "They will only follow us. The Lossoth can be most unpleasant when provoked."

"Don't encourage them," Haleth snapped, easily believing that Inglor would be followed, palantir or no.
 
"Do not encourage whom?" Inglor asked.

"Never mind, it isn't important," Haleth sighed. The oblivious factor had struck again. With an effort of will, she turned her thoughts back to the palantir.

"How do you purpose we take it from them, then?" she finally asked.

"We win it," he answered.

"And how will you do that?" Haleth asked in the same tone of mild confusion that so infuriated her when Inglor used it.

"The Lossoth love to gamble. I will challenge them to a game and win the stone," he said.

Haleth considered this for a few moments.. She took it for granted that Inglor could win any physical contest against a human, but there was still a small flaw in his plan. 

"Just what will you wager?" she asked, still in Sindarin. She was rewarded by the blink that meant that Inglor had not considered this yet.

The children ran up and down the beach, getting closer and closer to the pair of outsiders while the young women pointed, stared and giggled behind their hands. The men continued playing their game and shouting. Several other male spectators watched the young women watching the elf. Haleth had seen this reaction to Inglor on previous occasions. It could end badly if it was not handled carefully. She decided that it would be well worth watching the lot of them. 

The white haired elder returned just as the current match ended. Inglor pointed at the game and indicated that he wanted to play. The elder nodded and led him to the victor. They immediately started negotiating in the universal language of pointing and grimacing. Haleth shook her head at the similarity between the two. 

The young women approached her slowly and purposefully. Haleth gave her best friendly smile, hoping they would not try to do her grievous bodily harm in a fit of misplaced jealousy. There were three of them dressed in skins, their dark hair free in the spring wind. They seemed quite comfortable in short sleeves while Haleth was huddled within her cloak. 

"You and the immortal one?" one of them asked haltingly in the common tongue.

Haleth considered her response. 

"I travel with him, for now," she said calmly, walking two fingers along the palm of her hand and then skidding them downwards. 

This confused the young women. They conferred quietly with each other for several minutes.

Finally one of them said. "You slide on sticks?"

It was Haleth's turn to be confused. 

The young woman who spoke the common tongue finally smiled and motioned to Haleth to follow her.

"Come," she said. "I show."

With one backwards glance at Inglor, who was holding the palantir in one hand while intently studying the rocks at the opposite end of the course, Haleth followed the young woman.

Sliding on sticks proved to be something Haleth could never have anticipated.

The Lossoth woman led her through the narrow, twisting ways that ran between the skin tents.

She stopped to pick up four sticks and four boards that curved up at one end. They were leaning against the outside of one of the tents. Dogs barked and snarled at their passing. The Lossoth ignored them. She handed Haleth a pair of the boards and a pair of the sticks, then beckoned her to follow again.

Leaving the tents behind, they traveled inland until they came to a patch of late snow. To Haleth's amazement, the Lossoth strapped the boards to her feet, point end forward, and slid effortlessly across the snow and ice. She moved in a long arc, returning to Haleth who was watching with open admiration.

"Put boards on feet," the Lossoth said. "This way." she pointed at her own feet.

Haleth examined the foot harnesses on the boards. She wedged her foot into one and tried to secure the net of sinews to her foot.

"No!" laughed the woman. She undid her own foot harnesses and speedily retied them.

Haleth, who was beginning to feel quite the fool, unsuccessfully tried to imitate her.

"No!" laughed the woman again. She untied her harnesses and retied them, this time more slowly.

Once again, Haleth attempted to strap her feet onto the boards.

The woman looked doubtful as Haleth slid forward first with her left foot and then with her right. It was much more difficult than the Lossoth had made it appear. Haleth pushed awkwardly with her sticks to help propel herself along. Just as she thought she was starting to get the idea of it, one of her feet came loose from the board. The board continued on while Haleth landed on her backside, twisting her knee on the way down.

"All well? All well?" The Lossoth glided behind Haleth and offered her a hand up. Her dark eyes were sparkling with mirth.

"All well," Haleth answered, gingerly rubbing her knee. She hopped to retrieve her lost board and glared suspiciously at the foot harness.

"Like this," the Lossoth said, untying her own harness. This time she laced it very slowly, so that Haleth easily followed each twist and knot of the laces. They tied and untied them several times. Finally Haleth repeated the procedure several times alone. The Lossoth seemed to be satisfied with her efforts and they set out across the snow patch.

If the Lossoth's movements were a study in powerful grace, Haleth's were one in grim determination. After several more falls, she decided to attempt to turning while moving. This proved to not be difficult as long as there was plenty of space to manoeuvre. She looked around and was surprised to see how much territory they had covered.

The Lossoth pointed back in the direction of their tracks and headed away, Haleth huffing and puffing as she tried to keep up. Arms and legs pumping, head down, Haleth did not notice the large rock protruding from the snow until a cry from her companion made her look up. It was too late to turn and Haleth realised with a very brief, sinking feeling that she had no idea how to stop quickly. She grimaced as the boards hit the rock and she pitched forward, executing a perfect flip with the boards arching over her head. She landed, winded and staring up at the blue sky.

"All well? All well?" This time there was real concern in the Lossoth's voice.

"I...think...so..." Haleth took the offered hand, sat up and then fumbled to get her feet, still firmly attached to the boards, back beneath her.

"Stop," the Lossoth said. Haleth blinked stupidly at her, not understanding.

Her companion glided away, then returned. She pointed the front ends of the boards together and dragged the sticks behind her and gradually stopped.

They practiced stopping for several minutes, then they returned in the direction they had come.

Any bird that saw those two sets of tracks would have sniggered.  One set carved the snow in graceful, unbroken arcs and turns while the second set was often punctuated by face, backside and body prints.

They returned to the edge of the snow and removed their boards. Haleth, carrying her boards and sticks, followed the woman back to the encampment.

Only the barking dogs greeted them. The crowd at the beach had become strangely silent.

With a sensation of dread, Haleth dropped the boards and the sticks and rushed back to the beach.

The eerie silence had broken by the time that Haleth reached the beach. The entire tribe was gathered around the game, cheering. Men were hurrying to place the tall rocks into position for the next round.

A shirtless Inglor and a wiry Lossoth were glaring at each other over two small piles of belongings. With a shock Haleth realised that Inglor's sword and most of his possessions were in the stack before him. The elf had somehow managed to do something she had never anticipated; he had lost.

The crowd fell silent as elf and man looked daggers at each other. Inglor suddenly leapt gracefully onto his heap of worldly goods. The Lossoth cheered wildly, Haleth's new friend and the young women were by far the loudest. 

Inglor was wagering himself. Haleth almost swallowed her tongue.

The crowd fell into hushed, expectant silence. The Lossoth hesitated, then placed the palantir onto his pile. This drew another wild cheer from the entire audience save Haleth, who was still trying to comprehend how a Man could best an Elf.

Now the tribe circled the playing area. The Lossoth tossed the palantir first. It rolled smoothly along the beach, knocking down five of the ten uprights. A young man returned the palantir to the Lossoth, who threw it again.

This time it wobbled slightly on its way down the course. Only two of the remaining three uprights tumbled.

The Lossoth looked displeased when he took the palantir. He held it up with great concentration before throwing it. It rolled down the aisle and knocked over only one of the final uprights. A great clamour arose from the crowd except Haleth, who watched the uprights being set into position with an overwhelming sense of dread.

Inglor took the palantir into his hands and studied it carefully. Was he watching it? Haleth wanted to scream in frustration. He could study the fool thing later.  If he lost, he would have all the time in the world to stare into it.

Finally the elf rolled the palantir towards the uprights.

It seemed to hook to the right on the way down, knocking over three of the central rocks.

Haleth's stomach tied itself into several tight knots as she watched a young Lossoth retrieve the palantir and hand it to Inglor.

Again Inglor stared into the palantir before throwing it. This time it bounced several times before knocking over the all of the rocks except for the outermost two.

Haleth gasped. There was no possible way even for Inglor to knock down those two widely spaced rocks.

The Lossoth cried out as one, the young women grinning from ear to ear.

Inglor took the palantir for the third and final time and the crowd fell perfectly silent. Again he gazed into its depths, then threw it in a graceful arc. 

The palantir, glowing blue and green from deep within, literally flew down the course without touching the ground. It glanced the right hand upright, bounced to the left and knocked the final pin to the ground. 

For a space of several timeless seconds the beach was utterly silent. A small part of Haleth's mind desperately sought escape routes while the larger part of it tried to digest what had just happened.

Then the Lossoth broke into loud cheers. They swatted Inglor on the back as he tried to put his shirt on. Only the young women looked extremely disappointed. 

The man who had lost brought the palantir forward and ceremoniously handed it to Inglor, who bowed deeply when he received it.

All eyes except Haleth's were fixed on Inglor. She watched the Lossoth who had lost the palantir. She thought he looked rather relieved; most likely by the fact that the elf would not be attracting all of the attention of every female beyond puberty.

He caught her studying him, shrugged and grinned. Haleth nodded in understanding and went to join the crowd congratulating Inglor.

The next morning dawned slowly with leaden clouds filling the sky. The bay was a cold, flat grey.

Haleth was quite happy to put her back to the north wind and head for warmer climes.

The gravel crunched under her feet. Inglor's passage made no noticeable sound. The palantir was in the pack that hung from his shoulders.

Haleth was determinedly fighting her curiosity to ask the exact details of the betting involved in the previous day's sporting match. She was quite certain she would not be happy with finer points of elven gambling.

Inglor kept his own counsel. Haleth was not entirely certain what to make of his reticence.

As the morning wore on, the stillness beginning to tell on her patience. No bird sang, the balm kept the whine of insect wings away and nothing but them moved from horizon to horizon.

"It looks like rain," she finally said.

"More like snow," Inglor answered.

"Oh," she said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

The steady crunching of her boots was again the only sound in the world.

"Inglor," Haleth finally said, against her better judgment.

"Yes?" he asked calmly.

"The game you were playing with the Lossoth, I missed most of it." He gave her a quick, quizzical glance which she determinedly ignored. "What, exactly did you do?"

"Well, the object of the game was to knock over the upright rocks with the palantir," he said.

"Oh."

"A fairly simple principle that is, in fact, not all that easy to execute in reality."

Inglor, unlike most of the elves Haleth had met, loved to explain even the most obvious things at great, great length. She let him ramble on, preferring the sound of his voice to the hollow silence of their surroundings. She ignored most of his words, listening instead to the rising and falling cadence of his voice. It reminded her of a fountain singing in a wooden glade where warm breezes played through the leaves of the trees.

Haleth deliberately bit her tongue to force her attention back to the meaning of Inglor's words rather than the simple enjoyment of his voice.

He paused from his discussion of the relative hardness of rocks and the weight and speed that one had to use to deliver the palantir properly.

"That's fascinating, Inglor," Haleth said in a faraway voice. "How did you handle the betting?"

"Ah," said Inglor, "That is another subject entirely. Elves very seldom place wagers but humans often make a habit of gambling. It was simply a matter of knowing what was important to the person I was betting against and to act accordingly."

This was genuinely interesting on its own merit.

So it was no real wonder when Inglor abruptly stopped speaking.

Haleth considered the pile of things she had seen during the match.

"You also drew him into a sense of false security, didn't you?" she said.

"Yes," he said slowly. "I had to build up to the palantir. He would not have bet it from the start."

Inglor fell silent again. It might have been Haleth's imagination, but he almost looked uncomfortable.

The wings of suspicion fluttered into her mind.

"Things didn't go exactly as you expected, did they?" she asked, keeping her voice even.

"Well, no," Inglor answered reluctantly. "It took me some time to get the feel for the strength and skill needed to roll the palantir."

"And?" Haleth prodded him.

Inglor studied his feet and said nothing. It was as close to guilty as Haleth had ever seen him.

"You didn't quite understand the betting part either, did you?" she asked.

"Not at first, no," Inglor said. "I'm afraid I got further behind than I wanted to be. But I think I mastered it by the end."

They crunched along in uncomfortable silence.

"Weren't you worried about betting yourself?" Haleth asked. Inglor looked at her, perplexed.

"That is what you did just before the last match, isn't it? After you'd lost your shirt?"

He nodded slowly.

The seeds of the nagging suspicion that had planted itself in Haleth's mind began to germinate.

"Forever is an awfully long time to spend on the Bay of Forochel," she said calmly.

"I wasn't worried about that," he said, a fraction too quickly.

Haleth remembered the look of relief the Lossoth had had on his face when he had handed the palantir to the elf.

"You knew that he really didn't want you there," she said, momentarily moving the conversation in another direction.

"I was fairly confident of that, yes," Inglor said.

This was the first time Inglor had admitted to being aware of the affect his physical presence had on people. Under normal circumstances, she would have pounced on the subject. At the moment she refused to be distracted.

"And?" Haleth asked, her tone deceptively sweet.

Inglor looked at her in mild confusion.

"And?" he repeated.

"And the other reason you were not worried about losing," Haleth's smile was a cold as the ice of Helcaraxë.

Inglor remained silent.

"What is it, elf? Tell me or so help me I'll... I'll..." she groped for a credible threat. "I'll tell Cirdan you almost burned one of his ships."

"That was purely accidental," Inglor protested. "Besides, I put the fire out in time."

"We put the fire out," Haleth corrected him. "What is it? Out with it."

She already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from him own lips.

"Well," he finally confessed, "As I said I did get a bit more behind than I'd expected."

Haleth snorted derisively.

"I'd run out of things to bet," he said slowly, dredging the words from the guilty depths of his soul. "I'd lost my sword, and everything I was carrying. And I couldn't just give up after getting so close.

"I bet you," he finally forced the words. They poured out like the waters escaping from behind a broken dam. "And I lost."

The footsteps took on a military sharpness.

"You lost me to a Lossoth without even bothering to ask if I minded being wagered," Haleth said with no emotion in her voice.

"Well, that's a gross simplification of a very complex situation," he said. "But, yes. I was fairly confident I could win you back, though."

"Fairly confident," Haleth echoed quietly.

"And it did work out at the last," he said.

"No wonder you weren't worried about losing," Haleth mumbled.

"Because he really did not want me there."

"Because I'd have sent you straight to Mandos and you knew it," Haleth said in the sweet tone of a homicidal lark contemplating mayhem.

Inglor looked at her with what might have been regret.

They did not speak again for the remainder of the day.

Anger was a potent fuel. It kept Haleth moving well beyond the time they normally would have stopped for the night.

Camp was cold and cheerless affair perched on the southern side of a small, rounded hill. It offered scant protection from the wind and none at all from the cold rain. The sleet extinguished their small cooking fire, making a bad situation worse.

Haleth huddled miserably in her cloak and leaned against the hillside, her mood matching her cold, wet, miserable surroundings. Of all of the stupid, thoughtless, arrogant things that Inglor had ever done to her, this had to be the worst.

The list was not very long when Haleth was being reasonable, but she was in no mood to be reasonable.

She glared into the night, vaguely aware that Inglor was somewhere nearby and very likely quite disconsolate. Not that his being miserable was necessarily a bad thing. His current unhappiness could be considered the beginnings of a payback for all of the frustration and sleepless nights he had caused her.

Haleth determinedly closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

The heat generated by her fury slowly abated. Cold trickles of rain soaked through her cloak and she began to shiver.

She stood up, intent on walking until she was warm, and almost became lost in the mist and darkness. The clouds loomed above, blocking the brilliant light of the stars.

Disoriented, she almost tripped over Inglor, who was curled into a tight ball on the ground. She loomed above him, glowering downwards, but he did not move.

She sighed in utter frustration. There was truly no point in staying angry with the elf. He would not understand and would likely dismiss her mood as yet another incomprehensible human whim.

Once she stopped moving, Haleth immediately became cold again. Her fingers were almost too stiff to move.

She seated herself next to Inglor's sleeping form and tried to think of a calm, rational way to explain her reaction to the news that he had lost her in a bet. At first this simply made her angry again because it should have been self-evident.

She dragged herself from the red edges of anger and tried to consider the situation from a calm, immortal, elvish point of view. Try as she might, she could not achieve the proper mindset. She could, however, shiver.

Haleth looked down at Inglor's recumbent form. The sleeping elf did not seem to be the least bit uncomfortable. He was most likely warm, though.

With her back to his, Haleth lay down next to Inglor and  once more attempted to sleep.

She must have dozed because she awakened with a start to an odd, rattling noise inside  her head. Her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. She considered her situation for several seconds, then rolled over and pressed herself against Inglor's back.

At first she felt nothing different. But slowly his warmth began to flow into her. Eventually she stopped shivering and fell into a dream-filled sleep.

The sun was up but still obscured by heavy clouds when Haleth awakened the next morning. Warm and well rested, she stretched without opening her eyes. There was something warm and soft all around her.

Her eyes flew open in alarm as she struggled to remember the events of the previous night. She had been desperately cold and had nestled next to Inglor and then. Good grief. And then what? Jumbled images passed swiftly through her mind and immediately faded to nothingness in the morning sun.

A strong arm was gently cradling her against what had to be a broad chest. With a great deal of trepidation, she took in her surroundings. The arm was wearing Inglor's sleeve.

"Good morning." Inglor's soft voice was directly in her ear.

Haleth hopped straight up as if a dragon had breathed fire on her. The sleet had changed to snow during the night. A fine layer of it covered the world as more flakes lazily spun to the ground.

"Good...morning," Haleth stuttered without looking at the elf.

"It's snowing," she said stupidly.

"Yes, it changed some time during the night."

Haleth was afraid to ask if anything else had changed during the night.

Inglor smiled at her as he got to his feet. Her whirling mind tried without success to interpret the faint smile.

"Shall we have something to eat?" he asked mildly.

"Why not?" Haleth said without moving.

He found his pack beneath the snow, reached into it and pulled out some dried fruit. Haleth gratefully took what was offered and wracked her unco-operative brain. A random thought wandered in and patiently waited for her panicked attention to notice it. It was getting frustrated and about to leave when she focused on it. Whenever there was something Inglor did not wish to discuss or explain, he simply did not mention it. That seemed the safest course of action in this case. His behavior for the rest of the day might offer some clue about the events of the night before.

Haleth stopped in mid-chew, remembering his confession of the previous day. Her righteous anger seemed rather beside the point now, but she could use it to justify her silence.

If she told herself that long enough, she might actually begin to believe it.

Inglor was asking her a question.

"I'm sorry?" she shook herself out of her distraction.

"Would you care to partake of this?" He was offering a small, silver flask to her.

Haleth eyed it suspiciously.

"What is it?" she finally asked.

"It is call T'Ang," he said calmly. "It was originally made for Eärendil for his voyages into the Void over the Walls of the Night."

Haleth unscrewed the cap and sniffed cautiously. It smelled of far off summer.

"It smells of oranges," she said.

"Yet it is not of oranges," he said.

She studied his face. It might be just her overactive imagination, but Inglor seemed to be wearing a look of mild anticipation.

"I think I'll keep this for later, if it's all the same to you," she said, replacing the cap and absentmindedly sticking the flask into a pocket. "Shall we go?"

"Certainly."

It was mid-afternoon of the same day. The snow still fell from the grey sky in thick, fluffy flakes. It gleamed blindingly upon the ground and glistened upon the heavily laden branches of the fir trees. 

The tall, golden-haired elf walked gracefully upon the surface of the snow. The short, sandy-haired human trudged stolidly along beside him, sinking up to her thighs with each step.

"Could you please slow down?" Haleth finally puffed, "I've got a bit more work to do than you."

"Certainly," replied Inglor. He stopped, adjusted his pack, studied the sky, then walked for twenty seconds and caught up to Haleth, who had been struggling for two minutes to break trail.

"I wish it would stop snowing," she snarled through gritted teeth.

"I could carry you," Inglor suggested.

Haleth froze in mid-trudge. She lost her balance and almost fell face first into the snow.

"No," she said firmly without meeting his eyes. "I'd rather walk."

"Very well," Inglor said. "But I think you're being needlessly stubborn."

He waited for several minutes, watching his companion slog through a particularly deep snow-drift. Haleth had completely disappeared into the snow except for an occasional glimpse of a flailing hand.

Inglor counted to one hundred. Then he leisurely walked over the same drift and looked down at her as she emerged, brushing snow from her eyebrows, on the other side.

"We could be away from the snow much faster if you would simply allow me to carry you." he said reasonably.

"No," Haleth ground her teeth. She forced her way up the next hill, Inglor following slightly behind, completely perplexed by her refusal.

"I won't drop you," he finally said as they reached the crest of the hill.

Haleth looked over the new territory. Dark evergreen trees dotted the southern slopes, their boughs bent low with the weight of the new fallen snow. It looked depressingly like where they had just been.

Suddenly a new figure appeared at the top of a neighbouring hill. Haleth peered at it and began to thrash in its direction.

"Where are you going?" Inglor asked. "South is that way."

"I'll be back in a little while," Haleth called. "I want to talk to that Lossoth."

"Do you want me to accompany you?" he asked.

"No. I can handle this myself," she shouted over her shoulder.

"Shall I make camp?"

"Definitely not. I want out of this weather. Just keep walking and I'll catch up."

The elf watched her windmilling arms for several minutes, then shrugged and continued south. At least she would be easy to track.

Inglor was still moving slowly southwards half an hour later. To pass the time, which seemed oddly empty without Haleth's muffled curses, he considered the senses.

In the brief time that he had been among them, Inglor had noticed that humans too often relied upon sight rather than a combination of their senses and that trait often landed them in trouble.

To follow an example of his train of thought, the next scene will be described as much as possible in the terms of what Inglor heard.

A rhythmic, shushing sound approached him from behind. Haleth made a noise that a modern reader would describe as a raspberry as she glided past the elf on her newly acquired skis. This was followed almost immediately by a wet thud, a quiet groan and the delicate noise of two sticks dropping into the snow.

Haleth had been busy in the time she had been gone. She had convinced the Lossoth to trade his extra pair of gliding boards and sticks for the exotic elixir and flask that Inglor had given her. She had caught up to the elf in no time, had expressed her opinion on the so-called superiority of elves for being able to walk lightly on top of the snow (ie. the raspberry) and then something had viciously hit her.

Her eyes slowly refocused to find the elf looking down at her, his beautiful features framed by his golden hair. Once more he appeared to be confused and possibly mildly concerned.

Haleth moaned again and forced herself into a seated position. It was then that she noticed the tree and each of her feet on either side of it.

"Are you going to be all right?" Inglor asked, offering her his hand.

"Oh, yes," Haleth grasped the offered hand and he pulled her upright. "As soon as all of those bells stop ringing."

"There are no bells this far north," Inglor said.

"Tell that to my ears," Haleth replied, gingerly rubbing her bruised forehead.

Inglor leaned forward and solemnly announced to her left ear, "There are no bells this far north."

"That's fine, Inglor, " Haleth winced and raised her hands in supplication. "It's simply a figure of speech. I gave my head a nasty crack.

"Another figure of speech," she added hastily before he started to examine her skull for fractures.

"What are those on your feet?" he asked, pointing to the boards.

"The Ice men use them to travel quickly over the snow," she said, digging for her poles.

"Do they also stop by running into trees?"

"Not to my knowledge, no." Haleth retrieved her sticks. The world straightened and the bells grew quiet. She pulled her feet and the boards away from the tree and began to glide south. "They probably have devised less painful ways of stopping."

"Oh," said the elf, walking quickly beside her.

"Maybe they aim themselves at large rocks?" he suggested.

"Having just tried it with a tree, I don't think I'd recommend it," Haleth answered.

"Maybe they glide into the bay and the open water stops them?" he offered.

Haleth looked at him as sharply as her independently moving eyes would allow. Inglor tended to become mildly sarcastic when he was annoyed. Judging by the current conversation, he had to be awfully upset.

"I doubt that, too," she said, watching where she was going.

They moved through the cold, white world without speaking.

Several weeks had come and gone.

Inglor and Haleth had finally left the Cold Waste behind. They traveled quickly down River Lhun, then east, beyond Annuminas and on towards Fornost.

The journey was one of the most enjoyable that Haleth had ever taken through the wilderness. They met nothing but the wind and the stars and the occasional small animal. No one was chasing them and there were no wandering orcs or trolls intent upon murder.

To pass the time, Inglor had begun to teach Haleth Quenya, the language of the High Elves. To his immense surprise and delight, she already spoke a smattering of it, albeit in a stilted, highly accented manner.

They ate the fish they caught from the rivers, talked softly around the campfire and slept under the stars.

After a great deal of gentle persuasion, Inglor managed to convince Haleth to sing with him. She followed his lead as best she could, although she sounded like a crow accompanying a lark. The incident with the bug balm and the mice was not mentioned again. Neither was the gambling near-fiasco. For the first time in years, Haleth felt something close to light-hearted.

There was only one evening where the mood was tense. Inglor asked Haleth why he had awakened to find her curled against him that night in the Cold Waste.

Haleth, arms crossed and face blazing, had informed him that she had been excessively cold, that she was sorry if she had disturbed his sleep, that she would never let it happen again and that she did not want to speak of it again. Ever.

Inglor had calmly watched Haleth deliver her well-rehearsed speech and had immediately changed the subject.

Haleth felt a twinge of regret when the ruins of Fornost finally came into view. The shattered towers of the capital of the old kingdom of Arthedain loomed above the city’s crumbling walls. It would take many generations to repair and rebuild the damage of the centuries.

"What if there's no one here?" she asked Inglor as they approached the time-ravaged ruin.

”The Dunedain of the North have always had someone in the area," he answered. "Even in the days of the War of the Ring. What is it?"

Haleth's footsteps had been getting progressively slower until she stopped a few feet from the wreckage of the gate.

"You don't really need me to do this," she said slowly. "Why don't I just wait out here?"

"I'd rather we stayed together," he said, a slight frown creasing his brow.

"Oh, Inglor," Haleth forced a fake smile onto her face, hoping it would fool the elf. "There's no one for miles and miles. What could possibly happen?"

"That's what you said outside the palace in Dorwinion," he said.

Haleth's mouth worked silently.

"What I said?" she finally asked, one eyebrow arched upwards.

"That was truly a mess," he went on.

"Excuse me," she said sweetly, "But it wasn't me who wanted to examine the flowers under the moonlight."

"Why do you avoid the places of the Dunedain?" he asked.

Haleth stared at him, shocked by the directness of the question. Then she looked to the west.

"Because," she replied moodily.

"Because," he echoed, clearly wanting more of an explanation.

Whatever Haleth was going to say next was interrupted by a cry of welcome from the city.

"Mae govannen!" a tall, lanky figure cried in welcome and raced from the debris of Fornost. Inglor waved and started towards him. Haleth froze stubbornly to the spot. Inglor placed his hand on her forearm and, without any visible effort, dragged her forward with him.

The Ranger was tall, dark-haired and green-eyed. His face shone with delight. He looked at Inglor with something approaching awe, blinking several times and coughing.

"Mae govannen," Inglor replied. "We have something that must be sent to the King. Are there any here who can take it?"

"Alas, no," the Ranger said, crestfallen. "There is no one here but me. And I have been ordered to wait until my brethren can return from the south."

Haleth reflected that it had been almost four years since Aragorn had claimed the throne of Gondor. It sounded as though this particular Ranger had never left the North and she wondered why. He seemed to be rather anxious compared to the other Rangers she had met. They tended to be dour, serious men seldom given to conversation or ever deliberately seeking out company.

Inglor considered his response.

"Then we shall have to take it to him ourselves," he finally said. They both turned to go, Haleth moving with considerable speed.

"Wait!" the Ranger said, running to catch up with them. He stepped in front of them, blocking their path and then seemed at a lost as to what to say next.  Haleth unconsciously shifted closer to Inglor.

"You could at least stay here the night," he finally suggested. "The day is half over and you look as though you have come a fair distance." He was looking pointedly at Haleth's worn boots as he spoke.

"You could give me news of the outside world," he said. "And I would be glad of the company. It has been a long time since I have spoken to anyone." He sounded as forlorn as an abandoned child.

"Thank-you for the offer, but it is a long way," Haleth began. The Ranger made her nervous and she wanted nothing further to do with him.

"Certainly we will stay," Inglor grandly swept aside her hedging.

"Good!" the Ranger's face beamed with pure joy. "Follow me!"

They followed, Haleth dragging her feet with great reluctance.

"My name is Barmik," he said. His back was to them so he did not catch Haleth's raised eyebrows.

"I stay on the other side of the ruins; just where Halbarad told me to stay. It's faster to get there if we go through the old city." He led them along, chattering like a jackdaw the entire time. Inglor glanced at the ruins with true regret.

Haleth stumbled after them both, her eyes cast downwards. Empty, gaping windows stared at her accusingly. The wind writhed and whispered through the shattered stonework. Faint echoes of hopeless screams of terror seeped through the streams of time.  

"It's only the wind. It is not real. It's only the wind. It is not real." Haleth chanted to herself.

She looked up. Inglor and Rik had disappeared.

The whisperings grew louder, words almost discernable in the growing clamour. Familiar phantoms screamed in fear and pointed their bony fingers at her in blame. Haleth's heart hammered in her chest as she searched up and down the street for deliverance.

Inglor suddenly appeared from a cross-street. He looked at her in a calm, questioning manner. His expression quickly became unreadable when he noted the terror engraved upon her ashen face.

Wordlessly, he held out his hand.

Despising her own weakness, Haleth raced to him as a lost child runs to a parent. She grasped his hand as though her life depended on it.

He searched her eyes quickly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered soberly.

"Just get me out of here," she hissed.

Rik, still talking, came back around the corner.

"Oh, there you are," he said. "I thought I'd lost you there for a minute. It's this way."

He led them through the broken streets of Fornost and finally out the north gate.

"Well, this is it," the Ranger said when they reached his home.

Rik had situated himself in one of the abandoned farmhouses to the north of Fornost. He had done his best to make himself comfortable, repairing the stone walls of the fifteen centuries old house as best he could. The construction was relatively sturdy.

He seemed to have had a more difficult time fixing the roof, which Haleth should have been thatched. Long strands of straw hung down from the ceiling. Patches of blue sky showed through the yellowed hay. A fireplace, a low table, a small chest and a pallet of straw were the only furnishings.

"Just sit there," he indicating the crate. He stopped, embarrassed. There was only room for one to be seated.

Inglor propelled Haleth to the box and indicated that she should sit down.

"I'll get us some food, shall I?" Rik puttered about the room, keeping up a steady stream of one-sided conversation.

"Have you ever seen King Elesssar?" he asked. "I haven't. Not yet. Well, of course I haven't, being here and on duty and all. But I will. One day he'll come and he'll find me still here, faithfully doing my duty."

Inglor pushed on Haleth's shoulders. The woman remained stubbornly upright. He could not push any harder without damaging her. He had never seen her in her current mood. Her blank stare and ashen pallour were beginning to worry him. She might recover somewhat if she would only sit down.

"Not that there's that much to do," Rik continued, oblivious of the mute struggle in the room. "But I'm not complaining. Just because I've been up here for four years without another person to talk to."

Inglor, acting on inspiration, kicked Haleth's knees out from behind her. She landed on the trunk with a dull thud and no protest whatsoever. Her complete lack of response shook him badly.

Rik suddenly became aware of them.

"Is she supposed to be that colour?" he asked Inglor, taking in Haleth's pale complexion.

"It will pass," the elf answered, hoping that he was correct.

"Oh. Very well. Now, I don't have any grand food fit for kings, not that it's likely that the king will be up this way soon, but I do have what the land will give."

Haleth stared at a wall, Inglor watched Haleth and Rik talked to himself. A passing sparrow, intent on stealing some straw for his nest, perched on the roof and peered inside. He quickly decided that there were three lunatics in the farmhouse and, fearing it was contagious, went to search for nest material elsewhere.

Haleth slowly recovered from the incident in the city. She had already learned to tune out Rik's monologue to an annoying buzz. She suddenly pulled something from the torrent of words.

"I know it's somewhat rude to ask," Rik said, "But it's odd seeing an elf and a woman up here. Well, it's odd seeing anyone up here. Are you...?"

"Partners," she blurted out. "We're partners. Aren't we, Inglor?"

She gave the elf a significant look.

Inglor appeared to consider this for a moment.

"I suppose," he finally said.

Rik looked crestfallen for half a minute.

"I thought as much," he said. "It isn't proper for a man...I mean an elf and a woman to be wandering around in the wilderness together without some sort of legal arrangement."

"It's not exactly legal," Inglor began.

"Not yet, at any rate," Haleth interrupted him. "But we'll take care of that as soon as we can. My parents didn't approve, you understand."

"Ah!" Rik said. "Forbidden love! I know how it can be. I knew a girl once..."

Haleth painted on her best interested expression. She glanced at Inglor. The elf was as puzzled as she had ever seen him. At least he seemed willing to play along with her. He was going to demand some heavy explanations later, though. Haleth groaned inwardly as Rik served them supper.

"Let's play a game!" Rik interrupted his regularly scheduled monologue to include his visitors.

"What sort of game?" Haleth fought to keep the suspicion out of her voice.

"A word game," Rik said with enthusiasm.

"I don't seem to do well with human games," Inglor said.

"As long as there's no betting," Haleth glared at the elf.

"Oh, no," Rik bubbled on, "It's just a word game. We'll play one round and, if you like it, we can play again."

"How do you play?" Haleth asked, against her better judgment.

"You," he pointed to Haleth, "pick a word."

"Forest," said Haleth.

"No, no," Rik held up his hands. "You don't tell me. It's a secret word. You tell him." he nodded towards Inglor.

"How can it be a secret if I know it?" Inglor asked.

"It's how the game it played," Rik replied, slightly irritated. "You have to get me to say the word without telling me what the word is."

Inglor and Haleth wore matching expressions of bafflement.

"Very well," said Rik, "We'll just play one round so you can see how it's supposed to go. I'll just go outside and you can tell him the word." He disappeared out of the door.

"I think we shouldn't wait here," Haleth whispered to Inglor, quickly readying the briefest possible explanation for her decision.

"I agree," Inglor whispered, unexpectedly. "We'll leave in the morning."

"Have you got a word, yet?" Rik's voice piped from the evening gloom. Inglor looked at Haleth expectantly.

"Duty," she shrugged.

"Why that?" he asked.

"It's obviously always on his mind," answered Haleth. "It shouldn't be hard for even the two of you to figure out.

Inglor gave her what might have been a mildly hurt look.

"Ready?" Rik was obviously getting anxious.

"Ready," called Haleth.

Rik came bustling back into the room.

"Good," he said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "We'll start now."

He stared at Inglor, who remained silent for several seconds. Haleth was beginning to wonder if her companion was completely stumped when he finally spoke.

"A good Ranger always does this," Inglor said.

"Follows order," Rik said quickly. He glanced at Haleth who shook her head slightly.

"And when you follow orders you are..." Inglor trailed off.

"Left sitting all alone in the middle of a ruined city for four years with no messages," Rik said. "You'd think after four years that they'd send something. A note on a messenger pigeon. Or even on a badger. But no. Nothing."

He abruptly stopped and shook his head.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Another clue?"

Haleth and Inglor exchanged a quick glance.

"When Faramir held the crossings at Osgiliath on Lord Denethor's orders, he was..."

"Being an enormous show-off," Rik said. "I mean yes, it's one thing to risk death for your country. You die. It's over. Big deal. It's another to be left to rot all by yourself and have no one ever think of you."

Rik launched into another rant. Haleth began to edge towards the door. Even Inglor managed to look concerned.

"Maybe we should do something else," Inglor tried to interrupt their host.

"Oh, sure," Rik continued on bitterly. "Now you want to quit. Well we Rangers never quit, no matter what. We always do our duty."

"That's it!" Haleth blurted in relief. "That's the word!"

"Phew!" Rik said. "That was a tough one. Now it's my turn to pick a word."

"I think that it would be better if we slept now," Inglor said carefully. "Haleth is not feeling well." Haleth immediately allowed her shoulders to slump and tried to look tired.

"Oh!" Rik was worried. "Is there anything I can do? I know some herbal lore. Maybe I can be of some help?"

"It is nothing that a good night's sleep won't cure," Inglor said.

"She can sleep in my bed," Rik said.

"No!" said Haleth. "I mean I wouldn't want to put you out. And we tend to stay together at night."

She looked at Inglor and blushed beet red at the implications.

"I mean we always..." she stammered.

"You needn't explain, dear lady," Rik said stiffly.

"Come along, Haleth." Inglor pulled her out of the house.

He led her around the farmhouse so that the view of Fornost was screened. The last traces of the sun's rays were fading from the western sky. Insects sang their evensong in thousands of voices as the stars blazed, one by one, into the dark sky. Inglor seated himself on the green grass, pulling Haleth down next to him.

"I would appreciate it if you did not wander too far tonight," she said quietly as she pulled up a blade of grass and began to mechanically shred it.

"I will remain by your side," Inglor promised. "Now sleep. You truly do not look well."

"Thank-you so much for the compliment," Haleth grunted as she lay down.

Oily, black smoke rose from a cylindrical building, choking the light of the sun. The victim's shrieks rose to the sky, an offering of hatred and despair.

Haleth huddled in an alleyway, hiding from the bands of soldiers who marched through the streets. The parade of grim men in glittering steel mail was hunting her. She sank further into the shadows, blending into the narrow darkness between the tall, stone buildings.

The last guard finally passed and normal activity slowly returned to the street. She heaved a sigh of relief when someone behind her grasped her shoulder.

Haleth shot bolt upright, her hand on the hilt of her knife, staring wildly into Inglor's blue eyes.

"Good morning," he murmured.

"You didn't wake me for a watch," Haleth grumbled accusingly as she recognised her surroundings and forced her hand away from her weapon.

"I thought it best if you slept," Inglor said mildly, not mentioning his concern for her behavior the previous day.

Haleth bit back a sarcastic comment.

"Thank-you," she said tersely. "Can we go now?"

"I think that would be best," Inglor agreed with a worried glance at the stone farmhouse. "But we must say good-bye to our host, first."

Haleth groaned and wished that Inglor was slightly less concerned with etiquette.

Rik was unhappy with their departure, but there was nothing he could say to persuade them to stay. In the end they promised to remind the King (or someone in charge) of Barmik's plight and ask for further orders. Rik seemed happy with these assurances. He gave them some dried fruits and berries and sadly wished them farewell.
 
Despite not taking a watch, Haleth was exhausted. Nightmares and memories had kept her from sleeping properly. She trudged next to the Inglor and waited for him to ask about Barmik's behavior.

Because she was prepared for the subject, the elf remained stubbornly silent on their experience in Fornost.

Several days passed and the subject was still not  broached. 

Haleth could no longer stand waiting.

"What did you think of our host at Fornost?" she asked.

Inglor said nothing.

"Didn't he seem a bit odd to you?"

"All humans are odd to me," he answered. "It is merely a matter of degree."

Haleth sighed inwardly. The comment had probably not been meant as an insult. If she openly accused Inglor of rudeness, she would have to explain why. The subject was difficult enough without complicating the matter. It was easier to let it pass.

"Take it from a relative expert in humans," she said dryly. "He's odd."

"I bow to your superior knowledge in this area." Inglor bent gracefully at the waist.

"What makes him that way?" he asked.

"I don't know," Haleth answered slowly. "Probably being by himself for too long. Not everyone is suited to complete solitude."

"Indeed?" Inglor was intrigued. "It was only four years."

"Four years may not seem much to an immortal elf," Haleth laughed. "It can seem an eternity to a lonely human."

The wind soughed over the grass.

"Do elves ever get lonely?" she asked him.

"Yes," he said in a tone that cut off any further discussion.

Haleth gazed across the empty leagues of countryside and said nothing.

Inglor did not mention their brief stay in Fornost again that day. By the time they stopped to make camp for the night, Haleth allowed herself to hope that he was finished with the subject. They were in the hollow of a hill, facing away from the road. She was warming her hands at their small cooking fire when her luck ran out.

"Haleth?" Inglor wore the expression of one determinedly seeking enlightment. It was a look that she had learned to dread. "Why did you imply to Ranger Barmik that we were more than traveling companions?"

"I am sorry if I embarrassed you," Haleth said, staring into the fire and hoping for a distraction like a wandering band of orcs to change the subject.

"I was not embarrassed," he answered quickly. "I was simply not expecting it. It did seem the right course of action once you mentioned it. I would like to know what made you think to say it."

Trolls. A nice big herd of trolls would be appreciated right now.

"Barmik’s manner was somewhat..." Haleth groped for the appropriate description.

"Odd?" Inglor offered.

"Desperate," Haleth corrected him.

Inglor considered this. Haleth was beginning to relax, believing that she had sated his curiosity when one of the questions she had been dreading came.

"Desperate for what?" he asked.

"Companionship," Haleth replied. At this point in time, the less said the better. Further comment would only fuel Inglor’s curiosity.

"But we were both there. I could be as good of a companion to him as you."

"Not that kind of companionship," Haleth interrupted. "Men are...Men think..." she recalled her experience with human men.

"What do I know? I have no clue what men think. Why don't you ask a man?" she said crossly.

"There are none currently available," Inglor said reasonably.

"Well ask one when you find one!" she snapped.

Inglor appeared to consider this. Haleth tried to imagine the consequences of that particular conversation. They were not pretty.

"On second thought, don't," she said, firmly tethering her temper. "I'll try to explain as best as I can. Just give me a few minutes. This isn't something we humans tend to discuss. At least not in this manner."

"Elves are immortal," she finally said. "Humans see their children as their immortality. That is part of the reason why we are so fiercely attached to them. In order to have children, a human, male or female, needs a partner of the opposite type." She hoped this would be good enough for Inglor, who was listening intently. She was very grateful that the fire's red hue masked her blush, the heat of which reached from the base of her throat to the roots of her hair.

"When people are very lonely and desperate, they may do rash things," she said helplessly, hoping frantically that he would get the idea or at least let the subject drop.

"Do you mean like Eöl and Aredhel?" Inglor asked.

Haleth quickly scanned her memory for the names.

"Yes," she said with visible relief, "That's exactly what could happen. It can create a great deal of grief for everyone involved."

She stood and stretched.

"I shalll take the second watch," he said, finally ready to let the subject drop.

"Very well," she agreed.

Haleth fell asleep with the sound of elvish singing in her ears.

Shadows. Whispers. The dream encroached upon Haleth's sleeping mind. The images rolled over each other; the bright glint of a sword aimed at her side, screams of terror from the city, the ground trembling and a wall of water overshadowing the world.

Haleth shot bolt upright, a strangled cry in her throat.

The fire had faded to embers. Inglor sat with his back to her, humming softly.  At one time he would have tried to comfort her, but months of Haleth tersely rebuffing his concern had taught him to leave her alone.

She looked at the stars, tendrils of sandy hair hanging in her eyes, and was unpleasantly surprised to find it far later than she had expected.
 
"I'll take the next watch," she said, getting to her feet and approaching the dim, red circle of firelight. "Did you notice anything unusual?"

"Nothing," Inglor said, stretching out on the grass with his cloak around him. "I bid you good night."

He seemed to fall asleep immediately, his breathing even and shallow.

Haleth made a quick circuit of the camp, then stationed herself across the fire from the sleeping elf and carefully rebuilt the blaze.

Her eyes were continually drawn back to Inglor's somnolent form. Unwanted, erotic images rose in her mind and she quashed them.

She silently repeated all of the old lore, from the old histories down to basic arithmetic to distract herself. But the instant her concentration wavered, her thoughts strayed and she would find herself staring at Inglor.

Haleth tried chewing her knuckles whenever she caught herself daydreaming. Soon there were fine teeth marks across the backs of her hands. Finally she stood up and walked the circuit of the camp.

The fresh night air forced her to greater awareness of her surroundings. Much to her own chagrin, it was not exactly what she wanted at that particular moment.

Finally she deliberately sat with her back to both the elf and the fire.

Nothing but her own fevered, half-suppressed, guilty thoughts disturbed the night.

"You should have awakened me sooner," a voice said behind her. Haleth jumped with the energy of the guilty.

"I lost track of time," she grumbled.

Inglor looked at her sharply. "You must have a great deal on your mind," he said.

A wordless grunt was the only answer.

"How do human men and women decide on their partners?"

The question came in the middle of a glorious May morning. They were a day's travel out of Bree and had finally encountered some signs of civilisation. A path led off the road to a spring and they had stopped to refill their water skins and refresh themselves.

Haleth spat out the mouthful of water she had been about to swallow.

Inglor did have the most glorious sense of timing.

"Are you well?" he asked, mildly concerned.

"I'm fine," she spluttered. "I just wasn't expecting the question."

"This subject does seem difficult for you," he observed. "Is it something you do not normally discuss?"

'Not in completely dry terms with the object of one's affection,' Haleth thought desperately.

"It's fine, Inglor," she tried her best to sound like a calm professional for a profession that did not yet exist. "It's just so complicated that it's difficult to know where to start.

She sighed and made the attempt to explain one of the least understandable aspects of human behavior to an Elf.

"The nobility often arrange their children's marriages to make allegiances. Or in order to seize power," she began.

"Some feel it's necessary when leaders don't live forever," she added when she saw his confusion. He was very endearing when he was baffled. Drat.

"Great merchant houses can also arrange marriages to build trade alliances," she continued, looking ahead and choosing her words carefully while leashing her random thoughts.

"Common people can marry for the same reasons, on a different scale, of course. Or people can marry because it seems like the only thing to do. Or because they are forced to do so."

"Does anyone marry because they love each other?" Inglor interrupted.

Haleth was genuinely taken aback by the question, as though the option had never occurred to her.

"Well, I imagine they do," she gave him a sad, half-smile. "And occasionally it even works in the long run."

"Occasionally?"

"Only occasionally," she said. "Although sometimes people with arranged marriages grow to love each other over the years."

"Sometimes people start out loving each other too much," she continued. "They lose sight of other things and make each other and everyone else miserable."

"Humans certainly make love complicated," Inglor said.

"Oh, yes," Haleth agreed.

"Were you ever married?"

"Me?" she was genuinely surprised. "No. As far as I know, no one ever asked my father for my hand. If anyone did, I never heard of it."

"Why not?"

"I think I might have frightened them," Haleth laughed ruefully. "Like everyone else in my family, I've never been afraid of expressing my opinions."

"Besides," she added. "I was a bit young when my father could still arrange that sort of thing. And then it was just too late."

"Did you ever love anyone, Haleth?"

The innocent, curious question hit her like a body-blow. Her face froze to hide her emotions.

"My family, my friends. But in the way you mean, I don't know," she finally said, deliberately avoiding his eyes.

"How do elves fall in love?" she asked to change the subject.

It was Inglor's turn to consider his response.

"They see each other and they know," he finally answered.

"Love at first sight?" Haleth asked, incredulous. "All elves fall in love at first sight and stay in love forever?"

"Not all," Inglor answered softly. "Remember Aredhel and Eöl."

They walked together silently, the unspoken question accompanying them..

"And I imagine it's usually a huge mess if love is not returned," Haleth said at last. "Elves and humans have that in common, at least."

"But love can be beautiful when it is returned," Inglor said suddenly. Haleth's heart literally skipped a beat and jumped, pounding, into her throat. It was immediately followed by the mental image of her fist firmly slamming it back into place.  She silently ordered it to stop being stupid.

"Like it did with Beren and Luthien," Inglor added.

"Isn't that palantir getting heavy?" Haleth asked, deliberately changing the subject.

"No, not at all," he answered.

"How do they work?" she asked.

"No one but their maker, Fëanor, knows for certain," Inglor began. "But the theory is..."

Haleth let him drone on without hearing a single word he said. 

Inglor and Haleth were a few hours from Bree, the Bree-hill rising to the south and east of them.

Inglor was his always perfectly groomed self. Haleth looked like something the cat dragged home after making a detour through several fields, chewing on it and rolling it in a few hay stacks. Her appearance was not helped by the feral gleam in her eyes which were shaded by the deep, dark circles of an insomniac.

A small, clear stream bubbled beside the road.

"I want to take a bath," Haleth announced, heading off the Greenway.

"You can have a hot bath at the inn at Bree," Inglor said, once against baffled by her incomprehensible whims.

"I want a bath now," Haleth said, undeterred. "I'm tired of looking like a complete wreck when I stand next to you and I'd like to at least be clean when we get to civilisation."

"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded when he followed her.

"I am going with you," he said simply, as though it should be perfectly obvious and acceptable to any reasonable person.

"Not to watch me bathe, you're not!" Haleth waxed indignant.

Inglor seemed to actually consider the situation.

"Do not be ridiculous, Haleth," he sighed. "There are other people around here. There might be trouble."

"Oh, there'll be trouble all right," Haleth mumbled.

"Did you say something?"

"I said I can look after myself," she said sullenly.

"I never said that you could not." He was perfectly tranquil. "But given that we could be here for some time, it would be better if we avoided any situations where you did have to look after yourself."

"Fine, fine," Haleth stalked along the stream. "Suit yourself."

The warmth of the sun and the merry voice of the water soon forced the angry woman into a better mood.

She came to a clearing where the stream widened to a pool. A small waterfall poured into the pond from the southern side.

Haleth stood perfectly still and listened intently for several minutes. She could hear nothing but the splash of the water and the wind in the leaves. Finally she shrugged. What did it matter if Inglor was sitting in a tree watching her? It was not like it would have any effect on him. She hardly expected him to swoop out of the trees and... Blushing furiously, Haleth checked that particular line of thought.

She removed her pack and dug around until she found a small store of soap. Then she washed her clothing, spreading it on bushes to dry. Once her garments were clean, she waded into the pool. The cold water raised goose-bumps on her flesh. She quickly scrubbed her skin and hair, days worth of dust and dirt floating downstream. At last she was satisfied that every inch of her was clean and she waded out of the pool.

A slight problem with her plan revealed itself as she stood shivering on the bank. Her clothing was still quite damp, she had no towel and she was rapidly getting quite chilled.

She very briefly considered hiding in a bush and calling Inglor, but was in no mood to admit that he might have been right.

"Here." His voice was directly behind her. If he could have seen the expression of shock on her face, he might have laughed.

Something warm was draped over her shoulders.

"Thank-you," she said stiffly without turning around.

When she did finally look behind her, Inglor was nowhere to be seen.

The sun was low in the west when the two travelers passed through the west gate of Bree. The Breefolk, as accustomed to travelers as they were, still paused to watch this pair. The first could only be one of the First Born, the immortal elves, fair of face and proud of bearing. Men on their way home for the evening meal watched him in barely concealed amazement. Women either watched from the windows of their homes or found some slim excuse to race into their front yards as he passed by. Children stared in open-mouthed wonder, their games momentarily forgotten.

The second traveler, if she was noticed at all in the shadow of her companion's splendour, was a sandy haired woman in rumpled clothing.

If anyone had bothered looking closely, they might have noticed a slight, intermittent tick in the woman's left eye. It can safely be said that no one cared to pay her that much attention. All eyes in the village were trained on the elf.

Without exchanging a word the badly mismatched pair made their way to the Prancing Pony. 

Barliman Butterbur, the Innkeeper, welcomed them cheerfully. Business had been steadily improving since word of the new king had spread northwards. There was a group of dwarves at the inn that evening and the presence of an elf would likely attract more than a few of the local people. He was busy behind the bar when his newest guests arrived, a bottle of expensive Dorwinion wine in his hands.

"You'll be wanting..." he began.

"Two rooms," Haleth said quickly, still chilled from her swim in the stream. "A hot bath and this."

She plucked the bottle of wine from the Innkeeper's hands and took a quick swallow.

Butterbur watched the display with some dismay and turned to Inglor for help.

"That should do," the Elf said wearily.

"Nob!" Butterbur shouted, making a mental note to keep the expensive alcohol away from the woman. "Take our guests to the rooms in the eastern wing."

A curly-headed hobbit appeared out of nowhere and beckoned for them to follow. He led them down a wide, candlelit corridor and ushered them into their rooms.

"Will there be anything else?" he asked Inglor in his piping voice.

"A very large flask of wine when my bath is ready," Haleth said. She marched into her room and very deliberately shut the door.

Nob examined the closed door and, like his employer, turned to Inglor for guidance. 

"Some food would be appreciated," he said. 

"I'll bring it to the parlour, sir," Nob said, "It's the room between the two of yours."

"Thank-you, Nob," Inglor said as the hobbit scurried down the hallway.

He took a deep breath and knocked politely on Haleth's door, wondering at the reason for her current display of pique.

"Is my bath ready yet?" her muffled voice called.

"Not yet," he answered. "There are a few things we should discuss."

"I'm listening," Haleth's voice sang through the closed door.

"I'd rather not shout them in the hall," Inglor said, his voice edged with what might be annoyance.

The door abruptly popped open. With more faith than sense, Inglor crossed the threshold into Haleth's room.

"What?" she demanded, the open wine flask in her hand. An alarming amount of the beverage had already vanished.

"I've got enough gold to pay for several weeks accomodations," Inglor said after closing the door behind him. "We can go to the common room and find a way to contact the Rangers to get a message to the King. They may wish to take the palantir to him."

"Good," said Haleth shortly. She gave the door a significant look which would have told anyone else that the interview was over.

"Or we may have to bring it to Gondor ourselves," he said, oblivious to her foul mood.

Haleth gave him a look that would have made the Nazgul pause.

"What do you mean we?" she finally said.

"You wouldn't go with me?" He seemed surprised. "You've always completed all of your tasks, no matter how unpleasant."

Haleth placed the wine on the table, threw herself onto a chair and rubbed her face with her knuckles. She had no wish to discuss the matter, especially in her current frame of mind.

A discrete knock on the door delivered her from the temptation of screaming at Inglor. 

"What is it?" she shouted, unreasonably annoyed by the interruption.

"Excuse me but the bath is ready," Nob's voice fluted through the door.

Haleth got unsteadily to her feet and retrieved the bottle. 

"We can discuss this later," she growled to Inglor as she marched out of the room.

Several minutes later, Haleth sank up to her neck in hot water and soapsuds and very deliberately took another deep drink from the bottle of Dorwinion.  There were several empty tubs in the Prancing Pony’s bathing room.  They were just visible through the steam of Haleth’s bath. 

The logical, sensible part of her mind knew that the alcohol would not solve her current dilemma. Unfortunately, the pragmatism that had ruled her every action and thought for as long as she could remember had been throttled into submission by the completely illogical, angst-ridden part of her that Inglor had unwittingly unleashed.

It was the second most uncomfortable situation in which she had ever found herself, and that was saying at great deal. After months of trying to be rid of him, Haleth found herself desperately attracted to an immortal who had absolutely no interest in her. Inglor would never consider her as anything other than the nuisance he had to watch.

What was worse, the change in her sentiments had come so gradually that Haleth could not exactly pinpoint when the entire mess had begun. She had been blindsided by her emotions and this troubled her to no end.

Tired of trying to map the history of her feelings, she grasped frantically at straws to salve her badly damaged pride.

Elves and Men had completely different sensibilities and social cues. Inglor could not have read her thinly veiled interest in him if he had wanted to and there was no indication that he desired to do so. He would probably find the entire idea vaguely revolting.

The bottle was empty. Haleth placed it on the stone floor next to the tub and reached for the second one. It was an inferior vintage to the Dorwinion, but her taste buds were hardly in a position to notice, much less care.

The situation would not have been so bad if Inglor did not occasionally do things that falsely raised her hopes, like he had today at the side of the pool and all of those stupid, pointless conversations about love.

The practical part of her mind reasserted itself and took the opportunity to point out that she was being ridiculous and wasting time.

Haleth leaned back in the tub, staring blankly at the ceiling. Through the fumes of drunkenness she vaguely realised that this no way to exist and that she was going to have to find a way of putting aside her futile attraction and getting on with things.

The challenge now was to find a way of doing that. Wallowing in drunken self-pity certainly had not helped in the way that she had hoped.

Haleth had just reached the wine-soaked determination to deal with her own emotions as soon as she sobered up when there was a polite, almost apologetic knock on the door.

 Inglor shifted uncomfortably at the parlour table as he waited for Haleth to join him. His legs were a shade too long to fit the Breefolk's furniture.

A feast of fresh bread, cheese, meat and fruit lay before him. A fair amount of it was gone, having been eaten by Nob. Inglor, hoping to gain information on the whereabouts of the Rangers, had casually asked the hobbit if he was hungry. Nob, who seemed to be well fed, had cheerfully seated himself and torn into the food with the enthusiasm of the starving. Between bites, he had divulged a merry torrent of information about the doings of the folk of the Bree hill.

Inglor was fascinated but somewhat puzzled by the tales of hobbits and men. The stories were so interesting that the elf forgot to enquire about the Rangers.

Half of the food had made its way into Nob's stomach when a polite knock at the door interrupted them.

"Excuse me, sir," Barliman Butterbur said as he bustled into the room, "I was just wondering..."

The Innkeeper suddenly noticed Nob. His frown made the hobbit jump to his feet, his cheeks bulging with bread and cream. Bowing quickly to Inglor, he scurried out of the room.

"He was answering my questions," Inglor said quietly.

Butterbur shook his head and smiled. "That's alright, sir. Nob wouldn't help himself without an invitation. "

He surveyed the damage to the meal. Half of the bread was gone. A large chunk had been carved from the roasted chicken. A few, lonely crumbs remained on Nob's plate. The dish before the elf was still clean.

"I reckon you didn't know how much a hobbit could eat," he sighed.

"It did surprise me," Inglor chuckled.

"Is there something lacking with the food?" Butterbur asked, eyeing Inglor's empty plate.

"The food, I am certain, is wonderful," Inglor said. "I was just waiting for my companion."

Butterbur considered the rumpled woman who was currently monopolising the bathing room.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir," he said. "She might be some time. I wouldn't wait."

He was almost out of the room before Inglor remembered his original question.

"Excuse me, but is there any news of the Rangers?" he asked.

"The Rangers," Butterbur echoed, frowning with thought. "You mean the King's men, as some call them now, though they don't seem much different to me. The last passed through Bree two months ago."

"Thank-you," Inglor said as the Innkeeper hurried away to look after his other guests.

Alone once more, he considered the next course of action. They could wait for the Rangers, or head down the Greenway towards Gondor and hope to meet one or more of the Dunedain along the way. This was assuming that he could convince Haleth to go south.

Hunger eventually overcame good manners.  Inglor ate a solitary meal and wondered why it was taking Haleth so long to bathe; she was not that dirty. Her reaction that afternoon had convinced Inglor that approaching her while she was bathing was an extremely bad idea. It was not quite as dangerous as the bug repellent situation, but it certainly rivaled it.

Since their time in Fornost, Haleth's behavior had worried Inglor. He attributed her dark moods to the ghosts that dogged her steps. Her pain caused him grief, and he could find no way to alleviate it. For a time he had attempted to draw her out by asking her about her past life, but that had only made the situation worse. More than other mortals, she was a complete enigma to him.

When he was done his meal, Inglor considered the current situation. Haleth had still not appeared. The Innkeeper, who seemed to understand her, was convinced that she was likely to be busy for some time. Inglor decided to go to the Common Room and learn what he could of the Ranger's movements.

The Common Room of the Inn of the Prancing Pony was busier than it had been in months. A party of dwarves was heading from the Ered Luin to some point east. They were deliberately vague about exactly where and no one pressed them. There were extra patrons beyond the usual regulars, among them several young women who had caught a glimpse of Inglor. They had liked what they had seen and were hoping for more.

One of them squealed when she saw the elf enter the common room.

"Oh look!" she sighed. "There he is."

"Isn't he gorgeous?" her friend whispered.

The young women of Bree stared at Inglor in frank admiration. The elf, who was asking the local men for news of the Rangers, was completely oblivious to it.

Others took note of it, though.

"Frank, isn't that Daisy?" one of the regulars poked his neighbour and pointed over his beer mug towards the shiny-eyed knot of young women.

"What's she doing here?" a second voice piped up. "She's never been here before."

"It sure is Daisy," Frank said. He was a very easy-going fellow. "She's not hurting anything. Why shouldn't she be here?"

"My Aster would never come here," the fourth man said solemnly.

"Wanna bet?" asked the first man as Aster joined the other women at their table.

"Well I'll be."

Inglor thanked the men he had been talking to and found an empty table. A young woman approached him almost immediately, three others giggling and trailing in her wake.

"May I sit here?" she asked, smiling prettily. Daisy was, by common agreement, the most beautiful woman in all of Breeland. She was very aware of this, too. She had long ago decided to find a husband worthy of her; someone higher than a common farmer or even a wealthy local merchant. From the instant she had clapped eyes on Inglor, she had decided that he would do quite nicely. Daisy was accustomed to getting what she wanted.

"Certainly," Inglor said, he stood up to go to a vacant table.

"Oh no," Daisy grasped his arm and tried to push him back into his chair. She was rather surprised to find that he would not be pushed.

"I meant may I join you?"

"But there aren't enough seats for all of you," Inglor pointed out.

"That's all right." Aster took this as an invitation. "I'll just grab a chair from another table."

Daisy glared daggers at her closest rival. Aster was not as pretty as Daisy, but she was certainly more clever. She had ruined a few of Daisy's schemes in the past. Daisy silently vowed that she would win this battle.

Inglor did not notice any of the emotional undercurrents that swirled around him.

"Do any of you young ladies know of the Rangers?" he asked, still hoping for news.

"They're the men of our new King," Aster said quickly. "They've always come through Bree now and again for as long as anyone can remember."

"Have any been here recently?" Inglor asked.

"Not for a few weeks," Aster answered.

"But please," Daisy interrupted with her best, dazzling smile which had never failed to reduce men to babbling idiots, "Tell us about your journey. I'm sure you are very heroic." The other young ladies leaned forwards expectantly.

Butterbur looked from the table with the elf and the women to the tables of his regulars with growing trepidation. The men were casting dark looks towards the congregation of giddy, giggling young women and some of the women were beginning to fire dirty looks at each other.

The Innkeeper grabbed Nob and ordered him to discretely put away the breakables.

It was while casting about for a way to stop the impending havoc that Butterbur remembered Haleth. He raced down the hallway towards the bathing room. Given her rate of alcohol consumption, it was unlikely that she would be the voice of reason. But sometimes reason was not what was needed.

Even the dwarves could see which way the wind was blowing. All together, they left the Common Room by silent, mutual consent.

"There is not that much that I can tell," Inglor said.

"Oh, he's mysterious, too," tittered one of the women.

"Maybe he simply doesn't want to tell us," Aster said, glaring at Daisy.

"Or maybe he's on a secret mission from Riverdale," Daisy said, her eyes shining. "I should dearly love to see Riverdale and meet Lord Elrond."

Five pairs of eyes watched Inglor expectantly.

"Master Elrond went to the Havens two years past," Inglor informed them.

Daisy's face fell, but she quickly rallied. "But his sons are still there. Ellahir and Elrodan."

"You mean Lords Elladan and Elrohir," Aster corrected her.

Daisy's face contorted into an unflattering frown. She immediately controlled herself and smiled winsomely at Inglor.

"The sons of Elrond remain yet in Rivendell," Inglor had noted the expression on Daisy's face. From his experience with Haleth, he recognised it as the harbinger of unpleasantness. He quickly decided that it was time to leave.

"If you ladies will please excuse me," he said, standing and bowing, intending to walk in the fresh air. There was a collective sigh from the women and a collective growl from the men.

"Are you going to walk under the stars?" Daisy asked. "It would be a wonder for me to walk under the stars with an elf." She stood up and reached for his arm, which he quickly but delicately pulled away.

"Oh stop making a fool of yourself Daisy," Aster snapped as Inglor took his leave of them. "It's obvious that he has no interest in you."

"Speak for yourself," Daisy hissed. "If it hadn't been for your ugly face spoiling the mood he'd be asking me to marry him by now."

"Oh really?" Aster was as disappointed as Daisy, "He's an Elf, you idiot. They have no interest in human women. Especially those as pathetically stupid as yourself."

Daisy, shocked that anyone would be bold enough to insult her in public, picked up a mug of beer from a neighbouring table and poured it over Aster's head.

Aster picked up Inglor's unfinished cup and flung the red wine at Daisy's face.

There was a collective intake of breath while time stood still and everyone awaited the inevitable disaster and Daisy raised her fist.

Haleth was lying in the bathtub, glaring at the completely innocent and mostly empty wine bottle, when there was a knock on the door.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Butterbur's voice was extremely apologetic, "But there's a situation in the Common Room."

"What hash that idiot done thish time?" Haleth slurred.

"Nothing, yet," Butterbur said. "I don't think it's him will be the trouble, if you get my meaning."

"Oh, sure," Haleth unsteadily hoisted herself out of the tub. The rapidly cooling water sloshed across the floor. "He'sh behind it. I don't need to shee it to know it."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "If you think there's any way you could keep him from causing a worse situation, it would be much appreciated."

"Yeah, sure," Haleth stumbled around the room, struggling to put on her clothing over her wet skin. After a great deal of fumbling and muffled curses, she had herself decently if somewhat haphazardly garbed.

She staggered down the hall in the direction of the Common Room, passing a group of somber dwarves headed determinedly in the other direction. She thought she heard one of them muttering about troublesome elves, but dismissed it as a product of her drunken imagination.

Finally she lurched into the Common Room, leaned heavily on a handy wall and peered through the smoke.

There was a small gaggle of women at one table. They were all dressed in their very best clothes and were twittering like a flock of brightly feathered birds. Inglor had to be in there somewhere. She wondered if he had any idea what all of this was about. Most likely not. A dark part of her mind told her that it might be enjoyable to see someone else be the target of his oblivious magnetism. She might find someone to share in her misery.

Judging by the black looks among the other patrons, though, everyone else in the room knew what was situation was about. This sobered her somewhat. Haleth supposed she should go and get Inglor before he inadvertently caused a riot. Excusing herself and clinging to tables for support, Haleth reeled unsteadily towards the table of Inglor-adoring women.

"Inglor, drat it all you're going the wrong way again," Haleth called as she finally reached the table immediately after the elf had vacated it.

Daisy's fist flew at Aster, who dodged out of the way.

"Inglor!" Haleth called again.

He spun around just in time to see Daisy's fist connect with the side of Haleth's jaw. Again time paused and a second awful silence filled the room.

Inglor stared in disbelief as Haleth crumpled slowly to the ground. He had never known Haleth to not successfully avoid such an obvious attack. He had also never known her to get falling down drunk before, either.

"Haleth!" Inglor's voice rang like a bell through the Common Room. Several people winced and pressed their hands over their ears.

"I'm so sorry," Daisy stroked Inglor's arm as he bent to lift her stricken companion from the floor. "I did not mean to hurt her if she is dear to you."

Inglor shook her off without speaking and strode out of the Common Room, Haleth's unconscious body cradled to his chest.

Daisy, Aster and the other women flocked after him. They stood at the edge of the Common Room, watching him march up the hall with his unconscious, wine-sodden charge. No one was brave enough to follow or even to call after him.

At last a distant door slammed and the spell was broken.

The women slowly wandered back to their table. The men had discretely returned to their drinking, for the moment willing to pretend that nothing unusual had happened.

"Why her?" Daisy suddenly wailed. "Why not me?"

"Oh, shut up, Daisy," Aster growled.

It was generally agreed upon by the women of Bree that Haleth was the luckiest woman in all of Eriador and that it was her own fault if she was too unconscious to be aware of it.

There were no dreams to terrorise Haleth that night. The entire time passed, in the blink of an eye, as dark and empty as the Void.

And then the headache began.

Haleth groaned and opened her eyes to slits. The shutters were closed but the morning light was still far too bright. Her head felt like all of the dwarfs of the Lonely Mountain were using it for an anvil. Some enterprising fellow had gotten the idea of using her mouth as a slag heap.

She tried to remember where she was. After some dizzy associations and vague recollections she realised that she was somewhere in Bree.  The last, dim memory she had was of being annoyed with Inglor.  Try as she might, she could not remember how she had gotten into bed.

Haleth gave up the puzzle of the previous evening, confident that she would remember as soon as the dwarfs stopped mining her head.  In the meantime, the room was quiet. No one was actively trying to kill her. Going back to sleep seemed like the best option. She sailed towards oblivion.

"Haleth."

Trouble waited patiently at the end of the bed; blond, of course. She groaned and rolled over, pulling the pillow over her head. Inglor had given her many sleepless nights. At the moment Haleth was miserable enough to not want him nearby. So, of course, there he was. Maybe if she was pathetic enough he would get the hint and go away.

Fat chance.

"Haleth, I need you to wake up." It sounded bad. Worse than the time he had dropped her into the pit in the dragon's den.

"Go away, Inglor," Haleth growled. She winced and immediately wished she had kept her silence.

"Haleth."

"I mean it, Inglor," she whispered viciously. "I will do you grievous bodily harm if you don't let me sleep."

"Haleth, the palantir is gone."

She said nothing, her head still tucked protectively under the pillow.  The silence continued until Inglor must have believed she had gone back to sleep.

"You lost it. You go and look for it. I'll be here when you find it."

"It's most unusual, Haleth," he said, sounding like a lost pup. "I need your help. Please get up."

That voice again. It held the warmth of spring and the promise of summer nights. Empty promises, but Haleth was a sucker for them every time.

"Fine,  fine," she groaned. "Just give me some time."

Cursing inwardly, Haleth pushed the pillow off of her head. She struggled to sit upright while gingerly supporting her head in both hands.  She winced when she touched her bruised jaw.

A strong arm was suddenly around her, steadying her. Something cold and smooth was placed against her parched lips.

"Drink this." Inglor's voice was soft but commanding.

"What is it?" Haleth's churning stomach balked at the suggestion.

"It will remedy your condition."

They sat on the bed together, Inglor's arm around Haleth, his fingers at her lips, his face close to hers. In spite of the headache, Haleth caught herself wishing they could remain there for a long while. Digusted with herself, she pushed the vial away.

"I don't want this particular condition remedied," she whispered.

Inglor studied her carefully, as if trying to determine if she was still drunk.

"I need the pain to remind me why I shouldn't drink so much," she mumbled. The explanation did not sound nearly as reasonable as it had inside her head.

"But I need your help," he insisted, offering the vial again.

"I'll help you, Inglor," she leaned back and smiled wearily at him, wincing slightly as she shifted her weight. "But the hangover is my own fault and I've got to get through it without your help. I cannot simply look to you every time something goes wrong."

"But you never have," he pointed out, bemused.

"I will not become dependent on you," she explained.

"I cannot believe you would ever be dependent on anyone," he said. Was Haleth imagining things or was there a grace note of bitterness in his voice? The headache must be distorting her hearing.

"Inglor," Haleth drew away from him and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, "You're not making this any easier."

"I am trying to make it easier," his voice held the hot edge of anger. "You are being perversely stubborn."

Shocked at his tone and the anger sparking in his eyes, Haleth shrank away from him.

"Haleth," he said in a calmer voice. He moved next to her on the bed, cradled her bruised face in his hand and forced her to look him directly in the eyes. "There is something very odd about the theft of the palantir. You should be at the best of your abilities to investigate and, at the moment, you are not. The more time we waste arguing, the further away the thief will get. I need your help now. Not when you've recovered."

He studied her unsteady gaze and the doubtful look on her face.

"Please?" he finally asked.

"Oh, fine." She took the offered potion and swallowed it in one gulp.

It tasted as bad as the hangover had felt. Her stomach did a quadruple backflip as a flash of white-hot pain exploded behind her eyes.

Haleth shuddered violently, waves of revulsion wracking her body. Inglor held her until the tremors passed.

After a longer time than was necessary, she reluctantly let go of him. Her stomach felt better but her head still ached.

"I need to get dressed," she said, scanning the floor for her clothing. None of it was visible.

"Yes," he agreed, oblivious to the unspoken request for him to leave.

Haleth suddenly wondered how she had become undressed. Maybe it was best to not ask; she had been in a tub.  Surely she couldn’t have walked through the Inn without her clothing? 

"Go wait in the hall," she growled. "I'll be there as soon as I'm dressed."

Inglor gave her a look that said he did not trust her to remain awake. While sleep was still tempting, Haleth knew that Inglor would immediately awaken her; immortals could be incredibly persistent.

Again she checked the floor for her clothes but they remained stubbornly absent. Haleth was beginning to think the thief had filched them, too, when she spied them folded neatly on the footof the bed.

After several minutes of struggling and grumbling, she pulled on her boots, smoothed down her rumpled apparel and stumbled into the hall.

As promised, Inglor was waiting for her.

"Where was the palantir the last time you saw it?" Haleth asked, determined to be all business.

"In my room," Inglor answered, looking at her as though she had taken a stupid potion instead of a hangover remedy.

"And that is where?" she asked.

"In here," he opened the door of the room next to hers.

It was almost identical to the room in which she had awakened. A bed filled one side of the room, a table and two chairs crammed on the opposite side. An open window let in the light.

The bed was already made. A stack of gold coins glittered on the table. Even with the potion in her system they made her eyes hurt.

Haleth closed the shutters and surveyed the room.

"They took your pack?"

"Yes."

"But they left gold for it? Thieves who pay for their theft. Polite people these Bree folk."

"No," Inglor’s tone betrayed his confusion as Haleth’s sarcasm sailed over his head. "Those are the coins from my pack."

Haleth fell into a chair and rubbed her forehead. The hangover remedy was not working as well as she had been led to expect. Maybe Inglor had given her the wrong potion? He meant well but he was so entirely clueless that she would not put it past him.

"So they took your pack with the palantir and all your things but left your money," she said.

"That would appear to be the case."

Haleth sourly reflected that Inglor should get an award for being utterly unhelpful.

"But why would a thief steal your things and the palantir and leave your gold?" She had to be missing something.

"It does seem most unusual," he agreed. "That's why I need your help. I thought maybe it is a human custom?"

"Not any that I know, and I would know," she growled. Something else occurred to her.

"Where were you when this happened?" she asked. "Did you sleep through the whole thing?"

"No," Inglor admitted.

She looked suspiciously at the made up bed.

"Did you sleep here at all?" she asked.

"No." He looked slightly uncomfortable, like his conscious was bothering him but that was impossible. The elf never did anything that would make his conscious reproach him. Haleth could not imagine him having a nefarious idea.

She silently waited for him to say more, but it quickly became evident that Inglor would not volunteer any further information.

"So where did you sleep last night?" she asked sharply.

"Well, after I put you to bed," he began.

"Wait!" Haleth held up one hand and supported her head with the other. "You put me to bed?"

"Yes."

That would explain the folded clothes. Haleth wondered if she should ask him about the circumstances behind this and then decided against it. It probably did not matter and his explanation would only confuse her. She might ask him where he had found her. Later.

"Very well," she said. "You put me to bed. Then what?"

"I watched you for some time to make certain you had not been badly hurt." Well, that sounded interesting. What had happened last night?

"When I was certain you were fine, I went for a walk."

Well, that fit. Given access to a comfortable bed for the first time in weeks it was a given that Inglor would not use it.

"I met one of the ladies from the common room."

"One of the ladies?" Haleth asked. Competition. The green-eyed monster raised its ugly head..

"Yes, there were several of them. Don't you remember?"

"Tell me later," she grunted. "You went for a walk and found a lady."

"Yes. She wanted to walk with me and look at the stars."

Stars. Of course. The room was suddenly hot.

"We walked into the fields around the town to see the stars better. But then she turned her ankle."

How original, the damsel in distress routine. Haleth fought to keep her expression neutral. Fortunately, Inglor did not seem to notice her deepening frown.  

"I offered to go for help, but she did not want to be left alone. She claimed there are brigands in the woods."

"So you offered to carry her," Haleth said.

"Yes. How did you know?" he asked.

"Never mind. I'll explain it later," she snapped.

"I carried her back towards the town, but her breathing became quite heavy. I was worried for her well being, so I suggested that we find some water."

Haleth knew that water would never cure the fire the so-called lady had been feeling. Not that Inglor would ever know it.

"Haleth, are you well? You look somewhat flushed."

"Just go on with your story," she said through gritted teeth.

"She directed me to a stream where I put her down and then..." he stopped.

"And then?" Haleth asked. Her voice held the cold edge of steel.
 
"I could scarcely believe it but she began to remove her clothing."

Haleth cradled her chin in her hand and rested her elbow on the table. She winced as pain blossomed in her jaw but her full attention was trained on Inglor.

"I was worried that she would catch a chill, so I had to hold her close. And then..."

"Then?" Haleth's voice could have split a diamond.

"Then she became rather agitated. I tried to reason with her but it worsened her mood."

"Go on."

"She accused me of being very happy and called me all kinds of names. Haleth, do humans actually do that with their mothers?"

The green-eyed monster shriveled up in the light of the expected.  Haleth stifled a mirthless laugh and carefully shook her head.

"I was worried that she would become physically violent, so I left her and came back to the Inn. By then the sun was rising. I checked on you again. You were still asleep so I went back to my room. The pack was gone."

Haleth watched Inglor narrowly for several minutes. He was his usual, utterly innocent, completely gorgeous self. She briefly wondered if there was more going on behind those blue eyes than she guessed. There almost had to be.

"You’ve told the Innkeeper?" she asked.

"Not yet."

"We shall have to tell him.” She got to her feet. "He may be able to help."

"A robbery?" Butterbur was genuinely indignant. "At the Prancing Pony? We haven't had trouble like that in over five years."

"Someone made off with his pack last night," Haleth nodded in Inglor's direction. Her head rang like all of the bells of Dale. What in the world had Inglor given her? It certainly was not a headache remedy.

"I have to apologise," Butterbur said, recovering somewhat. "These things just don't happen here. We're decent people hereabouts."

He flinched and gave Haleth the slightly ashamed look that all truly decent people have when they have accidentally insulted someone.

"We'd like to keep this quiet," Haleth said. She gave Butterbur the smile reserved for decent people whom she wanted to intimidate.

"I'd like to speak to your staff, if you don't mind." 

Butterbur swallowed hard and looked to Inglor for help. 

"I believe we should be guided by Haleth in this matter," the Elf said.

Butterbur's staff was co-operative but nervous. In spite of all of the travelers at the Inn, they did not deal with people like Haleth very often.

In spite of her slightly menacing presence, they were not much help.

"You're sure that's all of them?" Haleth asked Butterbur when she had sent the last one away, shaking his head and trembling in his boots.

"Well, there's Lily," Butterbur said. "She cleans the rooms. She went home earlier today. Said she wasn't feeling well. She did look a bit pale," Butterbur said, frowning. He was less than pleased with the prospect of the chambermaid having to face Haleth's interrogation.

"We can talk to her tomorrow," Haleth said, rubbing her temples irritably. She was quite certain that the theft had been done by an outside party. Butterbur's people were all far too decent to have taken anything.  It simply would not occur to them.

"There are brigands around?" she asked, remembering a snippet of information Inglor had passed along earlier. It seemed unlikely, but one never knew.

"In the woods," Butterbur nodded. "Some of Sharkey's men came back after they were driven out by the Shire folk. Do you think they are the thieves?"

"They're my best guess right now," she sighed. 

"What now?" Inglor asked her when the Innkeeper had bustled away. 

"Now I go back to bed," Haleth said. 

"But the palantir..."

"Is probably being used as a footstool by some stupid bandit," Haleth said. "We've got to find out where they're holed up. Even if we knew where they were hiding we couldn't just dance in there and expect them to give the thing back because we asked politely. Relax, Inglor, it isn't going very far. I want to be in better condition when we try to retrieve."

She was headed back to her room, her head still pounding, when she remembered something.

"Inglor," she said. 

"Yes?"

"Do me a favour and stay in your room tonight?" she said. "No more wandering around town with the local ladies."

"I will avoid the young ladies," he promised. 

"Stay in your room," she said. "Do this for me, please?"

"Very well," he said, giving her a very strange look. She was quite familiar with his repertoire of facial expressions; variations of confusion. 

"Good," she smiled and touched the side of his face before entering her own room. He had better stay inside.  There was too much at stake to have an angry husband or father chasing him out of town.

She lay down on the bed and tried to think things through. The burglar had taken the palantir and all of Inglor's things, but had left his money. Not only that, he had taken the time to dig the money out of the pack. It made no sense. 

Still thinking, she drifted off to sleep. 

A small figure moved furtively in the dim light of the early morning. Heavily burdened, it stopped at the bottom of the stairs and quickly rummaged through the pack it carried. 

It pulled out a perfectly round, extremely heavy ball and placed it at the foot of the stairs. 

Unencumbered, it ran to one of the storage rooms of the Inn of the Prancing Pony. 

"Did you get it?" breathed an excited voice.

"Yes."

There was much muffled excitement and a small crowd of figures circled around the pack.

Haleth, warm in a cocoon of woolen blankets, slowly returned to awareness with the soft whisper of rain pattering on the rooftop.

She took a quick inventory of her condition. The headache was finally gone. She could open her eyes without hundreds of tiny daggers digging into her brain.

She vaguely wondered exactly what Inglor had given her the day before. She had never known one if his remedies to fail. Perhaps that particular potion only worked for elves. Or maybe he had given her the wrong potion. Even elves had bad days and being attacked by the amorous 'lady' had likely put him off balance. 

Haleth seriously considered rolling over and going back to sleep when her stomach awakened. It began to remind her that she had not eaten the day before. 

There was also the matter of the missing palantir.

With great reluctance she pulled herself out of bed and stumbled around the room. A small part of her mind prepared her body for the day. The rest of it was occupied with the theft of the palantir.

The night's sleep had not brought any revelations. The palantir had gone missing, along with Inglor's personal effects, but not his gold. Hopefully Inglor himself had stayed in his room the previous evening. There was far way too much feminine trouble stalking the oblivious elf, waiting for its chance to pounce.

Moving with cat-like quiet, Haleth opened the door and peered suspiciously into the hallway.

It was no surprise to find a young woman standing outside Inglor’s door, her nails scratching on the wood while she whispered.

Haleth propped herself against the doorframe and watched the proceedings with interest. 

"Please let me in," the woman was saying. Even from the back she was a lovely creature. Golden hair fell in soft curves to the middle of her back. "The other night was just a mistake. I can change you if you let me try."

"I don't think he wants to be changed," Haleth commented as she tugged on the spilt ends of her sun-faded, ginger hair. 

The woman whirled around like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. 

"It would be a step up," she said, regarding Haleth with a sneer. 

Fighting words before breakfast. Inglor certainly did have an affect on women.

"I've taken plenty of steps with him." Haleth smiled a slow, wicked smile. "From one end of Eridaor to the other. All those nights alone together in the wilderness. Just the two of us and the stars." 

The young lady uttered a word that no lady should know.

"I'll tell you what," Haleth said, pushing past her would be rival. "Why don't we just ask him?

"Inglor." She rapped on his door.

The door opened so quickly that Haleth almost knocked on the elf’s nose.

"Haleth, I'm so glad you're awake." He pulled her into the room and quickly shut the door on the red-faced woman. Haleth had half an instant to grin triumphantly at her before the latch snicked shut. 

"Is she the one who turned her ankle the other night?" Haleth asked.

"Yes. Her name is Daisy. How did you know?"

"A little bird told me." 

Inglor shook his head, not understanding the expression but not ready to question her about it yet.  Undoubtedly he had filed it away and would raise the subject again at a completely inappropriate time; most likely when they were running for their lives.

"She's been at my door half the night, scratching and saying the strangest things." A hunted look shone in his clear blue eyes.

"That's fine, Inglor," Haleth said with a lopsided smile. "I think I've frightened her away for now. We're going into the wilderness today, at least we will if that guide I asked Butterbur to contact turns up. I doubt she'll follow you into the brigands’ camp. And, even if she does, I'll protect you."

"I am not in any physical danger from her." It was a bald statement of fact.

"I know," Haleth laughed. "But she makes you uncomfortable."

He considered this. Inglor always looked good when he was thinking. 

"She wants something I cannot give her," he finally said.

Haleth unsuccessfully stifled a laugh. It came out as a snort.

Inglor gave her a hurt, confused look which only made her laugh all the harder.

"Don't worry, Inglor," she said when her laughter had spent itself. "We should go to the common room and look for our guide."

"Is she still out there?" he asked nervously.

Haleth opened the door a crack. The visitor was indeed still there, darkly scowling from the shadows.

"Yes. Still lurking about."

"Can you make her go away?" he asked forlornly.

Haleth considered for a moment. A nasty smile spread across her lips. "I think so," she said. "I'll need your help, though."

Several minutes later, Daisy had wilted away and Inglor and Haleth were seated in the common room. The fire blazed merrily in the hearth, its warmth driving away the dampness that hung in the air. The sky outside of the glazed windows was leaden and filled with rain.

"So this Daisy was the one who hit me?" Haleth was extracting an explanation of the other night's events from Inglor. The room empty except for them and one other patron who huddled by the fireplace, rubbing his hands to warm them. With patched clothes and several day's worth of beard, he looked even less respectable than Haleth.

The guide that the Innkeeper had promised them had yet to appear.

Haleth chewed on a piece of dry toast. It was the all her stomach would tolerate. 

"Yes, I'd never seen you take a blow, much less collapse. It worried me." 

"Then you carried me to my room?" 

"I just told you that," Inglor was more confused than upset by the repetition. He seemed to wonder if the blow to the head had affected her more than he had originally thought. Haleth was certainly smiling more than she usually smiled. The effect was somewhat disturbing.

"Don't worry about it, Inglor," she patted him on the arm. "I'm just enjoying the story." It served her right to get belted by that backwater fake damsel in distress. Too bad she had not been awake to see the look on Daisy's face when Inglor had carried her away. It almost sounded like a scene from one of those romantic stories that had always made her gag. Except the heroine was not supposed to be out cold and dead drunk. Details.

"I don't understand how rocking the bed made her go away," Inglor suddenly said.

Haleth lowered her head and coughed to hide her laughter. 

She was saved from further explanation when the man who had been at the fireplace wandered over. He stared at Haleth's food as it went from her plate to her mouth.

"Hungry?" Haleth asked him conversationally.

"Yes, actually, I am," the man said. He was a short, nervous with dark thinning hair and shifty, dark eyes. 

"Have a seat," she pushed out a chair for him with her toes.

She continued to eat while the shifty-eyed man watched her intently.

"Haleth," Inglor was shocked by her callous attitude.

"Yes?" Haleth said sweetly, delicately wiping the crumbs from her lips with a napkin.

"Don't you think we should..." he began.

"Ask our new friend his name?" she finished, glaring at the elf and hoping he would get the message. "What's your name, friend?"

"Barnabas," Shifty-eyes answered.

"Barny. Well, Barny, good to meet you. I'm Haleth and this is Inglor. He's an elf. I'm not. You come here often? Or did the wind just blow you in?"

"I came because I was hungry," Barnabas said, giving Inglor puppy-dog eyes.

He had picked the wrong target. The Elf could not interpret human facial expressions.

"Well then order something to eat," Haleth smiled. "I'll call the Innkeeper for you."

"That won't be necessary," Barnabas said, glancing over his shoulder. "I should be going."

"Haleth, this poor man is hungry, shouldn't we...Ow!" Haleth's foot connected with Inglor's shins under the table.

"We might be able to get something for you if you're a little down on your luck," Haleth smiled. "Unless you've got better things to do?"

"I've got no plans." Barny settled into his chair.

"Haleth, why did you kick me?" Inglor asked with reproachful confusion.

"My foot slipped," she said sweetly. "Sorry about that. Could you go and find Butterbur for us, please? Barny here needs something to eat."

She watched Inglor limp out of the room with a twinge of guilt. She had not meant to kick him that hard.

"What's your price?" Haleth asked Barny when the elf was out of the room.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Barny said, not very convincingly.

"You know where the bandits are." She picked up her remaining piece of toast and examined it, slowly turning it in her fingers. "We need to know."

"What's it worth to you?" Barny asked.

"Enough," drawled Haleth. "Name it."

Barny named his price.

Haleth grinned and shook her head. "That would keep you in food for a long time, wouldn't it? But we could always go looking ourselves. We'd find them eventually."

"It would take you longer," Barny pointed out.

"We can wait," Haleth shrugged.

"I am open to negotiations," Barny said, staring at the toast. "But I'm a poor man. You're taking food out of my mouth."

"Save it for the elf," Haleth laughed. "I'm not nearly as sympathetic."

They negotiated the cost and had reached an agreement by the time Inglor returned in the company of a kitchen girl who was carrying a bowl of stew and some bread. She hovered in the Common Room, stationing herself so to get a good view of the elf until Butterbur's wife appeared and shouted at her to return to the kitchen.

Barny tore into his food with the gusto of a starving man. The ensuing smacking, chomping and slurping effectively stopped the conversation.

Haleth examined her ragged nails, waiting until she had his full attention before finalising the plans. Inglor watched Barnabus with mild interest, then turned his attention to the dancing flames of the fire.

"You get half now and half when we get back," Haleth told Barny when he had drained the last drop of his soup.

He burped loudly in response, but there was not much else he could say. 

"We'll leave tomorrow at dawn. Good-bye," she said.

Barnabus belched again and tapped his fingers on the table.

"Was there something you wanted?" Haleth asked lazily.

"My money," Barnabus said, his eyes like burning coals.

"You'll get the first half tomorrow, when we start," Haleth said, kicking Inglor when he reached for his belt pouch.

Barnabus scowled darkly at the smug, smirking woman.

"I'll meet you just outside the western gate," he finally growled as he stood. With one last filthy look at Haleth, he took his leave of them.

Wanting to speak with Inglor privately, Haleth followed him into his room. The bed was perfectly made. She noted a bouquet of spring flowers sitting in the middle of the table. Their delicate fragrance filled the room, enlivening the gloomy atmosphere of the day. Haleth glared at them suspiciously. There were certainly no flowers in her room. The chambermaid must be playing favourites. Haleth could hardly blame her, but the small gesture further soured her already bad mood.

"Why did you kick me?" Inglor asked when she had closed the door. 

"Because I wanted you to be quiet in front of our guide," Haleth said as she flopped into the chair and pushed the flowers to the opposite end of the table. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, completely perplexed. He gracefully seated himself on the floor.

"Because I didn't want Barny to know that I wanted you to keep quiet," she answered.

Inglor considered this while the rain tapped steadily on the roof. Haleth stared out the window, forcing herself to watch the raindrops instead of watching him. 

It was a perfect day for sleeping or other indoor activities. Haleth shook her head to clear her mind of the other activities.

"Wouldn't he know that you wanted me to keep quite after you kicked me?" Inglor asked.

"He would after you told him that I'd kicked you," Haleth answered distantly. With a great deal of effort, she forced her mind away from her idle daydreams. "I don't trust Barny. There's something fishy about him."

This was met with a confused pause. Haleth sighed and silently began to count in anticipation of the inevitable comment.

"There aren't any fishermen in Bree," Inglor pointed out reasonably. "There are farmers and merchants."

"It's a figure of speech, Inglor," she sighed. She had made it to nine. "It means that I don't trust him but I don't want to describe the exact reason that I don't trust him."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not going to live forever and I don't have years to analyse everything," she snapped. There was nothing like a little frustration to get her mind off of other things, activities, whatever. 

"Take enough money to pay Barny half and leave the rest with Butterbur. I don't trust our guide to not try to steal anything we take with us."

"If you don't trust him, why are you letting him lead us?"

"We need the palantir back before the bandits learn what it is."

Inglor considered this. It made enough sense that he would not argue the point.

"We should get supplies," he suggested.

"That would be a good idea," she agreed. "I've run out of a few things."

Inglor sprang to his feet while Haleth hauled herself out of the chair.

"Shall we go?" he said, sweeping open the door for her. 

She shook her head and laughed quietly at his gallant manner. While she could appreciate being treated like a lady, it was wasted on her.

"We might as well." 

~*~

Inglor and Haleth left the Inn of the Prancing Pony at dawn the next morning. The female kitchen helpers and chambermaids, all dressed in their holiday best, came to see them off.

Rather, they came to see Inglor off. It seemed doubtful that they noticed Haleth at all. She examined their downcast expressions with a mental shrug.

'If only they knew,' she thought in sour frustration.

They exited the western gate of Bree. Barnabus was waiting for them at the side of the road.

"I want my money," he said the moment he clapped eyes on them.

"Please pay the man, Inglor," Haleth said, returning the guide's intent scowl.

Inglor passed a small pouch to Barnabus. The ragged man spun around. The fine chink of gold coins reached Haleth's ears.

"Follow me," Barnabus said once he was satisfied that he had been given the agreed upon amount.

They soon left the road and followed the wooded paths at the base of the Bree hill.

It stopped raining by nightfall, but the camp was still damp and cheerless. The next day they were walking again.

"How far is it?" Haleth asked as she stepped over another tree root.

"Just a little further," Barny said.

"You said that three hours ago," Haleth said, pushing a branch out of her face.

"Where's Inglor?" She suddenly noticed that the elf was missing. That usually boded disaster.

"How should I know where he is?" Barny said. "I was hired to guide you. Not to keep track of him."

"Relax, Barny," Haleth said. "I'm not blaming you. Where did he go?"

"The price goes up if I have to find him, too."

"You drive a hard bargain, Barny," Haleth gave him her best we'll-discuss-this-later-and-you-won't-like-it look. Inglor might be a lamb in a wolf's den when it came to humans, but he could look after himself in the wilderness. It had been three days since the palantir had been stolen. She had to find it.

"Give me an hour to try to find him," she finally said. "You stay here. I'll be back."

Barny scowled at her but made himself comfortable on a fallen log.

"The price goes up if you're more than an hour," he said.

"Of course it does," Haleth shrugged and retraced their path. It was impossible to tell where Inglor had broken off from the group. Calling his name would only tell the thieves that company was coming. She walked for half an hour, watching the woods for any sign of his passing. The search came up empty, so she turned around and headed back to where she had left Barny.

He was not where she had left him. She was just beginning to get upset about this when Barny sauntered into sight.

"Where were you?" she hissed suspiciously.

"I had personal business to attend to," he answered.

"What kind of personal business?"

He looked at her as though she was an idiot.

"That kind of personal business. Fine. How much further?"

An hour later they were lurking in the woods outside of the bandit's hideout. It was a depressing, ramshackle camp of lean-tos and shacks. The ground was littered with garbage It smelled of rotting food and worse.

Haleth examined the camp with a sinking heart. This was not an organised gang; it was a pathetic assortment of cut throats. There was no way these men could have taken the palantir, even by accident.

She had walked a long way and spent a great deal of Inglor's money. She felt honour bound to at least search the place.

Haleth counted at least three men in the camp. The rest must be busy looking for their next meal. One of the shacks had a lock on the door. That had to be where the valuable treasure was kept.

Haleth and Barny waited. Barny was getting fidgety. Finally one of the men came out of a lean-to holding a wineskin. He called to his friends, who invited him into one of the shacks.

It was now or never.

"Barny," Haleth said. "I'm going to get closer. You stay here and get ready to run if there's trouble."

"Don't worry, I'm already ready," Barny grunted.

She made her way around the camp through the woods, flitting from shadow to shadow. She watched and listened for any signs of the men in the camp. They must have been busy with the wine because she neither saw nor heard any sign of them.

Flattening herself against the wall of the locked shack, she floated to the front, crouched at the door and expertly picked the lock. Fixing the lock so that it looked closed, she entered the hovel.

Bags and chests were stacked against the walls. Haleth began to methodically look through each one, starting at the top.

As expected, the palantir was nowhere to be found.

She was about to give up when she noticed a trap door in the floor. Using her knife as a lever, she pried it up and looked inside.

"Well, well, what have we here?" an unfamiliar voice purred behind her.

There was a splitting, ringing sound in her head followed by blackness.

An insistent, angry buzzing pulled Haleth from black oblivion.

The dwarves were back, pounding the inside of her skull for all they were worth. Ropes secured her ankles and her hands were tightly bound behind her back. It took a few minutes to recall the events that had led to her new headache. She had been looking into a trap door when pain had exploded in her head and reality had faded to nothingness. Someone must have hit her on the head. This had never happened before and she berated herself for carelessness. She must be getting old. More likely being in Inglor's company was making her sloppy. She wondered where her erstwhile companion was. Typical elf, as soon as she needed him he vanished.

The noise gradually resolved into two or three angry voices.

Haleth opened her eyes to slits to examined them through her lashes.

"I wants da boots." The speaker was a tall, evil-eyed man with a thick beard and a jagged scar down the side of his face.

"I tole yous, your clod-hoppers is way too big for dose boots," a smaller, dirtier man replied.

Haleth's feet were cold. They had to be fighting over her boots. Her first impulse was to leap to her feet and challenge them for her beloved footwear. The harsh ropes cut into her skin when she attempted to move, reminding her that her best defense was to remain unnoticed.

"I don't care," Scar-face grunted sullenly, "I'll cut da toes out and den dey'll fit."

"Yous ain't gonna wreck anodder pair of boots!" The smaller was  becoming visibly upset. His face flushed to deep purple.

"She's awake." The voice was chillingly familiar.

"Good morning, Barny, you double-crossing snake," Haleth hissed. She struggled against a wave of nausea and dizziness to sit up.

"That's not a very polite way to talk to your trusty guide," Barny purred. "Teach her some manners, Scar."

"I wants does boots," Scar pouted.

"I told you dase too small for your gigantic feets!" Shorty groused.

"I'll teach you to have small feets," Scar grunted. He kicked Haleth squarely in the stomach.

She fell on her side, coughing and groaning. Where was Inglor? He was missing the perfect opportunity to play the daring hero and rescue her. She hardly felt like a princess lying bound and in pain amid the bandit's waste. People in her line of work could not expect fairy tale endings. Haleth would have to rely on herself.

"Now," Barnabus squatted next to Haleth, grabbed her hair and roughly jerked her upright. "What exactly did you expect to find here?"

"A bunch of big-footed idiots," Haleth answered. Barny gestured. Once again Scar kicked her in the gut, grinning at her grunt of pain. The blow sent Haleth onto her back, gasping for air. Scar and Shorty yanked her back to sitting.

"Now, now," Barnabus said, "I'm a busy man. Tell me what is so important that you had me lead you all over the country-side to find it."

So he had put them on a wild goose chase. She should have guessed.

"I forgot," she said disdainfully, tensing her aching stomach muscles in anticipation of another attack.

"I told you she wouldn't voluntarily tell you anything, Barnabus. Let me have a word with her." The words were spoken by the reasonable, cultured voice of a subtle scholar who specialised in pain and fear. Barnabus became very pale. Scar and Shorty slowly backed away.

Haleth wiggled around to get a look at the new-comer. He was short with dark hair and eyes and dressed like a merchant playing woodsman. He studied her the way a bug collector examines an interesting specimen before pinning it to a wooden board.

"Is there anything I can get for you?" he asked. He sounded as though he was hosting a dinner rather than interrogating a prisoner.

"My boots, something to cut these ropes and a really fast horse," she answered.

Scholar threw back his head and laughed. The rest of the thugs laughed, too, their mirth forced and blended with fear. The sound sent shivers down Haleth's spine.

"I can get you some of those things," Scholar smiled.

He motioned to Shorty. "Give her the boots."

Shorty grimaced but did not protest. He dropped the boots in front of Haleth, who jammed her feet into them until the ropes got in the way.

"Thank-you," she said.

Scholar crouched next to her, a companionable smile on his face. "Now I've given you something. I expect something in return. That's how things work here, isn't it, fellows?"

Three heads bobbed up and down like frantic chickens.

"What were you looking for?" he asked pleasantly.

"Go climb a tree," Haleth smiled.

"Tsk, tsk," said Scholar, apparently disappointed. "And here I thought you were fairly intelligent." His hand flicked towards his belt and a jagged blade appeared beneath Haleth's nose.

"I can use this for one of two things," Scholar sounded like a disappointed but loving father putting a recalcitrant child on the straight and narrow. "I can cut your bonds, or I can cut you. It's entirely your decision."

He let the blade dangle before Haleth's eyes. She watched it intently and tried to think of a way to escape. No brilliant, daring plans presented themselves.

"I do hope you'll be reasonable," Scholar said.

A gurgling noise interrupted them. Scar dropped to his knees.  An arrow was embedded in this throat.

"Oh no," Scholar said in a slightly annoyed tone. "How many times have I told you men..." He was cut off by the twang of more arrows.

The cavalry had arrived.

The outlaws scattered like leaves in a wind storm, flying into the surrounding trees while arrows whined and whistled through the air.

Haleth, seemingly forgotten, flattened herself onto the ground and hoped that no one with a bow noticed her. She wriggled in her bonds and felt them begin to loosen.

A tall, grim man appeared at the edge of the clearing. He was dressed in greens and browns than blended into the forest. Another man joined him. They moved cautiously into the centre of the camp, watching the woods and checking the bodies as they advanced. The Rangers of the North had arrived.

"Am I glad to see you," Haleth said with relief when one of them reached her. "What took you so long? Did your invitation get lost?"

"You've just gotten a temporary reprieve, thief," the Ranger said. "The King's law will deal with you once we return to Bree."

Haleth let this announcement rattle around in her brain.

"No, no," she said in her best reasonable voice. "They captured me."

"After you double-crossed them. There's little doubt we have interrupted a thieves' quarrel. Save it for the judge. On your feet."

Haleth's mouth thinned to a very fine line.  The expression would have made Inglor take one giant step backwards.

"It's a long way to hop," she said, looking significantly at her bound ankles.

The Ranger followed the direction of her gaze. He cut the ropes with a single stroke of his sword. Haleth supposed she should have been impressed and grateful, but the only reaction she could summon was irritation.

The Ranger took note of her boots as she struggled into them without benefit of her hands.

"Where did you get those?" he asked.

"Home," she said defiantly.

"And that would be?" he was obviously not pleased with her attitude.

"Far away from here."

Their pleasant conversation was interrupted by a second Ranger. He was dragging Shorty by the scruff of the neck. Soon the camp was filled with captured thieves and grim, dark-haired Rangers. Barnabus was there but Scholar had escaped.

"On your feet," the leader of the Rangers boomed. Four bandits jumped to their feet like rabbits with a hotfoot. Haleth stood up more slowly.

"You will be taken to Bree where you will be given the King's Justice," the leader intoned dourly. "Anyone attempting to escape will be hunted down and returned to face Justice." He looked significantly at Haleth when he said this. She rolled her eyes.

The Rangers marshaled their bedraggled captives, roped them together and marched them out of the camp in single file. Haleth was placed in the middle of the line.

"I'm going to die. I'm going to die," a soft voice repeated a whiney litany.

"Relax, Barny," Haleth said. "At least the King's men will kill you quickly. It's better than what your leader would do if he caught you."

Barnabus emitted a quiet sob.

They reached the road after two hours of slow march through heavy undergrowth. 

"You really did lead us on a wild goose chase, didn't you?" Haleth murmured to Barny. A muffled sniffle was the only answer.

"No speaking among the prisoners," a Ranger called in an authoritative voice.

"So it's alright if I talk to you instead?" asked Haleth brightly. At least two of the thieves chuckled softly at the look of angry consternation on the Ranger's face. The rest of the Rangers pretended they had not heard.

"No," said the Ranger dourly.

"Why not?" asked Haleth with all the innocence of a child.

"There is nothing to say," the Ranger replied after a few seconds of thought.

"Spoil sport!" Haleth made a face and laughed.

This was met with stony silence. The outlaws looked at her with a mixture of admiration and hatred. It was probably time to be quiet.

She could not resist one last comment.

"Don't you ever smile?" she asked the closest Ranger. He avoided eye contact and refused to answer the question.

Haleth's head hurt far too much for her to keep up the one-sided banter. She trudged silently in line with the rest of the thieves.

After four hours of walking with brief breaks for water, they rounded a bend in the road. A tall man on a horse was in the middle of the road, deep in conversation with a familiar blond.

Haleth thought about calling out to Inglor, then grimly decided to see if he would notice her.

"Haleth?" Inglor was decidedly confused as the line of prisoners filed past him.

"Hello, Inglor," Haleth grinned. "Care to join the party? Lots of rest stops and all the water you can drink. The ropes come free."

"You know this..." the Ranger looked though he was struggling to find a polite description of the disheveled, bloody and mud-caked Haleth. "...woman?"

"She is my traveling companion," said Inglor. "Why is she bound with the outlaws?"

"She will be released at once." The mounted Ranger glared at his men.

"Don't trouble yourself," Haleth grinned as the ropes fell from her wrists. She noted the expressions of the Rangers with carefully hidden glee as she joined Inglor.

"Where did you go?" she asked the elf.

"I heard rumour of the Rangers passing through the area so I searched for them," he said.

"And you didn't bother telling me?" she asked.

"One of us had to keep searching for the palantir." Inglor seemed to be worried. "I knew that you would argue with me if I told you where I was going and that would slow our progress. So I left without mentioning my intent.

"What happened? You're a mess."

Haleth looked at herself. Blood and mud stained the front of her clothing. She rubbed her face. Dried blood and mud flaked onto her fingers. Her hair was matted to her skull with the same filthy combination and her head was still pounding.

"There was a problem," she said slowly.

"You were caught," he said.

"Barny there double-crossed me," she explained angrily.

"I can't leave you alone for a minute." Inglor shook his head sadly.

"I could have managed," Haleth grunted.

"Of course you could have," Inglor agreed soothingly.

"Shut up, Inglor," she snapped.

"As you command," he bowed ironically.

"If you two have finished greeting each other, it's time we were going." The Rangers seemed to be in a hurry.

Haleth and Inglor fell into step behind the rest, then slowly lagged behind until they were out of earshot.

The morning of the theft, at the Inn of the Prancing Pony.

It was still early, but the weather promised to hold and the travellers had far to go. Froi the dwarf rose at dawn and made his way towards the Common Room for an early breakfast.

His company would be well away from the trouble that had been brewing at the Inn of the Prancing Pony the previous evening. Humans were too violent. Even their women fought against each other instead of doing something useful, like metalworking.

It was hardly surprising that an elf had instigated the uproar. From claiming necklaces that were not their own to forging over-powerful rings, elves had been responsible for much of Middle-earth’s grief.

Annoyed at the world in general, Froi tromped down the stairs in his heavy boots.

Something awaited him at the bottom. It was round and large and flickered with an inner blue light of its own.

It could not be.

Froi had heard of the palantiri, but he had never thought he would catch a glimpse of one, let alone find one in a human inn.

It was just sitting there, plainly discarded. He glanced around quickly for the owner. Nothing moved in the morning stillness.

"Hello?" he whispered. "Does this belong to anyone?"

Silence answered him.

"So you won't mind if I take it, then. Don't say anything if the answer is yes."

As he picked up the palantir, he reflected that humans simply did not understand the value of anything.

Haleth limped next to Inglor leaving a trail of dried mud and worse behind her. The elf did not comment on her appearance. Haleth tried to guess the reason for his restraint; either he was respecting her pride or the dirt made no difference to him because, by his standards, she always looked awful. Inglor had never given any indication of worrying about her dignity before.  The internal fretting did nothing to soothe her already damaged pride.

"Did you find it?" Inglor asked abruptly.

That explained his lack of concern. He was preoccupied with the palantir.

"No," she said sullenly. "I was about to look into a trap door when someone turned out the lights."

This was met with the variety of silence that heralded a string of baffled questions.

"You had a candle with you?" asked Inglor.

"No, Inglor, it's just a saying," Haleth sighed. "Someone hit me on the head."

"They put out the candle with your head?"

"Inglor," said Haleth, rubbing her forehead.  She dislodged a patch of muddy leaf mold.  It slowly drifted to the ground. "This hasn't been one of my better days. I've been knocked out, kicked, punched and almost butchered. I'm not in the mood to explain every single phrase you don't understand so please just save them up and I'll try my best to enlighten you on a day when my head doesn't hurt. Can you do that for me? Please?"

He seemed to consider. Something in his expression made Haleth believe she was eventually going to regret her offer.

"Very well," he said, though he was obviously not satisfied with the compromise.

They entered a less wild area, passing small, outlying farms. The honest farm folk and their children came out to watch the Rangers, their prisoners, and the mismatched pair following in their wake.

"Why are they staring?" asked Inglor.

"They don't see Rangers with prisoners everyday," Haleth answered. "It's exciting for them."

"Seeing you is a thrill, too," she added as an afterthought.

"Haleth?"

"The Firstborn tend to wander so we Aftercomers can't see them," she said.

"Haleth?"

"I think that may actually be for the best."

"Haleth?"

"What?" she asked, annoyed that her verbal musing had been disturbed.

"That boy is wearing my shirt."

A farm family was lined up at their fence. A young boy of about eight summers stood in their midst. He was wearing a grass-stained tunic that was many times too big for him.

"You're certain?" Haleth asked.

Inglor looked at her as though she had finally lost her last wit.

Haleth watched the rapidly disappearing line of Rangers and former outlaws.

"I guess we should try to learn where he found it."

A cry of outrage pierced the air.

"You give that back or I'll kill you, you little scum!" The shrill voice of a teenage girl rent the afternoon stillness. She came running from the farmhouse, bearing down on the boy like a charging troll. "Mom! Make him give me back my shirt!"

Her shirt?

Haleth was mulling over the use of the particular possessive pronoun my while Inglor strode to the fence.

"Excuse me," he said to the family in his mellifluous voice. "I believe that is actually my shirt."

The girl, who had been focused on her brother, noticed Inglor, squealed and jumped up and down in excitement. Then she remembered herself and blanched. This was quickly followed by a deep, scarlet blush when she saw the elf looking directly at her.

Haleth sighed, began to rub her face and thought better of it. This was going to take more than a little explaining.

~*~

"I still don't understand." Night had fallen. The moon rode high above the scattered clouds.

The farm family had been dreadfully embarrassed to learn that their daughter had participated in a theft. It had taken much delicate questioning to get the full story out of the girl and it still seemed too incredible to believe.

One of Butterbur's chambermaids had taken Inglor's pack. She had removed the gold, which she thought was the most valuable thing inside of it, and divided the rest with the elf souvenir hunting young women of Bree.

"I don't either, Inglor." Haleth slowly shook her head being careful not to disturb it too much. She was relatively clean, the worst of the dirt and blood rinsed away beside the farmer's well. But her ears still rang if she moved her head too quickly.

She stumbled slightly. A warm hand was immediately under her elbow, steadying her. She was too tired to pull her arm away.

"I suppose we'll have to speak to Lily tomorrow," she said. "Poor girl."

"You're sympathising with her?" Inglor asked in his tranquil voice. "Her actions nearly resulted in your death."

"But I'm not dead. Plenty of others have deliberately set out to kill me," Haleth shrugged. "I'm certain she didn't mean any harm by it. If this becomes common knowledge it would be her ruin."

"How so?"

"She'll always be branded as a thief," Haleth explained. "Butterbur will no longer want her to work for him. Everyone will look down on her. She'll have a hard time finding a husband. It's a huge price to pay for one moment's indiscretion."

"Haleth?" The inevitable question was on its way.

"Yes, Inglor, that's one of the reasons I always travel," Haleth sighed.

His hand moved along her forearm and beneath hers. Hand in hand, they made their way back to Bree.

~*~

Morning dawned fair and clear, the last of the clouds riding away on the western wind.

Haleth, Inglor and Lily were in Haleth's room. Most of Inglor's belongings, except for the palantir, had been surreptitiously returned throughout the day. The chambermaid looked like a lost soul.

"It's all right, Lily," said Haleth. "We don't want this story discussed any more than you."

"I'm so sorry, Lord Elf," Lily sobbed, ignoring Haleth completely. "I don't know what came over me or why I listened to that Daisy. She was the one who split the things up. She kept most of it for herself."

Haleth raised her eyebrows several notches at mention of Daisy's name.

"Lily, there was a ball in the pack." Inglor's voice was soothing as a lullaby. "Do you remember what happened to it?"

"The ball?" Lily asked.

Inglor nodded encouragingly.

"It was so heavy," Lily said. "I could hardly move the pack for it."

"Did Daisy take the ball?" Haleth asked, half hoping the answer would be yes.

"Oh no," Lily answered. "She never even saw it. I couldn't carry it so I left it at the bottom of the stairs. I hid the pack but when I went back for the ball, it was gone!" She burst into fresh tears.

Inglor tried to comfort her by patting her hand. This only made the girl sob all the harder.

Haleth cast her mind back to their first night at the inn. Her memory was still very hazy. She remembered staggering down the hallway to the Common Room and encountering a group of dwarves who were leaving the scene of impending mayhem.

"The dwarves have it," she said with absolute certainty. "We'll have to follow them."

Somewhere along the Great Eastern Road.

The palantir was heavy, but the extra weight would be more than worth Froi's while. They were going to excavate Durin's doors and begin to return Moria to its former splendour. And that meant many dwarves having many lonely nights with their fingers lonely for the feel of gold and silver.

Froi, the big hearted dwarf that he was, thought he had just the thing to cure some of that loneliness.

The future was golden.

Somewhere further west along the same road.

"What did the Rangers have to say?" Haleth asked Inglor as they went along the Great Eastern Road, two days out of Bree. They were both riding sturdy, blunt-headed horses loaned to them by the Rangers. A mule was tethered to Haleth's horse, a gift from Lily's father. There had been no way to politely refuse it. She also had a new set of clothing courtesy of the women who had taken Inglor's things. Most of the town of Bree had come to see them on their way. Haleth had found it difficult to not laugh out loud at Daisy's sour face. Their departure had taken on a strange half sorrowful, half joyful atmosphere with the women lamenting and the men relieved.

"The Rangers will have to deal with the bandits first," Inglor answered. "Then they will send word of the palantir to King Elessar. He will decide the wisest course of action."

"I hope we can get it back from the dwarves before then," Haleth said, worried. "The King is friendly with the dwarves and both races benefit from that alliance."

"Haleth," Inglor shook his head slightly. "Sometimes you sound like a king's advisor."

Haleth's face froze, then she laughed.

"I am not the sort of person kings seek out for advice, Inglor."

"Why are you still wearing those boots?" he asked to change the subject.

"I like them," she said simply, glancing down at the weathern beaten footware. "They fit well. They were made for me. What's wrong with them?"

"They're worn through," he said. "They look like you've walked the length of Middle-earth in them."

"Almost, but not quite," she said.

"Why not get a new pair?"

"This is unexpected," snorted Haleth. "An elf lecturing a human to abandon the old. What next? Orcs with table manners?"

"Why not get a new pair?" he insisted.

"Because the man who made them was very dear to me and he is long dead," Haleth said, irritated that Inglor had badgered her into giving an honest answer.

"I am sorry," said Inglor with genuine sympathy.

"Don't be," Haleth snapped.

"The dwarves may have gone to the Lonely Mountain," Inglor said.

"Most likely," agreed Haleth, calmer now that the subject had been changed. "It's their closest large settlement. Unless you count Moria."

"Moria was abandoned," said Inglor.

"But the cause of the evacuation is gone," Haleth answered. "There's no reason for them not to go back."

"Except that Durin's Door on the west and the bridge on the east were both destroyed."

"They're dwarves," said Haleth. "They can repair those things. Have you heard any word of them returning to Moria?"

"No," admitted Inglor slowly. "But the people of Rivendell would know. We should stop there."

"Rivendell?" Haleth's mouth went dry. "Didn't Master Elrond pass into the West?"

"Yes," Inglor replied. "You know that. But his sons remain, along with some of my people who yet linger on this shore. We need their advice."

Haleth was silent for a very long time.

"Is there something wrong?" Inglor finally asked.

"Yes. No. Maybe. I don't know."

Inglor laughed. "You are beginning to sound like an elf."

"It must be your bad influence," she answered tartly.

"Have you ever been to Rivendell?" he asked.

"Yes, several times," she admitted reluctantly. "But not since Master Elrond left. I am not certain how happy his sons will be to see me."

"Why?"

She looked at him sharply. "I don't think I want to explain this."

"Very well," he said, lightly. "It likely wouldn't make sense anyways."

Inglor and Haleth rode into the valley of Rivendell in the middle of a spring afternoon. Tender leaves unfurled upon branch and bough. Birds fluttered from tree to tree, declaring their joy in the promise of the season. High clouds danced across the sky, casting an ever-changing pattern of darkness and light upon the valley.

Inglor looked magnificent, his blond hair flying in the wind, his face shining in the sunlight. Haleth tried to make herself as small as possible and hoped no one would recognise her.

The music of the waterfalls of Rivendell seemed to have faded since her last visit. Even the sun was not as bright as she remembered it. The tides of time were washing over one of the last elven refuges in Middle-earth, dragging it into the murky light of the Fourth Age.

If this bothered Inglor at all he did not allow Haleth to see it. He looked like one of the elven princes of old, tall and perilously fair.

Perilous would be the right word if Haleth could not learn to control herself. In the past, the elves of Rivendell had tolerated her on Elrond's insistence. That insistence was currently on Tol Eressëa. They might continue to respect his opinion out of deference, but only if she behaved herself.

Openly longing for Inglor would not be seen as proper. The object of her affections might be too distracted to notice, but Haleth doubted the half-elven sons of Elrond would be oblivious of her attraction to him. She grimly resolved to hold all of her wayward emotions in check for the duration of their visit.

A clear voice cried in welcome as they led their horses over the last bridge. Inglor answered the salutation, warmth and merriment bubbling from him. It made Haleth's head spin.

"Let me hold the horses. You go and greet your kinfolk," she said.

"I want you to come along with me," he said. He grabbed her hand and dragged her behind him. She carefully studied the toes of her boots.

"Inglor," one of Elrond's sons was there. If he was going to order Haleth out of Rivendell at least he could do it quickly. "We hadn't thought to see you again so soon. You've brought some unexpected company."

Haleth made a low bow, avoiding his keen, grey eyes.

"Indeed, Lord Elladan," Inglor answered. "We are in need of your help."

Haleth could never understand how anyone could tell the twin sons of Elrond apart. Yet the elves seemed to manage it with ease.

"And you shall have it," Elladan smiled at Inglor. "But you are weary from your journey. Rooms will be prepared and there will be a feast tonight."

Several alarm bells went off in Haleth's head.

"Come with me, Inglor and tell me what has passed you since you were last in Rivendell." Elladan's voice was light but his eyes bored into Haleth. Even with her gaze lowered she could feel their piercing examination. She willed herself invisible and fervently wished he would turn his attention elsewhere.

There was a brief silence. She looked up to find all of the elves looking at her expectantly.

"You go ahead, Inglor," she squeaked. "I'll just take the horses to the stables."

"No," Elladan said firmly, "You are our guest as well. You should rest. Celebedhel will show you to your room."

The tone of his voice told her she had better remain there.

~*~

Haleth paced the length of her small room, listening to the birds' evensong. She had thanked the elf who had shown her to her room and closed the door as quickly as politeness allowed. Once alone, she immediately begun to prowl its length and back like a large cat confined in too small of a cage. The pacing was briefly interrupted by a bath. 

Two dresses had been laid out for Haleth on her return to her room; one of a form-fitting, dark green silk that suited her to perfection, the other a plain, loose-fitting grey wool that washed out her complexion. Imagining this to be some sort of test, she immediately seized upon the grey dress.

Celebedhel, who, much to Haleth's relief was quite taciturn, returned once. She had found Haleth attacking her hair with a comb and had silently and efficiently taken it and arranged the hair into a very flattering style.

It had taken one startled glimpse of her reflection in a goblet of water to instigate Haleth in a round of hair style destruction. She replaced the rejected but elegant braids with severe and unflattering knot.

Now she paced again, up and down the length of the room like a convict awaiting the hangman. That situation might have been easier than this one. At least she would have felt obliged to try to escape instead of waiting for the worst.

Evening was passing. One by one the birds quieted as the shadows lengthened. Haleth was beginning to hope that she had been forgotten.

A soft knock at the door dashed that hope and sent her heart into her throat.

"Who's there?" she called, her voice breaking.

The knock was repeated.

She opened the door in time to have Elladan's fist almost connect with her nose. At least she assumed it was Elladan.

"The feast is ready and you are expected," he said simply. "I would like to have a private word with you first. Please come along."

Haleth swallowed hard and fell into step with him.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Because Inglor brought me," she answered truthfully.

"And where will you go?"

"To help him complete the task he has set for himself," she said simply.

"And?"

"And?" she echoed.

"Are there any other tasks you may need to accomplish?" Haleth imagined that his voice was tinged with the slightest hint of suspicion.

"Do not worry, Lord Elladan," she said severely. "I will keep my hands off of the family silverware. You've never had to anything to fear from me, for all that others name me a thief."

He regarded her calmly.

"None of the folk of Rivendell have ever named you thief, lady."

Haleth snorted and imagined they had actually named her something far less polite.

"Do you know who Inglor is?" he asked in an unexpected change of subject.

"An elf," Haleth answered quickly.

Elladan shook his head, exasperated by her deliberate obtuseness.

"The meal will be in there," he said, pointing to a door Haleth had never gone through before. "I will be along shortly. Mind the family silverware."

The feast was not in the large banquet room that had been used in earlier times. The folk of Rivendell were much diminished, many of the High Elves having left with Elrond. There were only a dozen of them in the hall when Haleth entered the room. Inglor was nowhere in evidence. She selected an empty corner away from the table and stationed herself in it, her arms crossed, her shoulders hunched and her eyes stubbornly trained on the floor.

"Hello," said a friendly elvish voice.

"Greetings," replied Haleth. She forced a quick, thin smile to her lips and glanced at the person who had spoken. She was a dark-haired, grey-eyed elf. She looked at Haleth with open curiosity.

"I am Daewen," the elf said by way of introduction. "I am one of Queen Evenstar's ladies."

"I am known as Haleth," Haleth answered.

"You are Inglor's companion?"

Haleth felt her ears starting to burn.

"I travel with him," she admitted.

"The food will soon be served," said Daewen. "Please allow me to show you to your seat."

"Thank-you," Haleth answered faintly.

She was seated near the extreme left of the table between two elves who had been talking merrily until her arrival. Her presence effectively killed the conversation.

"Excuse me," she said, and seated herself with her back ramrod straight and her hands folded on her lap. She watched her place-setting intently until she remembered that she had been warned away from the silverware. Then her gazes darted around the room for some other, less sensitive target for her glassy-eyed stare. To her dismay, nothing was available.

"This is Haleth," said Daewen, who was seated to the right of Haleth's silent neighbour, tried to draw the woman out of herself.

"Haleth, this is Guilin and this is Saeros."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Haleth mumbled.

"You're Inglor's accomplice, aren't you?" asked Guilin.

"I travel with him," she said. Accomplice certainly sounded like a guilty occupation, though guilty in a different way than companion.

The painful conversation died an early death when Elladan, accompanied by Inglor, entered the room. The company immediately rose to their feet, Haleth a fraction of a second behind the others.

The newcomers took their places. Haleth, who was facing west, placed her hand over her heart and bowed. The elves seemed to take no notice.

They sat down and the food began to arrive. The conversation at Haleth's end of the table was distinctly lacking.

Haleth had just put a mouthful of legumes into her mouth when Guilin said, "Tell me, Haleth, is it true that Inglor gave you his T'Ang?"

Haleth snorted. Several of the half-chewed peas were drawn into the back of her nose. She immediately covered her mouth with her hand and began to cough. Most of the rebellious peas were sucked into her windpipe and next she began to choke. She grasped the edges of the table and half rose in her seat, coughing and gagging. The elves watched her with fascination.

The legumes flew out of her throat and landed on her plate. One was still stubbornly lodged in her nose. Someone helpfully slapped her on the back. With a whoosh of airpower, the pea sailed out of her nose, accompanied by a quantity of blood. It landed on her plate with a forlorn, audible splat.

The room fell completely silent; even the ever-present roar of the waterfalls was muffled.

"Is this some unknown human custom?" Guilin finally asked.

"Maybe we should all try it to make our guest feel at home?" Saeros volunteered.

Haleth imaged a servant entering the room to a barrage of nasally aimed legumes.

"No, no," she said, holding her bleeding nose. "It was a mistake. If you good people would kindly excuse me." she stood to leave. Inglor half-stood. A quick flash of pain passed across his face and he sat back down again. Haleth, half way to the door, did not notice this.

"You will join us in the Hall of Fire later?" Elladan asked. It was phrased as a question but had the air of an order. She paused at the door and bowed to him, blood dribbling over her fingers.

"I am yours to command," she said. She hurried to her room, a trail of blood making her passage.

Much later, after the sun had set and the quarter moon rose in the east, Haleth made her slow, reluctant way to the Hall of Fire. It was bad enough being completely out of her depth, she had humiliated herself and bled all over Rivendell in the process. Compared to her wounded pride, the pain in her nose and sinuses was minimal.

She would have much preferred to sulk in her room, but she had to obey Elladan. She could choose the manner in which she would obey, though.

Haleth slipped into the Hall of Fire in the middle of a song. The singer stood by the fireside. The flames cast a golden light upon his face. The song told the tale of Thingol and how he had been mesmerised by the beauty of Melian so long ago. As she glanced around the room looking for Inglor, Haleth could empathise with Thingol's reaction.

The Hall was emptier than Haleth had ever seen it, the elves scattered about in the twilight in small groups or alone. Inglor did not seem to be present. She selected an out of the way corner, far removed from the fire. She seated herself upon a wide bench, her knees drawn beneath under her chin, and listened to the music.

"I am sorry for what Guilin did to you."

Haleth jumped. Daewen sat down beside her. "He always has enjoyed practical jokes."

"It was just bad timing," said Haleth. "There's no reason to apologise."

With nothing more to say to each other, they listened to the singer.

"You're not falling asleep?" Daewen suddenly asked.

"No," said Haleth. "Am I supposed to be?"

Daewen laughed. It sounded like the soft peal of silver bells. "Most mortals fall asleep while listening to elvish singing."

"Maybe because the songs go on for so long?" Haleth speculated. "Most of us don't have the attention span to listen to stories with three hour introductions. We simply don't live that long."

Daewen laughed again. "You may very well have something there. I shall have to mention it to Elrohir when he returns."

"He's away?" Haleth asked. She had never heard of the sons of Elrond doing anything separately before. But Elrond now walked the other side of the Sundering Seas. They had more responsibilities.

"He and Elladan normally take turns patrolling the area," Daewen said. "There are fewer dangers, but also fewer protections for Rivendell. I think they just use patrolling as an excuse to ride into the wild. They are very restless." It was plain from the way she spoke that Daewen did not understand this part of the twins' natures.

A dark haired elf beckoned to Daewen from across the room.

"Excuse me," she said, leaving Haleth to lurk in the shadows.

"So this is where you've been hiding," a familiar voice said.

"If it can be called hiding when I'm in plain view," Haleth said sourly as Inglor seated himself next to her.

"Lord Elladan wants to speak with me tomorrow," he said shortly. It was implicit that she was not wanted at the discussion.

The music flowed around them, a stream of silver and golden sound. It was all too pleasant to sit next to Inglor and allow herself to be carried away by the current of song.

"How long are you planning on staying here?" Haleth asked Inglor.

His answer was interrupted by Elladan, who stood and spoke in a voice that reached the furthest corner of the hall.

"We have a guest tonight in the Hall of Fire. It is our custom to ask guests to sing a song or recite a story of their home. Haleth, would you favour us with a song?"

All eyes were turned to a woman who had essentially been invisible for decades. Haleth ground her teeth in frustration. If this was a custom, it was a new one. Elrond had never bothered her with it. She suspected it was an excuse to get her away from Inglor. But it would be foolish to be overtly rude to the Master of Rivendell. With great reluctance, she slowly rose to her feet.

"I am afraid that my singing is not fit for the Hall of Fire," she said. "But I can tell a story from my home. It is a very old story, even by the reckoning of the Eldar.

"Once, long ago, there was a great lord who lived in the forest wider than the sea and wilder than the empty lands to the east. He had many men who looked to him as their leader.

He was accounted by all to be a great hunter. His closest companion was a hound. Now this hound was the fastest, bravest and fiercest hound in all of the forest, but he was very ugly to look upon. But the lord loved him dearly and fed him from his hand. And the hound ever coursed at the front of the hunt while the horns blew and the horses' hooves rumbled like thunder.

One day, the lord took a wife. She was not of the forest people. She hated the hound because he was ugly and because he stood so high in her husband's favour. She spoke against the hound, and, in time, she succeeded in forcing her husband banish the beast from the house.

In time, a baby was born to the lord and his lady. One day, the lady heard a terrible snarling and baying from the baby's room. She ran outside, crying to her husband that their child was being killed by the ugly, evil hound in a jealous rage.

The lord ran into the house and, taking his sword, bounded up the stairs and through open the door of the child's room.

It was just as the lady had said. The hound stood over the upturned cradle, his muzzle red with blood. Believing his son had been killed by the hideous hound, the lord cried out and ran the animal through with his sword.

Just then, the baby began to cry beneath the overturned cradle. The lord pulled up the cradle and found his son, unharmed. Next to the baby was the body of a warg. The hound had ripped out its throat.

The lord looked into the eyes of his dying hound and found not blame and condemnation, but understanding and forgiveness.

He never hunted again."

Haleth ended her story. The only sound was the crackle of the fire. The elves watched her, expressionless.

"Now if you will excuse me, fair folk, I am merely a mortal and need to take some rest. I bid you all good night."

Echoing silence followed her down the hall.

~*~

Haleth lay in bed and stared at the dark pattern of the ceiling, mentally kicking herself. Annoying and embarrassing the elves was never a good idea, and she had just done both in their home. She resolved to remain in her room for as much time as she could and hoped that Inglor would decide to leave soon. Eventually she fell into a light sleep.

She awoke some time later. The moon was covered by the clouds and although she could not see, she knew that someone was in the room with her.

"Who's there?" she called, sitting up.

"It is only me, lady," a familiar voice said. There was the sound of tinder being struck and Elladan's features appeared within a small circle of candlelight.

"Please forgive my intrusion," he said. "Welcome to Rivendell."

Haleth reflected that Elladan must be getting forgetful. Unless, of course, this was his brother.

"Thank-you, Lord Elrohir," Haleth said on a guess as she gathered the blankets under her chin.

His grey eyes studied her carefully in the lambent light. She was just beginning to become nervous when he began to speak.

"Who are you, Lady?"

'Why is everyone suddenly asking me that?' wondered Haleth.

"I am the same person I was the last time I was here, Lord Elrohir. A bit older and more worn but none the wiser."

"That I have heard," he chuckled. Then he became serious again.

"Do you know who Inglor is?" he asked.

"I will tell you what I know of Inglor if you promise me one thing," she said gravely.

"You have but to name it."

"Once I have told you, you will let me sleep."

He chuckled again. "You were right about being no wiser," he said. "Tell me what you can."

"He simply appeared one day," Haleth said. "I was in Laketown on business of my own when he arrived. I tried to escape, but he would find me. Every time I turned a new corner or bend in the road, he was there, waiting. Eventually I accepted his presence because it took far less energy than trying to avoid him. Beyond the name he gave me, I don't know who he is, where he came from or who, if anyone, sent him, but he is still determined to follow me.

"At least he was," she said truthfully. "Now I seem to be following him."

"I see," said Elrohir in a tone that meant he did not see at all.

"Lord Elrohir?" Haleth said when he did not move. "I know that things have changed, but is it now the custom in Rivendell to walk uninvited into guests' rooms at night?" She left 'your father never did this' unsaid. The silent accusation hung in the air between them.

"No, lady, but this weighs heavily on my mind. I had hoped you could be of more help."

"I am very sorry, Lord Elrohir," she looked significantly at the door.

"I bid you good night, lady," he stood, bowed lightly and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Haleth extinguished the candle and once more dropped into an uncomfortable sleep.

The next morning dawned cold and grey with the promise of rain on the western wind.  Haleth lay awake in bed, trying to pinpoint the reason for her restlessness. Something was awry, but she could not fathom what it was. It suddenly hit her like a thunderclap; she missed Inglor's soft breathing. Haleth forced her thoughts into another direction. For the moment she was free of the distracting elf.  She should be relieved. 

She lay under the soft, warm covers and stared at the ceiling, reflecting on the events since finding the palantir. She was getting too old to traipse through the wilderness. A bandit taking little care to be quiet had successfully crept up on her. She had only been caught that unaware once before, and that had been by an Elf Lord on her first mission.

Now that she considered it, there was more to the problem than her advancing age. Inglor was distracting her to the point of danger.

Traveling with an elf was making her soft. She was relying on him too much. She had been since he had pulled her out of the deathly cold waters of the Long Lake so many years ago.

Haleth threw off the covers and sat up, determined to use Rivendell's facilities to sharpen her skills.

She saw Inglor only briefly that week and was never alone with him. It might have been her imagination, but he seemed even further removed from reality than usual. She wondered what he had been discussing with the sons of Elrond and their advisors. It would have been pointless to ask even if she had had the opportunity; Inglor, if he said anything about it at all, would only divulge enough information to confound her. 

Instead of fretting over private conferences in which she had no part, Haleth busied herself practicing her fighting skills. The thump of her throwing knives into a target was the only sound in Rivendell's weapons yard. She would have liked to have practised her sword skills, but there were no training partners available.

She was loath to admit it of a place that had afforded her sanctuary, but Rivendell had become oppressive. The empty buildings echoed with the ghosts of past ages, their roaring silence forcing her to the occupied areas where she felt less than welcome. Even her room began to feel sinister, as though she was intruding upon an ancient dream.

One night, unable to sleep, she took her cloak and a lantern, crawled out the window and made her way up the valley, stopping at a copse of pine trees. The needles lay strewn deeply on the ground; dead, brown reminders of happier seasons now past into memory.

Haleth kicked the needles into a nest, wrapped herself in her cloak and lay down on her fragrant bed. No sooner had she made herself comfortable when the first, fine drops of rain damped her cheek. She pulled the cloak over her head and fell asleep to the pattering rhythm of the rain.

Several hours later, she awakened to find a pair of boots inches from her face.

The footware belonged to Saeros, with whom she had not spoken since the evening of her arrival.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly. "Is your bed not to your liking?"

"It is not the bed but the person in it who is the problem." It was best to avoid offending the elves any more than she already had. Haleth, wrapped in her sodden cloak, climbed slowly to her feet.

"I have been researching your story." Saeros fell into step with her as she began to make her way back towards her room.

"Oh?" It was probably best to feign polite curiosity.  Besides, is saved having to answer embarrassing questions about her decision to sleep in the rain. 

"You were correct. It is very old. Incredibly old from your perspective."

Haleth stifled a sigh. 

"It seems to have originated with the Haladin, the people of Brethil in the Elder Days. And it was likely older than that; probably from the time of the migration."

Haleth considered for a moment. "Then it is far older than I believed, too." she said. An idea struck her. "Can you show me what you found?"

He seemed uncomfortable.

"I could but you would need to be able to read Quenyan to understand it. I could just tell it to you."

"I can read Quenyan," Haleth said quickly.

Saeros looked at her with surprise. Then he laughed. Haleth smiled along with him, suddenly realising that she had missed having someone to talk to.

"You are filled with surprises," he said. "What next?"

"It's probably better to not ask," Haleth grinned wickedly as he led her to the library.

Another week crawled by at a snail's pace. Haleth was gradually making her was through the library of Rivendell. Her research had been useful. She had found a treatise on how to rule 'strong urges'. She strongly suspected that an elf had translated it from an original human work. It had been carefully edited to remove any direct reference to the exact nature of these urges. It was not overly difficult for Haleth to piece things together from the elliptical allusions of the elven scribe. She studied the text, learned and practiced the principles. The recommendations were for meditation, strict mental control, strenuous, sustained physical activities and many cold baths.

Haleth would occasionally seek out Saeros or Daewen for help with some of the more obscure passages of other works. Except for brief glimpses, she had not seen Inglor, let alone spoke to him. The deliberate separation bothered her more than she wanted to admit. She had finally mentioned this to Daewen one day.

"You miss your traveling companion?" Daewen's tone was teasing.

"I miss traveling," Haleth replied, side-stepping the question. "It has not been my lot to remain in one place since I was young."

"How old are you, Haleth?" The question was asked in a conversational way.

Haleth considered the years of her life. They were a hopeless tangle of people and events.

"I don't know," she answered honestly.

"How many times have you been to Rivendell?"

And Haleth pondered the next question with no better results. The memories flowed together like water-colours in the rain.

"More than three, no, four times," she replied slowly. "I'm sorry but I can't remember any more clearly than that."

"I have always thought," Daewen mused, "That mortals tended to keep careful track of their days."

"Because we have so few of them," Haleth finished. "Comparatively, I mean. I have no explanation. I simply never expected to live for as long as I have."

Daewen laughed merrily and Haleth joined her.

The slow, measured days of another month came and went.

Haleth's time had become a pleasant routine of reading in the morning and practicing with her weapons in the afternoons. Evenings were spent hunting Inglor and watching the polite but determined efforts of the others to keep them apart. For Haleth, it had become a grimly amusing type of sport.

Throughout it all she grew more and more restless. The longer they waited, the more difficult it would be to persuade the dwarves to surrender the palantir.

By dint of much snooping and skulking, she had finally learned which room was Inglor's and she resolved to visit him.

She waited until the moon had set. Low burning candles threw quavering shadows onto the walls as she crept down the hallway. Her stealth was unnecessary as she saw no one.

Soundlessly she opened the door and flowed into the room, her feet making no sound on the wooden floor. She quickly closed the door as silently as she had opened it. Blackness and silence filled the room. Perhaps Inglor was still in conference with the others. Or maybe he was with someone else. A brutal spear of jealousy thrust through her, almost physical in its effects. She fought to subdue her rapidly spiraling rage. If she did not learn how to control her emotions they would lead to a fatal mistake. The fatality might not be her own.

Still waging a silent, internal battle she stepped into the darkness. Her foot connected with something which whispered musical protests at being used so roughly. Haleth lunged to silence the harp strings. Again her foot connected with something solid and she lost her balance, tumbling onto what had to be the bed.

Before she could catch her breath a very strong pair of arms grasped her. Her assailant rolled her into the blankets and pinned her beneath him.

"Haleth?" Inglor's voice whispered.

Haleth lay immobile beneath him. The scene which had played out so many times in her idle daydreams had unexpectedly come to pass, though not under the circumstances that Haleth had envisioned. She could barely see his outline above her. She knew instinctively what should happen next; her arms should encircle him and they should passionately embrace. Her arms began to move without conscious thought. They were quickly arrested in the entangling blankets.

"Yes!" she whispered hoarsely.

A band of yellow light abruptly exposed them. Someone carrying a lantern had opened the door.

Inglor turned his head to view the intruder, his profile towards Haleth, his hair tickling her face, hiding her from prying eyes.

"I thought I heard something." It was Guilin's voice. "Is everything alright?" He leant into the room attempting to discover the identity of Inglor's companion.

"It was nothing, Guilin, thank-you for your concern. Good night," Inglor answered with his characteristic calmness.

Haleth had a great deal of things to say to Guilin. None of them involved thank-you and all of them were profane.

Guilin slowly and reluctantly left Inglor to his privacy.

"Get off of me!" she whispered through gritted teeth once the door was securely closed.

Inglor pulled himself away. As he lit the lamp, a very indignant and disappointed Haleth threw off the covers and sat up.

"Why did you sneak into my room?" he asked.

"Because I haven't been allowed near you and I want to know when we're leaving."

He paused to consider.

"Why have you not been allowed to speak to me?" he finally asked.

"I imagine general opinion is that I am having a bad influence upon you," she answered.

'I know you're having a terrible influence on me,' she added to herself.

"How can you be influencing me?"

It was the same, old, infuriating Inglor. Haleth dug her knuckles into her forehead in frustration.

"I don't suppose that you usually have women lying in bed with you when people come to call?"

"No. Not at all. I have rarely had anyone check on me as Guilin did just now. But what does that have to do with anything?"

It was time to change the subject.

"When are we leaving?" she asked in a tone that would brook no waffling. "Or do you want me to leave without you? Because every extra day we spend here is a day the palantir gets further from us and there are likely other things I should be doing."

"Do you want to leave without me?"

"No." The reply held more than a touch of resignation.

"Then we shall leave the day after tomorrow. It should not take long to make the necessary preparations."

"Very well, then. Good night. Pleasant dreams." Haleth pushed the rest of the blankets off and went to her own room where she passed most of the night staring at the ceiling.

Froi's business was more successful than he had ever imagined it could be. To be fair, when he had first taken the palantir, Froi had no definite plan for it.  As he traveled eastward, he had thought to use the seeing stone to guide the reconstruction of Khazad-dûm.  But the best of intentions often go awry and Froi had stumbled upon a different use for it.  Within weeks of its arrival in Khazad-dûm, the palantir, despite being made by an elf, was by far the best known and the most utilized artifacts in the Dwarrowdelf.   

It fact, it was a bit too popular. The work schedule was beginning to suffer because of it.

Frar, the foreman, began to make discrete enquiries. It had taken some time, but he had eventually discovered the source of the problem. 

He chastised Froi in private, confiscated the palantir and then wondered what to do with it. The thing most certainly belonged to the new King of Gondor, but Frar had grave doubts over sending it to Aragorn Telecontar without first changing the images it displayed. Before the lads could become restless, he packaged the palantir and sent it, under heavily armed escort, to Thorin Son of Nain, King under Mountain.

Inglor and Haleth arrived at the western doors of Moria in the middle of the morning. After years of housing orcs, trolls and worse, Khazad-dûm was being reclaimed by its rightful owners. The gate stream bubbled and flowed in its bed, once more clean and free of corruption. A large company of dwarves was camped outside the Gates.  They seemed to be attempting to rebuild Durin's Door.

If the dwarves were surprised to see them, they gave no sign of it. The elf and the woman were led to Frar, who welcomed them politely. Surprisingly, Inglor was very well versed in the etiquette of dwarves. Haleth guessed that he must have studied it during their stay in Rivendell. 

After many introductions, bows and at your services, they were ushered to the tent that served as Frar's office. The place looked like a library that had been ransacked by a windstorm. Every available flat surface was covered in plans and drawings. Notes were stacked in neat piles on the floor. Frar swept the papers from the largest table and invited his guests to be seated while he ordered food and beer. A dwarf in a deep blue hood immediately scooped up the discarded parchments, arranged them into yet another stack and, with some difficultly, found a place for them on the floor.

Inglor folded himself into the chair, his knees almost to his ears. Haleth fared a little better. In spite of being somewhat cramped, she found it pleasant to have her feet flat on the floor rather than swinging in the empty air.

The elf and dwarf exchanged pleasantries. Haleth began to worry that they would spend the next weeks with polite nothings when Frar, who was far quicker than he let on, dismissed his assistants.

"You came for the palantir," he said when others were gone.

Dwarves were known for being blunt, but this was exceptional.

"Yes," Inglor shifted in his chair.

"It's gone," said Frar. "I sent it to Thorin, King Under Mountain.

"Guarded, of course," he said at their facial expressions. "It was causing too much trouble here with the lads. Far too distracting."

"How, exactly, was it causing trouble?" Haleth wondered.  She knew a little about the Seeing Stones.  They could be used to communicate over great distances but there had to be a second stone in use for the message to be received. 

Frar looked uncomfortable. "Nothing," he said quickly.

"How could nothing be distracting?" Haleth wondered.

The dwarf grunted and looked to Inglor for help.

"I do not believe our host wishes to discuss this," said Inglor, his voice unusually firm.

Frar aimed a pinched, grateful smile in the elf's direction while Haleth's jaw dropped in shock. Inglor, who never picked up any of the nuances of human communication, could apparently read those of dwarves with perfect ease. Was it possible that he was not as naive as he behaved?

"Thank-you for your time," Inglor said, prying himself out of the chair. "We are off to visit the King Under Mountain. Come along, Haleth."

Too surprised to argue, she followed.

It was mid-afternoon before Haleth's shock at Inglor’s behavior wore off enough for her to broach the subject.  They were climbing towards the Pass of Caradhras, passing through an alpine meadow filled with wildflowers. A cold wind blew from the snow-covered mountain top, chilling her despite of the warmth of the sun.

"Why didn't you let Frar answer the question?" she demanded of Inglor's back.

"Answering the question would have embarrassed him," Inglor said over his shoulder. "It is not wise to embarrass a dwarf. Such things rankle and they have very long memories."

It occurred to Haleth that Inglor had never worried about embarrassing her. Maybe he felt that she had a poor memory.  Either that or her embarrassment was not worthy of his notice. She felt a strong urge to throw something hard and sharp at the back of his unsuspecting head.

"Calm, calm," she whispered a chant from the Book of Calming Thoughts through her clenched teeth. "I am a calm, sheltered oasis in a storm. The storm shall pass and I shall not be drawn into it."

"But it could have been important," she said when they stopped on a wide ledge to rest the horses.

"It was no concern of ours." Inglor was sitting on a rock, the wind playfully tossing his golden hair.

"How can you be so sure of that?" she asked suspiciously.

"Trust me." He flashed his lethal grin.

She glared at him doubtfully and let the subject drop. She was too busy reciting the Second Chant from the Book of Calming Thoughts to continue.

"I wonder if there are any spiders left in Mirkwood?” she asked.

“I should imagine Thranduil and Celeborn’s folk have dealt with most of them,” he replied. “And the forest is called Eryn Lasgalen now.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Haleth shrugged, barely registering the change in name.

“No,” said Inglor, shaking his head.  “We shall take the route north of the forest.”

"Really?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes," he answered calmly.

"Why?"

"Because it is likely the way the dwarves went."

"It's also twice as long," she pointed out. "Besides, I don't think we really want to catch up with the dwarves in the wild and demand the palantir. They would be understandably reluctant to part with it in an equitable, reasonable and mutually satisfying manner."

Inglor looked at her quizzically, his head cocked to one side.

"They wouldn't just give it to us without a fight," she translated. "Even you are no match for a group of determined dwarves."

"I know what you meant," he said lightly. "I just wondered when you used such formal language. You are beginning to sound like an elf."

Haleth's mouth opened to protest and abruptly snapped closed. Her lips twisted into an ironic grin.

"I see no reason for me to sit here and allow you to insult me," she said grandly, rising to her feet. "When I can walk and be insulted.  Let’s be on our way."

It took three days to traverse the pass of Caradhras.

Haleth thought she saw one of the great eagles, a tiny speck high above them in the heavens. She mentioned it to Inglor. He gazed skywards, his eyes shielded against the sun by his long, delicate hand, but he had not said anything of it.

Wilderland was far less adventurous than Haleth remembered it. They had been travelling for days and had only twice heard the lonely howl of wolves in the distance. The Misty Mountains and their foothills loomed behind them. The green plains of Wilderland stretched away to the east and the great river Anduin glittered, a blue-grey ribbon under the summer sun. Beyond it, forest was a hint of darkness on the very edges of sight.

A glimpse of the forest brought a long abandoned thought to Haleth's mind. Inglor had never actually explained why he had chosen to go around the woods rather than it. The elves of Mirkwood were not of the same folk as those of Rivendell, but at least some of them were acquainted with the two travelers. Curious, Haleth wanted to know the reason for Inglor’s decision. A straight answer was undoubtedly beyond her capabilities to extract, but a few hints would give her something to ponder.

"Inglor," she asked as they rode along the gently sloping grasslands, side by side. "Why are we not going through Mirkwood? The elves would undoubtedly welcome us."

He did not immediately respond. Haleth was beginning to think that he would simply ignore her question when he began to speak.

"It is called Eryn Lasgalen now,” he reminded her.  “The source of the darkness has been cleansed from the forest, but there are still places where it lies heavy on the woods. It is too dangerous."

"Dangerous?" she exclaimed, incredulous. "Since when has that ever been a consideration? I'll have you know that I was going into far more dangerous situations before I met you. I don't need your protection."

"Haleth," Inglor reined in his horse. Her mare pulled a few strides ahead. The speech had been delivered in a bantering way, but Inglor was beginning to recognise the tone as a precursor to an enormous rage. Haleth's lips were pursed in a thin smile that did not reach her eyes.

"Haleth," he sighed, "I never said that you could not look to yourself. Our business is with the palantir. If we went into the forest, it would be far too easy to become distracted helping to cleanse the wood. 

“Remember what happened the last time we passed through Mirkwood,” he said darkly.

“Eryn Lasgalen,” she interrupted.

“Yes, thank-you.  Eryn Lasgalen,” he continued smoothly.  “If you truly wish, we can return there after we have delivered the palantir to its rightful owner."

Inglor was making a valid point, but Haleth knew there was more left unsaid.  His expression was odd. With a shock, Haleth realized Inglor was worried. What could possibly be upsetting him? Did he think she would ride off to Mirkwood…or Eryn Lasgalen…without him, intent on an adventure of her own? There was no point; he would follow.

"Very well," she agreed after a long pause. "We'll go your way. But I still don't fully understand."

"Good!”  He smiled, genuinely relieved. 

"Good that we're going your way or good that I don't understand?" she asked suspiciously.

Inglor spoke quietly to his horse.  The animal immediately began to move forward.  Haleth’s mare followed before she could give it any command.  ‘Must I always be one step behind?’ she thought resentfully.

"Do you know any songs?" Inglor suddenly asked.

Haleth glared at him, angered by the transparent attempt to distract her.  She could demand that he not change the subject, but experience told her there was little point.  They had had similar conversations in the past and they had all followed the same pattern.  It would end in Haleth losing her temper and shouting regrettable things.  Inglor would calmly endure her abuse until she lost her stamina.  Once she had recovered, Haleth would feel extremely guilty her tantrum but she would have learned nothing from Inglor.

"I know parts of many of the elven songs," she answered sourly. "But I cannot sing them properly."

"What about a human song?" he asked.

Haleth considered. Somewhere in the dim reaches of her memory were the songs she had sung as a child. Inglor had probably heard most of them before; they had been derived from the tales of the Elder Days. 

There were also the songs she had sung with her compatriots when she had grown, after her world had begun to unravel.
 
"Inglor," she asked. "Do elves use songs to make fun of people or situations they are not fond of?"

"No," he said slowly, as if the concept confounded him.

"Humans do," she said brightly. "Let me sing an example for you."

She launched into a wickedly satirical song which questioned the intelligence, actions and parentage of a long dead noble. Her voice rose and fell in long forgotten cadences which had not been heard in Middle-earth for over an age. As she sang it seemed that the voices of her friends, forever gone except in memory, joined her.

When she had finished, she glanced at Inglor and immediately became concerned. His eyes were as wide as saucers and his mouth hung slightly open with pure astonishment.

"Oh come now," Haleth laughed. "My voice isn't that bad! Besides, you asked."

Inglor forced his mouth closed.

"I never said it was bad," he said quietly. "It is simply that...the song. I have never heard anything like it."

"Human music is that different from elvish music?" she smiled.

"Not at all," he was incredibly distracted, almost awestruck. "It is difficult to explain. It is...new."

"No," Haleth corrected him. "It's quite old by the human way of reckoning."

"That is not what I meant." Inglor rubbed his face, his voice distant. "It has been a very, very long time since I have experienced anything that I have not seen or heard thousands of times before. I did not think there was anything I had not already encountered."

Haleth had known, on an intellectual level, that this must be the case. She had not truly appreciated how it would affect the way an elf saw the world. Or how finding something new could become an earth-shattering experience. She was worried about Inglor's reaction but he threw back his head and laughed. His mirth was a reflection of pure delight and Haleth found herself laughing along with him.

"Do you know any more songs like that last one?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"More than I care to admit," Haleth answered.

"Could you sing them for me, please?"

"I'll do what I can," she said. "Under one condition."

"What?" he suddenly looked serious.

"Once you know the words you must join in the chorus," she said. "These songs aren't meant to be sung alone."

An ancient, wheezing evil stirred on the rocky fastness of the Withered Heath. The hunting had been poor these past years, driving Lithul, the cold drake, out of the safety of his lair and into the wild. But now the south wind brought rumour of something more important than game; revenge. He had caught scent of the thieves who had stolen one of his very few treasures so many years ago. That, in Lithul's dim mind, had been the beginning of his long fall. He would catch those felons and make them pay for their crime, even if he had to track the entire length of Wilderland.

He eased his whistling body down the last slope of the Grey Mountains. Of course, it might take him awhile to catch up with the villains, but revenge was a dish best served cold.

Summer was fading to autumn when Inglor and Haleth finally reached the Lonely Mountain.

Inglor had gone alone to speak to Thorin, son of Nain, King Under Mountain, leaving Haleth to explore the town. The Bardings, with the help of the dwarves, had rebuilt Dale into a vibrant place since Bard the Archer had slain Smaug so many years ago. His great grandson, Bard II, now ruled in Dale, his father having been slain beside Dain Ironfoot at the front gates of the Mountain during the War of the Ring.

Dale itself had also suffered in that battle, but most of the damage had since been put right. The bells rang merrily on the hour and the streets and markets were busy with people buying, selling and going about their daily business.

Behind all the hustle and bustle Haleth could see the scars of the recent war. Some of the houses stood empty, forsaken by families who likely could no longer afford to keep them. There were few young men in evidence.

Women had stepped in to do some of the trades usually exclusive to men. Haleth found a woman toy-maker who ran her own shop, apparently alone.

The toys were among the most extraordinary she had ever seen. There were toy soldiers who marched to war in ordered ranks when they were wound with a key. There were tops, jacks-in-the-box, whirly-gigs and mechanical gee gawks of every possible description. If the proprietress had not given Haleth several significant looks, she would likely have played with them all.

She eventually bought a wind-up bird that could actually fly a short distance. It was a completely frivolous purchase as it was very doubtful that the delicate construct would survive Haleth's pack, despite the sturdy box in which the toy-maker packed it.

Haleth also purchased two small boxes of red candles which were labelled fire crackers. The toy-maker had brought her into the street to demonstrate these while excited boys teemed around them. When the wick, which the toy-maker insisted on calling a fuse, was lit, it burned with a loud sizzle for several moments before exploding into a shower of yellow sparks. Haleth's agile mind had immediately grasped the potential usefulness of these things and she could not leave the shop without some.

Now she ambled down the street, watching the people and looking at the merchandise in the shops and stalls. The streets were filled with people of all ages, from the newest of infants to bent, grey-haired elderly folk. Children raced up and down, intent upon their own games while their parents ran their businesses or did their marketing. The variety in ages and appearances, the boisterous shouts and haggling from the market stalls made it an altogether human experience. She stood in the centre of the marketplace with a lopsided grin on her face, drinking it all in.  Haleth had not realized how much she had missed human society.

By noontime her stomach began to growl. She resolved to find a place to eat by using one of the oldest methods known to tourists; she watched where the locals ate.

A rather large crowd of them was gathered around one small shop. An intoxicating aroma drifted out of the shop's open door. Haleth joined the throng. Fragments of conversations swirled around her. Most of it concerned the daily life of the Bardings; who was in business, who was in trouble. She half listened for anything that might be of use later and quickly discovered that Inglor's arrival had not gone unnoticed. This was potentially bad news under the best of circumstances. In a city that had lost a fair percentage of its young men it was disastrous. Haleth would have to insist Inglor stayed in his room at the inn or at least to keep out of the Common Room in order to avoid the type of trouble they had experienced in Bree.

There also seemed to be a stir about a new beverage. It had just arrived in Dale and everyone wanted it. In fact, it almost seemed impossible for people to get through a day without it. Luckily enough, Haleth was in the line for it, whatever it was. She would find out soon enough. The locals seemed to be suspicious of the owner and his family, though. She dismissed this as the natural doubts any tightly knit community had about newcomers.

Eventually she found herself in a seat on a long, narrow bar. She quickly scanned what the other patrons were eating.

To her dismay, no one was eating at all. They all seemed to be drinking a steaming, aromatic beverage. Disappointed, Haleth was about to leave when a server asked her for her order. Haleth looked around and said "I'll have what they're having."

The server, a blank-eyed young woman, hurried off and almost immediately returned with hot mug of brown liquid. Haleth sniffed it suspiciously. This was the source of the wonderful aroma. She cautiously took a sip and the hot liquid scalded her tongue. She put the mug down on the bar and looked around her, half intending to leave it there. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying it, so she gave it another try. She blew gently on the liquid before sipping it again. It was not as bad as she had originally thought.

Before she knew it, she had emptied the cup.

Feeling oddly invigorated, she left a few copper pieces on the bar and continued her explorations of Dale.

~*~

The shadows had grown long when Haleth returned to the Inn.  She had not seen Inglor since that morning when he had departed for Erebor and she had gone to the market.  He might chose to remain a guest of the dwarves that night. In a way it was easier for Haleth’s nerves than having him in Dale.  She doubted dwarf women would be drawn to Inglor as human women were. 

She might have less reason to be jealous, but it was very difficult to be left out of the negotiations for the palantir.   On the off chance he had returned to the Inn before her, Haleth knocked on Inglor’s door.

"Who is it?" came the suspicious reply.

"It's Haleth," she said, slightly annoyed that he felt the need to ask. At the sound of her voice he immediately opened the door.

"Who else would it be?" she asked as she stepped into the narrow room.  The red light of the setting sun blazed through the small, glazed window.  Haleth seated herself on the edge of his bed and blinked, dazzled by the brightness after the comparatively dim light of the hallway.

"I thought I was followed," he explained, glancing suspiciously glance up the hallway before closing the door.

"Inglor this town is filled with unmarried young women with no prospects of finding a husband. I'm positive you were followed," Haleth sighed.

"That is not what I meant." Haleth blinked, surprised to learn that Inglor did notice that people, particularly women, found him fascinating. She briefly wondered what else he noticed, flushed with embarrassment.

"Did the King Under Mountain receive you kindly?" she asked to change the subject, hoping the ruddy light of the sunset masked her blush.

"Yes," replied Inglor, sitting down beside her. "Thorin was most anxious to be rid of the palantir. He claimed it was causing some sort of distraction among his people."

"What sort of distraction?" asked Haleth, remembering a similar conversation at the western gate of Moria.

“He would not elaborate beyond complaining about badly delayed work schedules although he did occasionally say that he could not really blame the lads.”  There was a tiny furrow in the centre of Inglor’s perfect brow.  It always appeared when the Elf was confounded by mortal behavior.

"Oh," said Haleth blandly. She had a nasty suspicion about the nature of the distraction.

"He was most anxious for me to take the palantir away," said Inglor.  He turned away from her and rummaged through his pack, which was resting near the head of his bed.

"See?" He pulled the twinkling ball out of his pack for Haleth’s inspection. "The King said he was going to send it to King Elessar as soon as the next party of his people departed for Aglarond. But that would not be until the spring."

"I'll bet," Haleth said sourly. Leave it to the dwarves. She was quite certain that the mighty hand of Fëanor had not wrought the palantiri in the depths of time to watch dwarf erotica. She could not understand that level of frustration. Then she looked at Inglor and found a spark of sympathy.

"He simply gave it to me when I told him that I intended to take it to Minas Tirith," Inglor said. Why did his voice have to be so musical?

There was another knock on the door. Leaving the palantir on the bed, Inglor sprang to his feet to answer it. He held the door almost closed so that Haleth could not see the visitor.

Under normal circumstances, Haleth would have found a way to see who it was.  But being in close proximity to a palantir hardly counted as normal circumstances.  Inglor’s back was to her.  Although he had never expressly forbade her from looking into the palantir during their journey through the Cold Waste, he had been careful to keep it away from her.  Haleth knew this might be her only opportunity to look into a seeing stone.  All of history lay within her reach. 

Deliberately turning to shield her indiscretion from Inglor, Haleth leaned over the palantir and gazed into its twinkling depths. What should she order it to show her?  There were so many possibilities and so little time to decide.  Should she ask to see Valinor before the death of the Trees?  What of the kingdoms of the Noldor in Beleriand, long ruined and sunk beneath the waves?  Time was short.  She had to choose. 

In spite of all these entrancing possibilities, there was one recent mystery Haleth wanted to solve. 

"Show me what those who were just using you saw," she told the palantir, wondering if she had been correct in her assumption of what had distracted an entire mountain of dwarves. The palantir flickered to life. A small picture slowly resolved itself in its depths. Haleth held her breath and leaned forward in curiosity.

Then her shoulders slumped in abject disappointment. She should have known.

"These people certainly are friendly." Inglor closed the door. Haleth jumped guiltily at the sound of his voice.

"Who was it?" she asked quickly.

"I do not know," he answered. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just waiting for you to tell me who that was," she said, slightly annoyed.

"It was a lady," Inglor answered, confused. "She gave me something. What were you doing just now?"

In the space of a heartbeat Haleth ignited with jealousy.  The reaction was intensified by guilt.

"Nothing," she answered flatly as she silently recited the phrases from the Book of Calming Thoughts. 

"What did she want?" she asked sweetly when she had herself under control.

"She gave me these," Inglor held out a small bag. "Were you looking into the palantir?"

"That's right, Inglor," Haleth sighed and looked into the bag. It was filled with rich dark brown berries, except berries were never that smooth and shiny. "I wanted to know how many women are going to be lined up outside your door tonight."

"Do not talk nonsense," Inglor said.  Haleth stifled a twisted, triumphant smile; she had finally managed to shock the elf.

"The palantir only shows the past or the present. Never the future."  Inglor immediately destroyed her smug satisfaction.  The fact that he had done it so innocently rankled all the more.

"So you're expecting a long line of women outside your door tonight?" Haleth asked in a trembling voice. Guilt and jealousy were working their deadly combination on her. She took a deep breath, recited another verse from the Book of Calming Thoughts and vowed her reason would not be clouded.

"I should hope not!" exclaimed Inglor.

"Good," she shrugged, "Because I'm tired of being beaten by your paramours."

"I have no paramours here!" Inglor sounded as though he was actually becoming angry. The twisted grin returned to Haleth’s face.  It was possible to make him lose control after all.  It gave her an odd sense of power to be outwardly serene while Inglor was the one to splutter and blush.

"So you miss them, then?" she demanded in a bored voice while idly examining her fingernails.

"I have never had any at all. How can I miss them?" Inglor sounded desperate. It had likely occurred to him that neither truth nor logic would win this battle.

"So you don't want any at all, then?" Haleth asked, relishing his distress.  He had certainly caused enough to her.  She was finally getting some of her own back.

"I never said that!" Inglor held up his hands as if to ward her away.  

"So you do want...what...half a dozen?" she asked. "Would that do for one evening? Shall I go fetch them for you?" She hopped off the bed and floated out of his room, closing the door softly behind her.  She paused in the hallway half hoping he would follow her and continue the argument.  When Inglor did not appear, she quietly entered her own room, lay down on the bed and screamed into her pillow.

~*~

 
Cold moonlight streamed into Haleth’s room.

Despite the warm, clean bed, the night had been uncomfortable.  Once the initial storm of self-righteous fury had passed, Haleth was ashamed of her behavior and not just for the earlier nastiness.  She realized that she had been seeing Inglor solely as the object of her desires; a thing to be possessed, not a living, breathing individual. She had allowed this to dominate her perception of the elf. Repeating the empty phrases from a dusty book had simply allowed her to retain enough control to be truly hurtful and, worse yet, to take pleasure in the hurt done.

The entire episode had been a painful one of self-revelation for Haleth, who, more than anything, despised those who would dominate the will of others. She had always smugly believed that she never wanted to control anyone. Inglor had proven her wrong. With a shock she thought she finally understood the reason for her cold reception in Rivendell.

Haleth had spent several hours thoroughly cursing herself. Then she had wondered what to do about it. If nothing else, an apology for her earlier behavior was essential. She hoped Inglor would not demand an explanation for her behavior as she did not want to openly discuss this side of her personality. Especially not to Inglor, who knew her better than anyone and seemed to be fond of her anyways.

She marched determinedly out of her room, half expecting to see the imagined line of women outside of Inglor's door.  But there was only the sullen flickering light of a dying candle to greet her.  Her determination carried her across the hall to Inglor’s room and then deserted her.  She stood outside of his door in an agony of indecision debating whether she should knock or go back to bed. Perhaps he was asleep or at least resting.  It was likely he would not want to speak to her even if he was awake.

Haleth brushed the door of Inglor's room, her fingers barely touching the wood. If he did not answer, she would go back to bed and stare at the ceiling until dawn. Then she would try to pretend that the entire unpleasant incident had never happened.

"Enter." Inglor's voice was on the very edge of hearing.  It was almost as though she heard him without benefit of her ears.

Haleth reluctantly entered the elf's room. He sat cross-legged on the bed, watching the stars out of the small window. His face was a cast of beatific sorrow. The expression rent her heart, although a part of her was certain she was not entirely responsible for it.

She closed the door and sat next to him on the bed, uninvited. Neither spoke for a long time.

"So we have the palantir again," she eventually said.

Inglor did not answer immediately. Haleth was certain he had heard. She wondered if silence was some odd sort of elven rejection.

"Yes," he finally whispered.

"And tomorrow we shall take it to Gondor," she said.

"You are willing to go to Gondor with me?" Inglor asked. He finally turned to look at her, his eyes shining but very distant.

"I've seldom failed to finish a quest before," she answered, smiling with fake bravery.

"Thank-you. I know it will be difficult for you, but the road would be long and lonely if I were to go without you," he answered, placing his hand over hers.

His touch was warm and strong.  Haleth stared at his hand.  The breath hissed through her teeth. 

"I think it would be better if I gathered the supplies tomorrow," she said brusquely as she pulled away from him. "You attract far too much attention."

Inglor shrugged. "That does seem to be true." It was plain he did not understand the reason for this.

"I think I'll go and get some sleep," Haleth said and she stood to go.

"Good night," he said quietly.

Back in her own room, Haleth lay down on her own bed and stared at the ceiling. She would go to Gondor with Inglor, but she would travel away from there alone.

Once again Haleth was exploring the markets of Dale. Unlike the previous day when she had wandered aimlessly, now she was intent upon purchasing supplies for the journey south. She bought new water skins and food then went in search of a rope maker.

Inglor seemed to have recovered from their falling out.  He had given her the gift the previous night’s visitor had bestowed upon him. It was a bag of sweets; hard, crunchy beans covered in a sweet, rich candy that melted in her mouth. The bitter-sweet flavour reminded Haleth of the beverage she had sampled the day before. She had been eating them slowly but steadily for several hours. The more she ate, the more she craved.

Inglor insisted that he did not care for them, which Haleth did not believe. She thought he was trying to appease her after the unpleasantness of the day before, though he had not been the cause of the discord. It was certainly something men tended to do in the aftermath of a disagreement with a woman.   He was blatantly bribing with candy her to improve her mood.

The graft was working. Haleth’s step had more bounce in it than it had had for many years. She almost felt like singing as she moved from shop to shop, energetically haggling for the best prices.

~*~

Inglor sat in his room all that night and the following day worrying.

He was certain Haleth had looked into the palantir. Whatever she had seen had upset her greatly and provoked a devastating argument between them. The disagreement was nothing new; Haleth had attempted to quarrel with him many times in the past. Inglor had always deflected her anger or accepted the consequences of her outbursts without retaliating. He had always assured himself that she was angry at a situation, not at him personally.  But this time had been different.  Her barbed comments had been highly personal and his native tranquility had utterly deserted him. The entire episode was extremely disturbing.

He had been certain they were about to go their separate ways when she had knocked on his door, apologized and offered to accompany him to Gondor.  This had been an immense relief.  The thought of traveling all those empty leagues without her saddened him. Although he was grateful for her change of heart, Inglor reflected that there was no creature in all of Middle-earth as baffling as Haleth.

She was taking an unusually long time to purchase the required supplies. He was thinking of searching for her when there was an insistent knock on his door.

The breathless Innkeeper waited on the other side. His adolescent daughter and several of her friends stood behind him. Inglor's heart immediately sank. The scene was a little too familiar, especially in light of the previous night’s argument.

"Begging your pardon, sir," the Innkeeper said. "It's the woman. Your companion."

"What happened?" Inglor asked, imagining that Haleth had been knocked unconscious by one of the young, giggling girls who stood outside of his room.

"You'd best come," the Innkeeper shook his head. "I'll explain on the way."

~*~

Haleth felt as though she could fly. She stood on the top of the tallest turret in the town of Dale. One slender hand shielded her eyes from the westering sun. The other held fast to a slim flagpole. The Lonely Mountain loomed to her right, its bulk over-shadowing the town.

There was quite a crowd on the streets below. Haleth vaguely wondered what was holding their attention. It likely was not important. She swung around the flagpole, her feet dancing lightly around the thin edge of stone.

"Haleth!"

It was Inglor's voice. He was leaning out of a window in the tower. Why did he look so worried?

"Greetings, Inglor!" Haleth let go of the flagpole and waved. There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd as the scarecrow figure leaned one way, then the other and finally recovered her balance.

"Do not wave!" Inglor cried as he crawled out of the window and began to climb towards her. "Hold on. Just wait there and I will come and get you."

"Bring a picnic lunch!" she shouted down to him. She watched him climbing steadily towards her and wondered why he was moving so slowly. He was an elf. He could almost fly. She wondered what it was like to fly.

Haleth was about to try flying when a sharp twinge of pain fluttered across her chest. Maybe flying was not such a good idea after all. There was still the view, though.

"Look, Inglor!" she called, facing again to the west and as he clambered next to her. "I can almost see my house from here.

"If there wasn't so much geography in the way." She waved her hand dismissively at Wilderland, letting go of the flagpole as she did so. Inglor grasped her hand and pulled her back to the vertical.

"And if it hadn't been burned down," she added wistfully.

"Be still," he said, brushing the hair from her eyes. Haleth had never voluntarily spoken of her home before. He had often wondered about it and would have been very interested to hear of it, only not in this particular location.

She looked terrible. Her face was as grey as long dead ashes and her pupils were so dilated that only the barest sliver of green was in evidence. He drew her close to him and could feel her heart pounding like a trip hammer.

"And if it hadn't sunk," she added in a whisper.

"Be still," he said. "I will carry you, if you will allow me."

~*~

Inglor did not receive Haleth's permission to carry her. Her eyes grew wide and she gave a faint cry like a dying bird. Then she fell against him and was terribly still.

Living or dead, he had to get her off of the rooftop. He was vaguely aware of the crowd below as it buzzed like an angry swarm of bees. The clamouring whispers were drawn upward to him, but he could make out no individual voices, no separate words. It was a living, breathing force of collective will, an immense animal, watching him with horrid fascination as he carried Haleth to safety.

He could feel the potential of the crowd, the raw power and emotion that could be ignited by the proper master and his heart quailed at it. It was a manifestation of how mortals differed from the Eldar. The elves could only seldom call themselves together for a common purpose, and then only at great need. The Atani could do it on a sunny afternoon when something out of the ordinary happened.

There was a loud round of applause went Inglor handed Haleth to waiting hands on the safe side of the window and then followed her.

He retrieved her limp body and made his way down the stairs, unhearing of the compliments that were offered to him like scentless, forced flowers and of the other, less flattering comments directed at his companion.

"Do not die," he whispered into her hair. "Not yet. Not like this."

Inglor brought Haleth back to the inn, almost running in his hurry. The crowd parted before them and closed after them like the ocean.

The Innkeeper met his guests in the courtyard. He took one look at them and quickly led Inglor through the kitchen to his family's living space. They went to the parlour, the carefully decorated room where the Innkeeper's wife hosted meetings with the important women of the town. Sunlight poured through the wide windows which overlooked the Inn's kitchen garden. The room was tastefully decorated with horsehair furniture, a small, round table and hard-backed wooden chairs.

Inglor lay Haleth on the couch, grasped her cold hand and called her name. She gave no response, not even fluttering her eyelids. Her skin was beginning to turn blue beneath the ashen white. He placed his hand on her neck to find her pulse.  The beat was erratic and far too weak.

"I need a bath of cold water and ice, if you have it," Inglor told the Innkeeper. The man hurried away, loudly issuing orders to his family and the workers who had remained discretely out of sight.

Inglor hauled Haleth to her feet and draped her limp arm over his shoulder. Her cold cheek brushed against his.

"You must try to walk," he said with quiet urgency. He might as well have spoken to a corpse. He dragged the unconscious woman around the room, the only sound the scraping of her boots as they trailed along the wooden floor.

"Please, Haleth," he said in desperation, propping her against a wall and holding her chin so that her closed eyes watched him. "Come back." Had her eyelids fluttered? He felt for her pulse again. It was still there but weaker than before.

The Innkeeper found Inglor hauling the unresponsive Haleth around the room. The elf's fair countenance was unreadable. Haleth's face was as white as a china doll's.

"Excuse me, sir," he said. "It's ready. This way."

Inglor effortlessly swung Haleth into his arms. She hung there as limp as a ragdoll.

"I've called for the healer," the Innkeeper said as he led Inglor down the hall.

"Thank-you, but there is no need for that," Inglor said.

"She isn't..." the Innkeeper asked, unwilling to finish the question.

"No," Inglor answered in a hoarse whisper as he forced himself to not hold her too tightly. "Not yet. She may live, but few have the skill to save her. She has been poisoned."

He followed the Innkeeper down a hallway towards an open door. Several people stood there in a line, feverishly passing buckets of water into the room and empty pails out as though they were trying to douse a fire.

The bathing room itself was designed to be welcoming and comforting. It was softly lit by twinkling lamps which flickered on hangers set on walls made of fragrant cedar. There was a rack of large, fluffy towels and a shelf lined with lightly scented soap and bath oils. A long, half-filled ceramic tub sat in the middle of the stone floor.

Stepping around the bucket brigade, Inglor lowered Haleth into the cold water, resisting the urge to simply drop her and see if the shock would force her to respond. She lay completely still, unprotesting and unaware.

The young man at the end of the bucket brigade stood at the bottom of the tub. He held a full pail before him, a question on his face. Inglor took the bucket and poured it over Haleth, silently willing her to give a sign that she was somehow aware of what was happening. There was no reaction.

The Innkeeper intercepted a young man who was hauling a large bag into the room.

"It's ice," he explained as he placed it on the floor and opened the sack. He drew an ice pick from his belt and began to hack at the block. Frigid splinters flew about, sparkling in the lamplight.

"Allow me," Inglor said, holding out his hand. He took the pick shattered the ice block with three quick blows. Oblivious to the cold, he threw the frigid slivers into the tub while silently willing Haleth to react; to shiver, to flutter an eyelash, to stand up and punch him for dropping her into a tub of ice water. Anything.

Inglor, the Innkeeper and his two sons gathered around the tub, watching Haleth slowly turn from blue to grey in the gentle light of the lamps.

"You may go," Inglor told them softly, his voice gentle and comforting in the face of disaster. "There is nothing more you can do for her. Thank-you."

They reluctantly went, leaving Inglor alone with Haleth's still body.

He knelt next to the tub and grasped her shoulders.

"Get up," he whispered shaking her gently. Water splashed onto her face. If he listened very closely, he thought he heard her make a noise. A whisper. A sigh. A sharper inhalation when the cold began to pierce her.

He reflexively reached for her spirit to pull her back from the unlit road she walked. An impenetrable wall of darkness kept him at bay. There was no reply, no sign that she had heard him or even of her continued presence.

"Please, Haleth," his voice rose and was coloured with desperation.  He shook her with more force. Her head lolled sideways and backwards, almost hitting the hard sides of the tub, but her spirit remained stubbornly absent.

"Get back up!" he shouted. Then he released her and she slumped in the icy water while he buried his face in his hands, willing away the reality of her death.

He forced himself to look at her lifeless body again. She had sunk beneath the water, her hair floating freely around her face.

And then her eyes fluttered open.

~*~

It was a freezing, wet, penetrating cold of the kind Haleth had not felt since the night in the rain on the Cold Waste. Its icy fingers clawed into every fiber of her body. She tried to wrench herself away, but there was no escape from either it or the darkness surrounding her.

"Get back up!" A voice rang in her world of nothingness and ice.

"Help me," she tried to say and opened her eyes.

The darkness was replaced by a vision of Inglor's worried face, just inches from her own. It was a big improvement over darkness, even if the frigid cold still grasped her helpless body.

The rest of the world came into focus. She was lying, fully clothed, in a tub of ice and gelid water.

"Get me out of this!" Haleth tried to say. It came out as a soft groan punctuated by the sound of chattering teeth.

She tried again. "C-c-c-cold!" she shivered, dragging her hands ineffectually on the sides of the tub.

"Thank-you," Inglor whispered with grateful intensity. Heedless of the cold, he pulled her out of the tub and into his arms. Even in her state of half-awareness Haleth knew the comment had not been directed at her.

"W-w-w-w-wet," she said, shuddering violently. "H-h-how?"

"I put you there," he said. "It was the only thing I could think to do."

Haleth vaguely wondered if this was some strange form of elvish humour. They were in the stone-floored bathing room of the inn at Dale and she had no idea how she had gotten there. Her last, clear memory was of bartering for rope. Everything from that point onwards was fuzzy. There were shattered recollections of arial dances and balancing on rooftops, but those must be dreams. Maybe the new gap in her memory would fill itself in later, when the icy chill was not frightened it away.

"W-w-why?" she asked, still shivering as she huddled into his warmth. He carried her up the hallway leaving a trail of wet, cold puddles behind. They met no one.

"Shhh," he said as he opened the door to her room. The covers on the bed were pulled back. Extra blankets had been piled high on it.

Inglor stripped off her drenched clothes, put her onto the bed and covered her.

"Now you must sleep," he said softly and he quietly left the room. She could hear him speaking to someone outside the door.

Haleth lay shuddering weakly under the layers of blankets. Sleep refused to come, driven away by the cold.

The door opened and Inglor once again slipped silently into her room. He had changed into dry clothes. Haleth watched him through her barely opened eyes as he pulled a chair next to her bed and settled himself beside her.

"You must sleep," he said sternly.

"C-c-c-cold!" Haleth protested. She wanted to say a fair amount more but the effort was too great.

"Sleep!" he ordered.

"C-c-can't!" The weight of the blankets pressed down on her but did nothing to warm her.

"Haleth, I cannot sleep with you!" Inglor sounded genuinely upset.

She tried to tell him that she had made no such request, but her mouth stubbornly refused to obey.

"S-s-stay," was all she could manage. She curled into a tight, shivering ball and lay trembling uncontrollably under the mound of blankets.

There was a long silence. Then she felt the blankets being pulled away as Inglor crawled into bed beside her. He gently unwrapped her and then lay against her back, pulling her close to him.

With agonising slowness his warmth spread through the blankets he had left between them and into her body. The shivering abated. Sleep at last took her to temporary oblivion. Her final thought was to wonder why Inglor was not singing.

~*~

Long, golden rays of sunlight flooded the room when Haleth awakened, alone and weak as a newborn kitten under a mountain of blankets. Her arm had fallen asleep beneath her. She tried, without success, to roll over.

"Lie still." Inglor's voice was kind but weary. He watched her struggle ineffectually for several minutes before accepting that she would not obey him. He reached for her and gently helped her to roll over.

Haleth studied his face with her bleary eyes. He looked exhausted, as though he had been fighting for several months with no pause or rest.

"What happened?" she asked. She had never seen him look like this. She had not believed Inglor could become tired.

"Several things," he replied, a sad smile on his face. "The king of Dale has summoned us, the town is in a complete uproar, the palantir has gone missing again, several people have disappeared, someone tried to kill you and I have been thinking."

The list was too long for her to comprehend.  Haleth considered asking him to repeat himself, but experience told her she would be none the wiser if he did.   She chose one point and focused upon it.

"I guess we should visit the King," she finally said, struggling ineffectually with the blankets.

"Tomorrow," Inglor informed her in a tone that left no room for discussion.

"But..."

"Tomorrow," he insisted.

“This is not a good idea," Inglor whispered to Haleth as they walked the streets of Dale towards the King's hall.

"It's an even worse idea to keep a king waiting," Haleth replied. She leaned heavily on his arm and moved slowly. "Trust me. Mortal kings can be very different from Elven kings."

"Which Elven kings do you know?" Inglor asked quickly.

"The King of Mirkwood…or whatever they’re calling it these days.  And the ones in the songs," Haleth offered after a moment's hesitation. Inglor was beginning to learn a bit too much about her speech patterns. Her companion looked straight ahead and did not comment. She sadly reflected that the latest experience had changed him; his endearing innocence had been stripped away. She resented this far more than she did the attempt on her life.

They passed a group of workers repairing an awning outside a storefront. Several of them stopped to watch the unlikely pair pass by. Most wore a look that Haleth recognised as grudging admiration. She assumed the expressions were directed at Inglor.

As they went through the streets, she sensed that the mood of the town was angry. People grumbled at the market stalls, several of which appeared to have sagging roofs. Haleth wondered about that. The people of Dale were proud of their town and had only recently reconstructed it after the attack of the Easterlings. What had happened to their roofs? The good folk of Dale threw dark looks at Inglor and Haleth, but these quickly dissolved into faint grins after they had watched the elf for several seconds. The change was especially noticeable among the women. Occasionally one of them would look again at Haleth and frown. She felt a twinge of uneasiness and tried to hurry her steps.

"Slow down," Inglor told her firmly. "You are still far too weak to be running. You should not even be walking."

"We may have run soon," Haleth murmured. "I don't like the way the women are looking at you."

"They seem friendly enough," he said, flashing a grin at a group of women who surrounded a stall of flowers.

"To you, yes," Haleth said. "I think their feelings about me are somewhat different.

A young girl ran in front of them and stopped directly in their path. She was about nine years old with chestnut brown hair and wide brown eyes. She shyly held a bouquet of flowers to Inglor, who left Haleth wobbling so he could crouch down and accept the crimson red asters and bright yellow mums. The girl's face blossomed into a brilliant smile as he accepted the flowers and pressed something into her hands before rising again.

Holding the bouquet in one hand, he extended the opposite arm again to Haleth, who took it with great reluctance. She had watched the exchange, her face unreadable. The tableau revealed Inglor's inherent kindness even as it underlined how humans would try to make him into something they could possess. It was a terrible association for a small bunch of flowers given by an innocent child, but Haleth's mood was too dark to miss the undercurrents of the exchange.

"We'd better hurry or everyone will be trying to give you flowers," she whispered. Indeed a small riot of haggling had suddenly erupted at the flower merchant's stall and several other women were hurrying in its direction.

"There is a way to stop that," Inglor said. Handing, the flowers to Haleth he swung her into his arms.

"Don't you usually ask permission before sweeping a woman off her feet?" Haleth squeaked.

"Not in emergencies," he said truthfully.

"This isn't exactly an emergency," she said uncomfortably.

"Not yet," Inglor said with a wry smile.

Haleth sadly reflected that Inglor was beginning to gain an understanding of how humans behaved, at least in relation to himself. She tried to force herself to relax and to look ill and tired so as to not attract more misplaced jealousy. It did not require a stretch of her dubious acting skills.

They left the market square, where all of the activity was concentrated around the flower stalls, and entered a street of tall, stately, stone buildings. Pieces of slate roof tiles littered the ground. Several men and women were piling the fragments into wagons and wheelbarrows. They watched their passage with shaking heads and muffled oaths.

"Inglor," Haleth asked as they made their way towards the King's home, "Was there a wind storm yesterday? I don't remember the wind blowing, but I wasn't feeling my best. There seems to be an awful lot of damage to the roofs."

Inglor glanced down at her quickly, nothing readable in his bright blue eyes. "You do not remember?" he asked.

"A windstorm? No," said Haleth in confusion. "Was there one?"

"I'll explain later," he said.

A baffled Haleth remembered all of the times she had dismissed Inglor's questions with the same statement. It was not a pleasant feeling; she resolved to try to avoid doing it the future.

In the meantime, it was pleasant to be carried in his strong arms on a beautiful late summer's day like a princess at the end of a fairy tale. Haleth caught her wandering mind as Inglor reached the foot of the stairs of the King's home and tried to force her thoughts back to the matters at hand. Unsurprisingly, she failed.

"Maybe I should walk," she said, wriggling in Inglor's grasp.

"When we get to the top of the stairs," he said firmly. Haleth looked at him, startled by the tone of command in his voice.

"But..." she said.

"You are likely not strong enough to reach the top without assistance and it would take a very long time for you to climb even half of the stairs in your current condition. King Bard knows we are here, and, as you said, it is impolite to keep him waiting. Your weight is nothing to me and no one in Dale will ever doubt your physical prowess so please just lie still and allow me to carry you."

Haleth blinked in surprise. Most of what Inglor had said made perfect sense but none of it dealt with the main reason for her wanting to walk. That was understandable. He likely took her insistence as a sign of stubborn pride. He still had no idea how distressing his close physical proximity was for her. As she lay stiffly in his arms, she vowed that, if she could help it, he never would know.

At last they reached the hall of King Bard the Second of Dale. The imposing stone building still showed the marks of recent damage and repair. The walls of the main audience hall were cold, bare rock, albeit stonework of intricate and delicate patterns for those who appreciated the aesthetics of it. To Haleth, the room was cheerless and imposing. Any tapestries that had once adorned the walls had been burned four years ago when Dale had been overrun and the population had had to either retreat to the Mountain or perish.

King Bard the Second had taken the throne of Dale at an early age as his father had fallen in the Battle of Dale in the War of the Ring. He was tall and grim, as his father had been and his father before that. An advisor was whispering into the King's ear when he noticed the elf and the woman enter the hall.

They slowly approached the throne, moving at the pace set by Haleth who was unsure of her legs. Inglor bowed gracefully. Haleth unsteadily echoed his movement.

"Kind guests," King Bard said, rising from his throne, "I thank-you for accepting my invitation. Please come with me." He led them to a private room off the main hall.

The King settled himself in a tall-backed chair. Inglor helped Haleth to one of the smaller seats. She dropped into it with exhausted gratefulness. Bard watched her with a steady gaze. So this was the one who had danced along the rooftops of Dale, kicking down the awnings, eaves troughs and roof tiles in her path. She was not nearly as physically imposing as Bard had been led to believe. In fact, she looked quite ill if not frail. He turned his attention to Inglor.

"It is not often one of the Eldar visit Dale," Bard said, studying Inglor carefully. "You do us great honour. And yet I do not believe you to be one of Thranduil's people."

"No, Your Majesty," Inglor replied. "I am a Noldo of the House of Finarfin, what some might call a High Elf. This is my companion, Haleth."

"You are most welcome in Dale," the King said, reflecting that high as far as elevation might be better applied to the cyclone on legs that had accompanied him. "It is unfortunate that your companion was the target of murderers."

The implicit, unspoken question was why, exactly, she had been targeted.

"We carried something for the King of Gondor," Inglor replied. "Something that he would have been anxious to have."

"Would have been anxious?" the King asked. "Is there some reason he would no longer be anxious?"

"Because it has been stolen, Your Majesty," said Inglor.

The king's face darkened.

"I believe we may have a common enemy in this," Bard said gravely. "Have either of you heard of the Hosluin?"

Inglor and Haleth exchanged a quick glance. Haleth shook her head.

"No, Your Majesty," said Inglor.

"I know little enough," Bard said, getting to his feet to pace the floor, his hands clasped behind his back. "I will tell you what I do know.

"The Hosluin come from the East. There are those who say they were not always evil and that there some who are still not evil. I do not know if this is true, but those who came to Dale carried an unwholesome air.

"They presented themselves as merchants and sold an aromatic, hot beverage. It tastes pleasant and increases people's energy levels. But there is a darker side to it. It seems to be addictive. Consumption gradually increases and the addict becomes nervous without it. Many complain of headaches when they have tried to stop imbibing it.

"The Hosluin set themselves up here in the spring. At first we welcomed them as honest merchants, though there were those who did not trust them. More and more people began to drink their beverage. It looked as though the fears of the nay-sayers were unfounded. And then some of the townspeople joined them. They were, of course, free to do so, I am no autocrat who tells people what to think and how to behave.

"It may have been better if I had been. Only the Hosluin have access to the beans used to brew the beverage. As more and more people found they could not get along without it, the merchant, Adedrid, grew in influence. He never demanded anything outrageous, but he was becoming more and more insistent, as if he was testing the limits of what he could accomplish. And more and more members of the order were moving into Dale as his influence and business grew.

"There was nothing that I could do to check his growing power. If I had exiled him it would have been for no apparent reason and the people would have named me a tyrant.

"And then you came," he looked at Inglor and Haleth who were both watching him with great interest. "And now it seems as though the problem is gone because Adedrid has exiled himself. He and his followers have disappeared down the River Running."

Haleth shot a furious look to Inglor. They would have to pursue this Adedrid as soon as possible.

Inglor caught her eye and shook his head ever so slightly.  Then he stood and bowed to King Bard.

"Your Majesty, I thank-you for your help," he said. “Our path is now clear.  We must find these people.”

“So you can reclaim the palantir for the King of Gondor?” King Bard asked, watching his guests’ reaction. 

The revelation did not surprise Haleth who strongly suspected the King of Dale had ways of knowing what happened under the Lonely Mountain.

“We cannot allow the palantir to fall into the hands of those who would do evil,” Inglor said, barely batting an eyelash.  “However, we also cannot leave immediately as my companion is still too weak to travel." He shot Haleth a warning look as she drew breath to protest.

"You shall be my guests until her strength returns," Bard said. "I shall send messengers to Beregnil, the Master of Esgaroth."

"Excuse me, Your Majesty," said Haleth. "But the Master of Esgaroth and the people of Esgaroth itself. Have they fallen under the influence of this Hosluin?"

Bard paused, weighing his answer carefully.  Then he shook his head.

"No," he said. "Not the Master himself. Not yet." He looked as though he was going to say more but then thought better of it.  He rang a silver bell.  Its sweet, silver tone echoed against the stone walls.  A dour looking man dressed as a noble entered the room.  He bowed deeply to the King.

“A house and servants will be provided for you.  Lord Brithon will see to your needs.”  He favoured them with a polite if somewhat forced smile.  As they rose to bow, he left them in the care of his advisor.

Inglor and Haleth remained in Dale over two weeks.  Haleth was confined to the house King Bard had loaned to them for most of that time. At first she was happy to sit in the garden and admire the autumn flowers during the warm days and cool evenings. The contentment had lasted approximately three days. Then she began to chafe at her forced inactivity.

At first Inglor attempted to mollify her by bringing her books of the history of Dale and Erebor. Haleth’s temper soon wore on him and he disappeared for several days, claiming to have some business with the dwarves. He strongly suggested to Haleth that she remain in the house and rest. This meant Haleth automatically did everything in her power, short of jumping off the roof, to leave the premises. She was checked at every turn by the polite but firm servants Bard had sent to attend them. Erysa, the extremely competent housekeeper, was the best at foiling Haleth’s escape plans. No matter how quiet Haleth imagined she was, Erysa would always manage to intercept her just before she could get out of doors. The older woman would find Haleth standing by the door or opening a window.  She would immediately strike up a friendly conversation while apparently oblivious to the fact that Haleth was about to leave.  Inevitably an offer of tea and a bite to eat in the kitchen would be made. There was never any way Haleth could refuse without appearing surly and impolite, so she always acquiesced to being stuffed with apple tart and tea until she was ready to burst. At least she never had to do much talking. Erysa happily held up both ends of every conversation.

The only thing that could interrupt Erysa was her large, orange tabby cat. The cat would parade into the room on silent paws and stare at Erysa until the woman relented and found him a tidbit from the larder. This done, he would turn his intense, copper gaze at Haleth, trying to intimidate her into feeding him.

Haleth imagined the cat followed her around the house. He seemed to magically appear whenever she was considering an escape, to be followed shortly by Erysa.

Haleth had taken to hiding and jumping out at the cat at unexpected times. When she did, the cat would train his copper eyes on her, plainly contemptuous of her attempt to startle him. Then he would regally bathe himself while Haleth stalked away, unsatisfied.

Between Erysa and her cat, Haleth had been forced to limit her defiance to staying in the garden until the stars kindled their clear, white fire in the evening sky.

She was sitting beneath an oak tree the evening Inglor returned, without announcement, from Erebor.  She glanced at him quickly, then frowned and studied the ivy climbing the walls of the house. 

"When will we leave?" Haleth asked, each word as clear and hard as a diamond.

"You should be sleeping," he said shortly.

"It's very good to see you again, too," she said sarcastically, her temper eroded by a day of hide and seek with the cat and listening to Ersya's endless monologue.

"Haleth, I did not say this to be rude. Your body has taken a shock and you need to rest before we resume our journey."

Haleth bristled.  Inglor was right, but she was in no mood to admit it.

"I'm fine," she said shortly.

"No," Inglor corrected her. "You are still pale. You need rest."

"How can I rest when I feel like I'm being held prisoner?" she demanded in quiet fury.

"I am sorry, Haleth," he said sadly. "But I do not want you walking the streets without my protection."

"I don't need your protection," she spat.

"Someone tried to murder you," he said, plainly exasperated.

"If I recall the entire episode properly," she said with glacial calmness, "The poison was given to you. If I hadn't taken it, you would be the one requiring my protection."

"I am very much aware you were harmed in my place," he growled.

Haleth stared at Inglor in surprise. She had never heard him sound this stern. The veil of bemused kindness had been torn aside to reveal a grim, terrible and enraged Elf Lord.

Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated her next comment when her slim instinct for self-preservation warned it was probably not the best time to pursue the argument.

The realization had come too late. All of Inglor's incandescent fury was focused upon her. She twisted her fingers into the grass and tore the blades from the ground. All the while she refused to meet his eyes and silently willed him to leave.

"Haleth," he said, his voice suddenly gentle again. "I have something for you."

He knelt gracefully before her, took her hand and pressed something warm onto it. Haleth blinked at the silver ring that glittered on her palm.

"I can't accept this Inglor," she said quickly. "I have nothing to give you in return." She held the ring out to him, still resting where he had placed it.

"I neither need nor expect anything in return," he said gravely. He folded her fingers over the ring. His hands were warm and strong. "Please, take it and wear it, at least until the palantir is in the possession of King Elessar. Then you may return it, if you still wish to do so."

He studied the stubborn set of her jaw.

"Please?" he whispered.

"Very well, Inglor," Haleth said after much hesitation. "But only until the palantir is where it belongs."

She slid the silver band onto the fourth finger of her right hand. It hung there loosely, sliding easily over the knuckles.

"It's a bit big," she observed.

"Here," he said and, stripping the ring from her fourth finger he placed in on her index finger where it fit perfectly.

She examined glimmering circle and frowned.

"Thank-you," she finally said because it seemed like she should say something polite.

"I think I should get some rest," she added and rose to go. "Good night."

"Good night," he answered in a whisper.

Haleth lay in bed once again and stared at the ceiling. She felt like an actor who had played a scene without benefit of a script or even of the vaguest hint of background story. She assured herself that it would sort itself out when she and Inglor went their separate ways. With that dubious comfort, she eventually fell asleep.

Halmir the Dunadan led his party of five men and horses over the plains of Wilderland. Word had reached Gondor that a palantir has been found in the Cold Waste and then lost in Bree. King Elessar was anxious to discover whether the rumour was true or false, and Halmir had been dispatched to Bree to see what could be learned.

Halmir's party was on the Greenway, halfway between Minas Anor and Bree, when a bone-weary messenger stumbled upon them with the news that there had indeed been a palantir recovered only it had somehow gone to Moria.

Halmir led his men east from Bree, intending to stop in Rivendell, when a dwarven messenger caught them. The elusive palantir had been in Moria but was now on its way to Erebor. That was their new destination. Halmir wondered if he would actually manage to reach it before being ordered to Far Harad.

The Dunedain rode towards Dale and the Lonely Mountain at the same time that Inglor and Haleth were discussing travel arrangements to Lake Town.

***************************************

Froi hefted his pack. At first he had accepted the loss of the palantir. But soon he had thought better of it. He and eight of the lads had decided to retrieve the Seeing Stone. They reached Erebor shortly after Inglor's visit. The dwarves of the Mountain were still wondering about King Thorin's recent guest; an elf who had spent several days working at a forge. Such a thing had not happened in over an age.

After days of patient watching and asking questions in Dale, Froi's party of dwarves had learned enough of the story to realize their palantir was likely on its way south. It was not difficult to learn; Dale was still in an uproar over a theft and attempted murder by a group of men known as the Hosluin. Humans were far too dangerous to have artifacts like a palantir. Froi knew he would be doing everyone a favour by returning it to the dwarves.

***************************************

Lithul the Cold Drake slithered east and then south, following Inglor and Haleth's trail. He knew nothing of the palantir and would not have cared if he had known. One thing drove him onwards; the burning desire for revenge.

Haleth gripped the sides of a mid-sized boat that skimmed down the white waters of the River Running. The boat lay low in the water, laden with goods made by the dwarves and the men of Dale for trade with Esgaroth and the Wood Elves.

The waters of the river between the Mountain and the Long Lake were rapid and choppy. Sharp rocks jutted from the riverbed. The men who guided the boats downstream knew each stone outcrop and quiet pool like they knew their own hands.

Haleth had been placed in the middle of the boat amid the sacks and baggage and ordered to not get in the way. She had translated this to keeping herself from falling out of the boat and to not even dare to think about taking a paddle.

Inglor was directly in front of her, helping the men with the paddling. She watched the muscles in his back moving beneath his shirt as he worked. In the past it she could have happily contemplated his shoulders for an entire afternoon. Now she twisted the silver gift on her finger and frowned. She was completely certain the ring should not have been given to her but there was no way to return it, save getting the palantir to Gondor.

They shot into the wider waters of the Long Lake.  The new town of Esgaroth came into view. It had been rebuilt over sixty years ago after the old town had been destroyed in the death of Smaug, the golden-red fire-drake who had ruined the Dwarf Kingdom of the Lonely Mountain and the town of Dale before at last being slain by Bard the Bowman, the ancestor of the current King Bard II of Dale.

The bridge which connected the town to the shore looked very new, the beams and planks golden instead of weathered grey. The citizens of Esgaroth had thrown down its predecessor to thwart the armies of Easterlings during the War of the Ring.

The boat with the men from Dale made its amid the huge pilings and beneath the wooden streets of Lake Town, quickly threading the twilight maze to the brightness of the Market Square. The Square itself was lined with piers and bustling with activity as merchants traded goods from Wilderland and beyond. Dwarven metalwork, mechanical toys and crackers from Dale, wine for Dorwinion and strange goods from further east made their way to the Market Square of Lake Town.

From her perch amid the baggage, Haleth curiously studied her surroundings. It had been years since she had been in Esgaroth but the hustle and bustle remained the same.

The boat was tethered to one of the many piers that lined the square at water level. The men quickly jumped out to make fast the ropes. Inglor leapt gracefully to the dock and offered Haleth his hand. She took it and, with a forced smile, stepped onto the pier beside him.

"We should take that ladder," Haleth said, nodding to the north west corner of the square. "It should bring us close to where we need to go."

They said quick farewells to the boatmen, who were already unloading their cargo, and made their way in the appropriate direction.

"I wonder if any of the Hosluin remain here?" she quietly asked Inglor.

"We will find out soon enough," he answered sternly.

They reached the base of the ladder. Haleth made her way up first, Inglor following slowly, for an elf, behind her.

They found themselves amid a large, open air market. The wooden streets were crowded with merchants, longshoremen and local customers. Everyone moved with a purpose, whether it was carrying goods or haggling for a better price.

"That must be the Master's house," Haleth said, indicating a wooden building directly across the way. It was an impressive two-story home with large, glazed windows. Like all of the buildings of Esgaroth, it was made of wood.

"I guess we might as well start there." She scanned the crowd. Female heads were already snapping around to gaze upon the splendour that was Inglor. "And we'd better start quickly."

They carefully threaded their way around market stalls and people to the home of the Master of Esgaroth. The men of the Lake Town elected their leaders rather than having a hereditary king.

"We can't just go and knock on the front door," Haleth said as she trotted after Inglor, her legs still unsteady from the boat ride.

"I am certain he is expecting us," Inglor told her. "I was assured messages were sent."

Haleth subsided. Individuals who looked like her were never given access to the great and the powerful. Those same great and powerful would actively seek out Inglor. She would just ride through on his coat tails, as she had been in every populated area since they had left Bree.

Inglor bounded up the wide, wooden stairs of the Master's house, Haleth following slowly in his wake.

His knock was quickly answered by an iron-haired woman of rigid bearing. The door opened so quickly that Haleth suspected the woman had been standing at a nearby window, watching the coming and goings of the people in the market square.

"Greetings, fair lady," Inglor said, bowing deeply on the doorstep. "My name is Inglor. My companion and I have business with Beregnil, the Master of Lake Town. May we please come in?"

The woman blinked several times as though dazzled by the strong light of the morning sun. She gave Haleth, who was now also on the doorstep, a quick glance of disapproval before moving out of the way to admit them.

"Of course," she said, backing out of the door and giving Inglor a quick, stiff curtsey. "Please come into the sitting room. I will tell the Master you have arrived. You are expected."

The entrance of the Master of Lake Town's home boasted an iron and crystal chandelier. The white wax candles within it were of uniform height. A wide hallway of deep golden wood led into the house, doors alternating on either side of it. A broad staircase on the right hand side of the foyer led to the upper, private areas of the home. The floors and walls were of the same, gleaming, golden wood and all had been polished to a mirror shine.

The housekeeper led Inglor to a sitting room which was just off the entranceway. Haleth followed along, an unwanted afterthought.

"Please make yourself comfortable," she said. "I shall inform the Master of your arrival."

The sitting room offered a wide view of the market square. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with leather bound books. A couch and two chairs covered in heavily embroidered cushions were arranged upon a richly woven green carpet. Haleth placed her pack on the floor, being careful to avoid the costly rug. To pass the time she studied the gold-stamped spines of the books.

Most of the titles were written in the Common Tongue, but Sindarin occasionally put in an appearance. The books covered many diverse subjects, from history to herbals to descriptions of the lands to the east. Haleth found herself wishing for time to skim through at least some of the last, though the accounts would likely be spurious. She had never gone further east than the Sea of Rhun and the empty, white spaces on the map challenged her to explore.

"Would you not rather go west?" asked Inglor. He had been watching the direction of her attention.

"There is only so far west that I can go and I know the lands west of here quite well," said Haleth. "I always wondered what lay to the east."

"Besides thousands of Easterlings?" Inglor asked.

"They can't all be like the Easterlings," she said.

"Well, no. Now that you mention it there are the Wain Riders."

"Go ahead," she said, her shoulders sagging. "Spoil my daydream with unpleasant reality. Still, I can't help but feel that all of the men of the east are not completely evil."

"Do you know anything about them?" she asked Inglor, turning away from the books to face him.

"No," he said shaking his head sadly. "The east is dark to me."

"What of your kindred there?" she asked.

"Our fates were sundered long ago," he answered quietly.

"But don't you ever wonder about them?" she insisted.

"I have other things to wonder about," he said after a very long pause.

She was about to ask him what those things were when the door opened and the iron-haired housekeeper beckoned them to follow her. Haleth noted that the woman had changed from her severe black dress to one of charcoal grey with lace trimming the hem, wrists and neckline. She stifled a sigh.

They followed the housekeeper. The older woman almost seemed to dance up the stairs.  She led them to a large door and knocked.

"Enter," said a man's voice.

"Your guests, Master," the housekeeper said, shepherding Inglor into the room. Haleth followed, a forgotten shadow.

The room was an office. It was dominated by a high, wide window that overlooked the market square and much of Lake Town. A large, heavy desk of dark wood stood in front of the window, placed so that the person working at it could look outside. The top of the desk was covered in neatly stacked piles of papers which were covered in precisely formed figures. The Master of Lake Town, a man of about forty years, had left his chair. He was of average height and build with dark hair and beard which were flecked with silver. His eyes were as dark and piercing as an eagle's and keen intelligence sparkled behind them.

He bowed both to Inglor and to Haleth.

"Welcome to Lake Town," he said. "I am Beregnil and Master here, for the moment, at least."

"I am Inglor," Inglor said, bowing with his characteristic grace, "And this is Haleth." She followed Inglor’s example as best she could. She often felt awkward curtseying. It looked stilted instead of elegant if she wore trousers, as she currently was.

Beregnil examined Inglor closely. The elf returned his gaze with unblinking calmness. The Master of Lake Town then turned his attention to Haleth. His eyes whisked her from head to toe and then returned to her face. It lingered there as though he was searching for something. She levelly returned his probing inspection as Inglor had.

At last Beregnil noticed that he had watched his guests longer than was strictly polite.

"Please," he said, indicating two cushioned chairs that stood on the opposite side of his desk, "Be seated and tell me of your journey."

"Mrs. Bass." This was directed to the iron-haired housekeeper who had been hovering at the back of the room in order to spend more time near Inglor. "Please bring our guests some refreshments."

Inglor told their tale with Haleth occasionally filling in some of the finer points. This happened when Beregnil asked for some tidbit of information. The Master of Lake Town had a mind for details, the slightest of which could capture his attention like a diamond sparkling in the dust. Haleth got the impression that Beregnil did not miss much and that everything he knew was carefully filed away in his memory to be called up instantly when needed.

Mrs. Bass brought a tray of fresh rolls, a yellow round cheese and ripe, red apples into the room along with a carafe of wine and three glasses. She set it all on a side table and was made ready to serve the food and drink when Beregnil politely but firmly asked her to leave. She did so, slowly and with great reluctance, after many backward glances at Inglor. Instead of being jealous, Haleth felt herself empathizing with the housekeeper. Inglor's presence did make women do outrageous things, her included.

Both Haleth and Inglor jumped to their feet but Beregnil waved them back to their seats and served them himself as he listened to their tale.

"This is most disturbing news," Beregnil said when they were done. Hands clasped behind his back, he paced the carpet of his office.

"It can have far-reaching consequences if the palantir cannot be recovered," agreed Inglor. "We already have evidence that the Hosluin do not scruple to take what they want."

"I had long suspected as much," Beregnil said quietly. "And now I have the proof. No one known to be of the Hosluin is left in Lake Town. We have fast ties with the men of Dale and they must have known their actions would not be tolerated. They left very close to the time of the attack, taking their black beverage with them.

"Many felt the effects of that for some time," he added, "But that too seems to have passed.

"Dear lady," he paused before Haleth's chair. "I hope you do not suffer any long-lasting effects from this assault."

"None of which I am aware, thank-you for asking," smiled Haleth. It was somewhat gratifying to be included in a conversation rather than being relegated to the edges. Not that she could blame anyone. Who would wish to speak to her when they could talk to Inglor?

"Be on your guard, good lady," Beregnil warned, his expression grave, "The Hosluin may be gone but they still have sympathisers in Lake Town.

"Indeed," he said as he continued to pace. "There are even those on my council whom I do not entirely trust. Yet some will have to be consulted in order to help you. There is Calanloss, he has had dealings with the people of Dorwinion. And Ethirwen; she has lands on the north-western coast of the Sea of Rhun which she visits from time to time. There is also Orolondë, but...No. The fewer people who know of this the better. Calanloss and Ethirwen would be most able to help you."

He paused before the window, gazing into the blue afternoon sky as he watched and carefully noted the activity in the Market Square. Inglor and Haleth had to twist in their chairs to watch him.

"I will ask them to meet here secretly tonight," he finally said. "If such things can be said to be secret in Lake Town. They shall offer you such counsel as they may. But for now I would ask you to be my guests. I will have Mrs. Bass show you to your rooms where you can take some rest. I will join you for dinner.

"I would ask one thing of you, Lord Inglor," Beregnil said. He paused, uncertain of how to phrase his request politely.

"I intend to remain inside," Inglor said with a rueful smile. "I seem to have an unfortunate, disruptive effect on people." From the tone of his voice it was quite plain he had no idea why this should be the case.

"Thank-you, Lord Inglor," Beregnil said gratefully. He rang a small silver bell which rested on the sideboard. Mrs. Bass appeared almost instantaneously, giving Haleth the impression that the housekeeper had been waiting just outside of the door the entire time.

Mrs. Bass showed them to two well-appointed guest rooms. The housekeeper brought Haleth to her room. She then led Inglor the length of the hall to another room and hovered inside the door, straightening the perfectly straight paintings, whisking away imaginary dust and asking him if there was anything, anything at all, that she could get for him.

Inglor was beginning to worry he would have to be rude to the woman before she would leave when Haleth unexpectedly rescued him.

"Excuse my intrusion, Inglor, but I need to speak to you privately," she said, entering the room without invitation.

"I am so sorry, Mrs. Bass." she truthfully said to the housekeeper.

Mrs. Bass sniffed her opinion of the urgency of any matter Haleth could possibly have to discuss, but she left the room, pausing in the doorway.

"Now Inglor," Haleth said as she placed her hand on his arm. "You told me to tell you if I noticed any ill effects from the poison."

Inglor immediately covered her hand with his. He searched her eyes and face for any sign of pain or weakness. He was still staring intently at Haleth when the door snicked closed with Mrs. Bass on the opposite side.

"What do you feel?" he asked suspiciously.

"I felt that you needed some help with Mrs. Bass," Haleth said honestly.

"It was that obvious?" he asked, sinking onto the bed.

"Oh Inglor, it happens all of the time," Haleth said, putting her hands on her knees and bending so that she was at his eye level. "I hardly need magical abilities to know it."

"I can wait a few minutes to be certain she is gone before I leave," she offered.

"No," he said, "Please stay."

"For protection?" she asked, a wry smile on her lips.

"No, for company," he answered sadly.

Haleth seated herself cross-legged on the floor and looked sadly at Inglor. Since the episode in Dale he had taken on the melancholy air of the rest of his kindred and this bothered her to no end. She tried to think of something that might lift his spirits.

"This is where we met," she said softly.

"We actually met on the lake," Inglor corrected her.

"Inside of the lake, if you want to be completely correct," said Haleth.

"Technically, yes," Inglor agreed, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. "Though it was not possible to make introductions at the time."

"Yes, well having one's lungs filled with water tends make conversation difficult," Haleth observed.

"That and being perilously close to the falls," said Inglor.

"It's a good thing one of us is a strong swimmer," said Haleth.

"It's a good thing one of us had the foresight to have used a well anchored rope," he added.

"That was the first time you saved my life," Haleth said. "Who was to know it was the beginning of a bad habit?"

Inglor's face fell. "I see nothing bad about it," he said quietly.

"I'm only teasing, Inglor," Haleth said quickly, biting her lip and regretting the poorly chosen words.  The banter had lightened Inglor’s mood but now he grew pensive again. Haleth quickly cast about for a way to brighten his mood.

"You've also landed me in some difficult situations," she said. He looked at her with one eyebrow raised in question. "You threw me into that pit in the cold drake's lair and then landed on me."

She spent the next two hours trying to coax a smile to his face. Even when she succeeded his smile seemed a pale imitation of its former self, as the sun seen through a thick layer of enveloping mist.

Their strained conversation was interrupted late in the afternoon by a firm knock on the door.  Inglor sprang gracefully to his feet to answer the door, leaving Haleth to stretch her muscles which were stiff from several hours of sitting on the hard wooden floor. She heard Mrs. Bass'es voice in friendly conversation and approached the door. Her movement caught the housekeeper's eye and Mrs. Bass’es manner immediately became stiff and formal with her disappointment in the discovery that Inglor already had company.

"I hope that I am not interrupting anything," Mrs. Bass said with barely stifled bitterness.

"Not at all," Inglor said, surprised that her manner could change so rapidly and not understanding the cause of it. "Thank-you for taking the trouble to bring such a sumptuous feast."

"I won't be staying," she said, handing the tray to Inglor and flashing Haleth a look that left no uncertainty as to what respectable, decent people thought of women who remained in a man’s room without being properly chaperoned. It hardly mattered that Mrs. Bass had been planning to do exactly the same thing, her schemes and careful preparations had been thwarted and Haleth was to blame. Haleth accepted the judgement with a blink and a mental shrug. If only the housekeeper knew the truth of the matter. She would likely still be jealous, but not nearly as jealous.

Haleth caught a last glimpse of Mrs. Bass as she marched down the hallway, disapproval and disappointment etched in every rigid movement. Then Inglor handed the tray to her, closed the door and the housekeeper disappeared behind the solid panel of oak.

"That was kind of her," Inglor said, his dulcet voice expressing true gratitude and bafflement at the same time.

"She was disappointed to find me here," Haleth said shortly, hoping that Inglor would not require further explanation.

"Where else would you be?" he asked, his mystification growing with this new revelation. "She saw you come into my room earlier and she has undoubtedly been watching the door most of the time since then.

"She must have had some other duties to perform and hoped I had left in the meantime," said Haleth as she placed the tray on the floor and examined the feast.  The tray was laden with what was undoubtedly the choicest foods the pantry could provide; delicately prepared and seasoned fish, sweet breads, fresh berries with thick, rich cream and a flask of very fine Dorwinion wine. All of this was accompanied by a set of silver service, fine china, linen napkins and delicate silver goblets for two.
As Haleth took note of all this she made a quick mental note that Inglor was noticing more about human behavior than he had in the past; either that or he was admitting to noticing more. She was trying to decide which was more likely and which delicacy to sample first when he interrupted her thoughts.

"Then why did she bring enough for two?" he asked.

"I believe she was hoping you would invite her to join you," Haleth said with a sad smile. "Humans, especially women, enjoy being your presence, Inglor. Please don't tell me you haven't noticed. I know you have."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Inglor recognised a topic that always led to an argument. They had quarreled a great deal in the past few weeks and he had no wish to endure another tongue lashing. Anything he said in his own defense would be twisted and returned as an attack. Admitting defeat without bothering to defend himself, Inglor sank to the floor, his golden head bowed, his hands loose on the ground by his sides, and awaited the inevitable.

"Inglor," Haleth said, stepping over the tray and kneeling at the side of her stricken companion. "What is wrong?"

He slowly raised his eyes to hers and read the concern there. He cautiously searched her face for the signs of the fury he seemed able to inspire.

"Inglor?" Haleth repeated with growing apprehension. She pushed a strand of hair out of his blue eyes and, with trembling fingers, gently caressed the side of his face. "What is it? Should I fetch someone?"

"No," he finally answered and he favoured her with a small smile, caught her hand and squeezed it gently. "I believe it will be fine."

"Maybe it will pass if you eat something," she said with forced brightness, though the worry remained in her eyes. "What would you like to try first?"

Haleth went back to her own room after they had finished the feast Mrs. Bass had provided, intent upon preparing herself for the gathering that evening. It seemed whenever she met anyone of importance she either looked like a vagabond or an invalid. The fact that she essentially was a homeless wanderer was no excuse. She would have to settle down some day and needed to reacquaint herself with the proper ways of men. Not that she had any illusions of marrying wealthy and retiring comfortably, she simply wanted to know all of the rules on the off chance she ever had the opportunity to play the game.

An unexpected surprise awaited her. Someone had laid out a dark green gown upon the bed. Haleth smiled crookedly at the thought of Mrs. Bass, sniffing with disapproval, bringing the dress to the room of the Master's unwanted guest.

She bent to examine the gown. It was made of soft, finely spun wool. It seemed rather odd to Haleth that Beregnil would just happen to have something like this in his home, waiting in case a guest of this exact size with no proper clothing should happen upon his doorstep. Perhaps it had belonged to someone else. Haleth had seen no evidence of Beregnil having a wife; Mrs. Bass seemed to be the only female presence in the formal part of the house. It could be that Beregnil’s wife was deceased and that the dress had belonged to her. Haleth ran her fingers over the soft fabric.  She was not comfortable with the idea of wearing a dead woman's clothing.

She decided to put the dress aside for the moment. Intent upon washing herself, she approached the washstand where a bar of soap, a basin and a ewer of water awaited. There was a note propped against the ewer. Curious, Haleth took the piece of fine paper and opened it.

Dear Lady

Haleth almost put the note down, thinking it had been meant for someone else and she had stumbled upon it by accident. She had been called a great many things, but lady was not one of them. Dear was simply an adjective she never considered as being applied to herself. She quickly realised how ridiculous she was being and continued to read the flowing, steady script.

Dear Lady,

I apologise for not being available to dine with you and your companion this evening. The duties of the Master of Laketown are not heavy, but they often require attention at the most unfortunate times. I have instructed Mrs. Bass to provide food for you both.
Please forgive my forwardness in the following matter. It is my sincerest hope that it does not offend you, as that is the furthest thing from my intentions. I could not but help notice that your pack is far too small to hold garb for a more formal occasion. The people whom I have invited this evening are wealthy merchants and I do not wish them to believe themselves better than you. Please consider making use of the gown, if you so desire. It has never been worn and was made by the spinners and tailors of Dorwinion, who have some reputation of skill.
Again, forgive my impertinence but I have taken the liberty of choosing a pair of combs to ornament your hair.. I have requested that Mrs. Bass leave them on the bureau. She may not comply with my request. She seems to disapprove of you for a reason I can easily fathom.
Again, I apologise if these offers offends you. Rest assured that I would be glad to have you in my company regardless of how you are attired, and will understand if you chose to not use these paltry things.

Your Servant

Beregnil, Master of Lake Town

Haleth read the note carefully a second time and then sighed. Beregnil obviously had to maintain appearances with his colleagues and housing a rag-a-muffin would not be proper. It was a small thing to ask in return for his hospitality, though, and it would be impolite to refuse. Not that Haleth would have been likely to refuse in any case.

She refolded the letter and carefully placed it on the bureau. Mrs. Bass, who had undoubtedly read the note, had thought better of withholding the combs. They glittered golden in the late afternoon light. The spines were of ivory. Graceful deer exquisitely carved in the fashion of the northmen leapt over a fallen tree trunk while looking back over their shoulders, every line depicted the light-footed agility and motion of the animals. The details of the carvings were outlined in delicate lines of gold. Haleth had seldom seen anything as beautiful that had not been made by elves. She grimaced when she thought of how to put them into her hair to best effect; hairstyling was not one of the skills she had cultivated.

Haleth frowned at the gifts and decided that she would at least need to have a bath to do them proper justice. She went in search of Mrs. Bass, who would undoubtedly be unhappy to see her.

Garbed in the green gown and carrying the ivory combs, Haleth made her way down the darkened hallway to Inglor's room. She listened at the door before knocking, wondering if Mrs. Bass had taken the opportunity to impose upon her companion. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she knocked quietly. Inglor opened the door almost immediately as if he had been awaiting her.

He looked at her, blinked and stared, blocking the doorway.

For the first instant Haleth suspected that the housekeeper had paid him a visit after all and that Inglor's hesitation was out of deference to Mrs. Bass' reputation, which was undoubtedly sterling. Then she remembered she was dealing with Inglor. There must be something else amiss. She thought of his strange reaction earlier that day and immediately became worried.

"Inglor, are you well?" she inquired quietly.

He shook his head as though to bring himself back to the present, then stood aside to allow her into the room.

"Yes, of course," he answered quickly as she stepped around him. "It is just I have never...I mean I did not expect you...I mean you look...nice," he finished weakly.

"Thank-you," she said, smiling and suddenly feeling abashed. The reason for her visit, indeed her very presence in his room, suddenly seemed inappropriate. She silently upbraided herself for being ridiculous.  She had travelled the length of Eriador with Inglor as her sole companion. If it had not been improper before, why should it seem indecent now?  Yet the blush was slowly rising in her cheeks as the awkward silence stretched between them. 

"What are those?" Inglor suddenly asked, indicating the combs.

"Beregnil loaned them to me for this evening," she said quickly, handing the trinkets to him. "I've been trying to put them into my hair without much success. I was wondering if you...could...maybe..." She trailed off in confusion.

Inglor examined the combs minutely. "These are the work of a true artist," he said, his voice soft with wonder and sorrow. "They are a princely gift."

"They aren't a gift," Haleth said quickly. "They're a loan."

"Still, they are princely," Inglor said again, raising his blue eyes to hers. He held her gaze for several minutes, asking an unvoiced question which Haleth could not fathom.

"Allow me to help you with them," he finally said, indicating that Haleth should be seated on his bed. He found a fine-toothed comb somewhere in the recesses of his pack and ran it through her damp, sandy tresses, singing softly to himself. Haleth sat as still and as silent as a statue under his ministrations, her eyes firmly closed in what was probably a vain attempt to hide a maelstrom of emotions and questions. What was wrong with Inglor? As much as she enjoyed his company when he was not driving her to distraction, it was becoming painfully clear that their disagreements were having a bad effect on him. He had become steadily more withdrawn and solemn since the incident in Dale. The problem had started when she had looked into the palantir and then picked a fight with him instead of admitting it. With a shock she wondered if he meant to leave her at the end of the quest and did not know how to tell her. The idea was too painful to contemplate.

She drew herself back to the present as Inglor continued to comb her hair. She had not realized that elves could spend so much time on a very basic motion that Haleth dealt with each morning and immediately forgot. His free hand stroked her hair after each passage of the comb, smoothing her locks and caressing her shoulders. An all too familiar sensation threatened to overwhelm her. To distract herself, she formed her hands into fists so tight that the fingernails dug painfully into the flesh of her palms.

"Look up," he ordered softly, tilting her head back with two strong fingers beneath her chin. Haleth yielded to his gentle pressure and lifted her head. She briefly opened her eyes to watch him. Inglor’s attention was firmly fixed upon the task at hand, which was something of a relief. With careful skill, he parted her hair and resumed combing while Haleth determinedly resisted the dreadful temptation to pluck the comb out of his hand and throw herself into his arms.

Her self-control slid away with each stroke of the comb. She was about to ask him to please stop, that she would put the combs in herself, when he expertly pulled her hair back, anchored one comb and pushed it firmly into place. He quickly repeated the process on the other side and then stepped back to examine his work.

"Thank-you," Haleth whispered hoarsely. She swore to herself that even if she had to appear before the High King of Gondor himself, she would never, ever allow Inglor to comb her hair again. The experience was far too erotic.

She forced herself to unclench her fists as he turned his back to put the comb away. It came as no surprise to see eight angry, red half moons where her nails had gouged the skin. Not wanting him to see the damage she had inflicted upon herself, mostly because it would require an explanation she was not prepared to give, Haleth quickly clasped her hands and placed them on her lap.

"You are welcome," he said as he seated himself on the bed next to her in the growing twilight.

Fed by Inglor's disturbing proximity, Haleth's natural physical restlessness sought an outlet. Staring straight ahead, she began to absently twist the silver ring that rested upon the index finger of her right hand.

The movement did not go unnoticed.

"You would trade the ring for those combs," Inglor suddenly said in a quiet, resigned voice.

Haleth opened her mouth to protest, but was spared by a rap on the door. It was Mrs. Bass, a covered lantern with a twinkling candle in her hand, come to summon them to the secret meeting which Beregnil had planned. The housekeeper did not even bother to sniff her disapproval at finding Haleth once more in Inglor's room.

Still shaking and miserable from Inglor's comment and the hair combing experience, Haleth followed the Mrs. Bass along the hallway. She had to content herself with a 'we're not finished with this' expression leveled at her traveling companion as she brushed past him on her way out of his room. Inglor, who had seemingly already accepted his decision as the only possible outcome, tightened his jaw but said nothing.

The candle sent fantastical shadows dancing along the walls as they walked beside each other in Mrs. Bass' wake, being careful to not actually touch.

She led them down the stairs and into a private room. A large, round table and its accompanying chairs occupied most of the space. Heavy curtains covered the wide windows so that not even a flicker of light would escape to the outside. The only illumination came from two candles which burned in sconces on the walls and a lantern which rested at the centre of the table, its light shielded so that it only shone into the room, away from the windows. The lower walls were of wood, the higher walls of plaster. Several large, ornately framed portraits were set on the walls. Haleth wished that she could see the room in more light; it seemed like a rich and yet thoroughly human place.

There were three people already seated around the table. Beregnil rose to his feet when his guests entered the room. His motion was quickly copied by the man who sat to his immediate right. The man who sat to his left stood, but far more slowly. It was with a slight shock that Haleth noted that the third man was no man at all, but a tall, slim woman.

"Be welcome, Lord Inglor and Lady Haleth," Beregnil said.  He smiled and approached them. "This is Calanloss, councilman of Lake Town. Calanloss bowed deeply to the newcomers. He was of similar build and colouring to Beregnil, but his hair and beard were a deep brown with no grey. Inglor bowed and Haleth curtsied.

"And this is Ethirwen, another member of the town council." Ethirwen inclined her head towards them. Again Inglor bowed. Haleth contented herself with nodding as Ethirwen had.

Beregnil completed his quick round of introductions. Haleth noted that Ethirwen's attention kept drifting back to Inglor. After his unexpected accusation, she found that this did not affect her as it usually did.

Inglor took the chair next to Calanloss. Beregnil pulled out the chair to the right of him for Haleth. "I thank you for accepting the gifts, my lady," he said in a whisper meant for her ears alone. "You look truly radiant."

Haleth stiffened slightly. She was certain that Inglor had heard Beregnil's use of the word gift.

"Thank-you, Master Beregnil," she whispered quietly, smiling into his dark eyes. He held her gaze a fraction longer than was necessary before turning back to the task at hand.

"Thank-you, Mrs. Bass," he said to the housekeeper. "That will be all for this evening."

Haleth watched Inglor carefully. His face was its usual mask of beatific calm. She felt Ethirwen's eyes flick quickly from the elf to Haleth and then back again, as if she were making careful calculations and drawing quick, decisive conclusions.

"Good people," Beregnil said after the door closed on Mrs. Bass. "First let me thank you Ethirwen and you, Calanloss, for coming this evening. There is a very delicate situation that these two travellers are attempting to bring to a positive outcome. I am hoping that your knowledge may be of use to them. I have not told you more than the barest hints of the story, lest those that could harm their cause learn of it. Now I will ask Lord Inglor to explain the situation, as he is more familiar with it than me."

If Inglor was surprised by the request, he gave no sign of it. Haleth watched him get to his feet with some trepidation, worried that he would unwittingly give away more than was safe. Her fears proved to be groundless. Inglor told exactly as much of the story as needed to be told. He skillfully dodged around the areas that were bound to cause questions in such a way as to silence all enquiries.

She wondered at his eloquence; he had certainly never given any sign of it while he was alone with her. He probably thought her coarse and unworthy of the effort. She rejected that thought almost as soon as it occurred. In many ways Inglor was a complete puzzle to her, but she could keenly sense when anyone felt superior to her and she had never had that impression from him. This was odd because Haleth felt that Inglor truly was superior to her.

"I see the problem," Calanloss said when Inglor had sat down again, "But I am at a loss to see how we can possibly help."

"Excuse me," said Haleth. "We were given the impression that you were familiar with the area and people around the Sea of Rhun. If you could possibly give us an idea of where the Hosluin are headquartered, we will at least know where to begin to search."

There was silence around the table. At last Calanloss spoke.

"I have heard that they are centred in a castle on a peninsula on the north eastern coast," he said. "A narrow strip of land joins the peninsula to the mainland and it is rumoured to be heavily guarded. The sea surrounding the area is filled with jagged rocks and treacherous currents. No sailor dares to draw near that coast. The leaders of the Hosluin reside in a tall tower within a keep. The tower is said to have a staircase spiralling from bottom to top on the outside. No one knows who made it, whether elves, dwarves or some other, forgotten race. It is incredibly ancient and all traces of the original occupants are long gone. There is a pool next to the tower, it is rumoured to be bottomless and that unspeakable things were done there long ago. The grandmothers around the Sea use the threat of the ghosts of the pool to frighten children into good behavior. If the Hosluin have indeed taken the palantir there, you will need an army to recover it."

"Thank-you, Calanloss," Beregnil said when it became clear that the merchant was finished. "Ethirwen, can you add anything to what Calanloss has told us?"

Ethirwen pushed back her chair and stood to speak. Haleth had noted without surprise that she addressed her remarks solely to Inglor, though it had been Beregnil who had posed the question.

"No, I am afraid that Calanloss has told you all that I know already. I may possibly be able to offer some assistance, though," she smiled confidently at Inglor, who returned her gaze impassively. "I make a yearly visit to the lands that my mother left to me in Dorwinion. I was planning on leaving in three days, as you know," she finally acknowledged Beregnil and Calanloss with a smile and a nod, "I book passage on the same, spacious boat each year. I would be honoured to have our guests accompany me on the voyage."

"That would be a great help, Lady Ethirwen," Inglor said with a bit too much enthusiasm for Haleth's liking.

"So it is settled, then," Beregnil said, "you shall accompany Ethirwen down the River Running."

The meeting was adjourned. Calanloss excused himself, claiming early, urgent business the next morning. Ethirwen was slower to make her good nights. She lingered as long as was polite and left only when Beregnil began yawn.

Beregnil led his guests to their rooms, leaving Haleth at the door of her room first. She had wanted to speak to Inglor privately, but it was late and she was tired. Inglor's mood might be better the next day. She would approach him then.

She watched him receding down the hall, his skin and hair glittering in the darkness with a glow was not reflected from Beregnil's lantern.

Inside the privacy of her own room, Haleth removed the dark green gown and placed it over the back of a chair, taking care not to wrinkle it. She pulled out the combs and ran her fingers through her hair, remembering Inglor's delicate touch. The memory was almost enough to send her padding down the hall to his room. But then she remembered his accusation. She had no idea what the implications of it were, although they were obviously important to him.

She crawled under the blankets and wondered about her companion. When she finally slept, she had a disturbing dream of standing alone on a rocky shore, futilely chasing a white ship as it sailed towards the West.

"Is there anything else that you need for the journey?" Beregnil asked Haleth.  Two nights had passed since the meeting. The Master of Lake Town had been a solicitous host, offering to bring Haleth on a tour of Lake Town the day before. She had sadly declined his offer out of sympathy for Inglor, who was confined to the house and the sidelong attentions of Mrs. Bass.

If Inglor had appreciated or even been aware of her gesture, he had given no sign of it. They had spent most of the morning of the previous day in the cheery sitting room, pouring over maps and making plans. The quickest way to the Sea of Rhun was Ethirwen's offer of passage down the River Running. They decided to go ashore a day's march away from the mouth of the river and to travel across country to avoid notice.

Once these sketchy plans had been made, Inglor had become stubbornly withdrawn, and nothing Haleth could say or do would get more than one word answers from him. She had finally abandoned her futile efforts to lighten his mood and had turned to Beregnil’s books for more amenable companionship.

Haleth had sought unsuccessfully for something that might explain the silver ring that hung around her finger like a rebuke, but there was nothing in Beregnil's bookshelves that could shed light on that particular mystery. She would probably have to go back to Rivendell to find the answers. After her last visit, Haleth was not entirely certain of the welcome she would receive. The puzzle would likely always remain unsolved.

To distract herself from both the irritating mystery and Inglor's black mood, Haleth spent the afternoon reading a thick book about the peoples of the east.

Inglor had echoed her example in silently reading, a slim volume of Numenorean poetry in his delicate hands. An uneasy quiet presided over the remainder of the day as each sat in an upholstered chair, doggedly ignoring the other as the shadows shifted across the room.

The tension even affected Mrs. Bass. The housekeeper brought another tray of delicacies for Inglor that afternoon. She hovered in the sunny room for several minutes before favouring Haleth with an accusatory sniff and leaving.

The evening meal was an exercise in stomach wrenching tension, with Beregnil in an effusive mood, Inglor willfully silent, and Haleth desperately trying to keep the elf involved in the conversation. The dream of the white boat riding silver-crested sea foam haunted her sleep again that night.

Now she was in the entranceway of Beregnil's home, waiting for Inglor to make an appearance so they could begin the next stage of what would definitely be their final journey together.

"No, thank-you Master Beregnil," Haleth answered with a smile. "You have been a most generous host. We lack for nothing."

"That reminds me," he said suddenly. He pulled something from his belt pouch. "Would you consider keeping these? As a reminder of our meeting?"

With a jolt, Haleth recognised the ivory combs he had loaned her. Inglor's words rose in her mind. "You would trade the ring for those combs," she heard his soft, resigned voice say. She had thought the imagined choice ridiculous until it was actually before her.

Haleth examined the combs. The delicate gold twinkled softly around the graceful lines of the running deer. Then she looked at the plain silver ring on her finger. It had become tarnished in the past two days, as though Inglor's low disposition had clouded its natural brilliance.

"I am truly sorry, Master Beregnil," Haleth said regretfully. "I cannot accept the combs as a gift."

"I see," Beregnil said. His dark eyes glinted with a quick stab of pain. Haleth looked upon him with sudden, unhappy comprehension. For all that she could see the signs directed at others, specifically Inglor, she had completely missed those directed at her.

Then the Master of Lake Town put the combs back into his belt pouch. "If you could promise me something, Lady," he said softly.

"If it is in my power to give," she said quietly.

"Once you have completed the task you have set for yourself, if you find yourself free, return to claim them."

Haleth thought uncomfortably of her dream from the previous nights; standing alone on slippery, sea-washed rocks, watching the white ship sail away from her.

"I promise you that," she said, trying unsuccessfully to shake the image from her mind. "But I truly doubt that I will ever be free."

"One can hope, Lady," he said softly.

"Indeed," she smiled sadly. "One can hope."

Inglor chose that moment to noisily descend the stairs. Haleth looked at him with a mixture of wonder and annoyance. He never made any sound unless he meant to do so; the racket was a deliberate intrusion. She suspected that he had been at the top of the stairs and had witnessed the entirely scene.

They made their polite farewells. With a magnificent flourish, Inglor gave Mrs. Bass a flower, a chrysanthemum of deep rusty red. Haleth never learned how he had come by it. She strongly suspected that it would be carefully preserved and saved by the widow for the rest of her life. Inglor himself seemed happier than he had been in three days.

At last they were out the door, making their way through the perpetual crowd of the Market Square to the docks below. Haleth felt Beregnil's eyes on her until she climbed down the ladder to the docks and disappeared from his view.

~*~

They crossed the Long Lake to the western shore by ferry. A small settlement had grown on the bank to accommodate travellers and the ferry crews who ran back and forth from the mainland to Lake Town. A small wooden inn and several ramshackle houses lined the shore. Children ran riot in the muddy streets, playing a game only they could understand. Inglor caught their attention and they immediately began to follow him.

Haleth had to smile as she watched them tagging along like iron filings drawn to a moving magnet. At first they were quiet and hung back, whispering excitedly among themselves. Their soft murmurings were soon punctuated with giggles which grew progressively louder until they almost drowned out the deep roar of the Long Falls.

She glanced questioningly at Inglor, who grinned widely at her, abruptly stopped and spun around.

This was met by a collective intake of breath as the children fell silent and drew back in anticipation of a scolding. Their upturned faces watched the elf with a mixture of fear and wonder. Then Inglor smiled and held out his hands. The children shrieked in delight and swarmed around him, a tide of shouting and laughter in plain homespun.

They made poor time on the path to the Long Falls. Inglor carried a small girl on his shoulders. She gently stroked his hair with her tiny fingers. He held another two children by the hand. Even Haleth found herself with two guides when a boy and a girl, about the same age, took a hold of her after finding Inglor's already claimed.

All along the way they were regaled with stories of how each child's father was the strongest man in Lake Town and how the boys would be just like their fathers when they grew up. Inglor tried not to wince as the child on his shoulders began tangling her fingers into his smooth hair and pulling.

At last they reached the path down the escarpment. Inglor freed his hands and gently put the girl who had been on his shoulders down. Several strands of his hair were entwined around her fingers. Haleth watched with some amusement as she very deliberately untangled them and crammed them into a pocket.

Inglor told the children gently but firmly that they could follow no further. Haleth waved good-bye to the raggedy band as they reluctantly made their way back to their homes.

"We had best hurry," he said as he studied the position of the sun. "We are late."

Even rushing it took them the better part of the afternoon to climb down the long, zigzag path that had been hewn into the face of the rock bordering the Long Falls. The trail was wide and broad, but slippery from the spray. Porters struggled upwards, bent almost double under heavy packs. Men driving heavily laden donkeys shuffled up and down the trail. The amount of traffic made for some interesting moments when two large groups going in opposite directions met at a narrow part of the footpath. At several points Haleth found herself balancing along the barest of ledges while men and donkeys sorted themselves out on the wider part of the track. She did not have to look back to know that Inglor was directly behind her, poised to catch her if she lost her footing. As always, this irritated her more than it comforted her. There was no time to dwell upon it, though.

Some of the larger packages were brought up the escarpment by an ingenious system of ropes and pulleys. There were wide ledges at regular intervals where porters struggled to detach crates and barrels from one leg of the pulley system and attach them to the next. When possible, similar sized packages were used as counterweights from the top. Strong armed men worked the pulleys, sending the trade goods that fueled the markets Esgaroth up or down the cliff.

Several women with baskets strapped to their backs passed them. They would stop at the various ledges to sell food and drink to the labourers.

At last they reached the bottom of the cliff. A wide gravel road led to the shore and the docks where a heavily laden river barge waited. The boat was big enough to accommodate a large amount of cargo as well as passengers. Two masts sprouted from the deck and a bank of oars lined the sides. The gangplank lay open to the dock.

Inglor waved to someone on the deck. Haleth squinted in the direction of his wave and thought she recognised the tall, slim figure of Ethirwen, her raven locks floating in the western wind. As Haleth watched, she raised her arm to acknowledge Inglor's greeting. Not wanting to be rude, Haleth waved a greeting as well.

"It was very kind of Lady Ethirwen to arrange passage for us," Inglor said.

"Yes, it was," Haleth agreed, keeping her reservations about Ethirwen's possible ulterior motives to herself.

They made their way up the gangplank, Ethirwen waiting for them at the top. A gruff looking man with a bright shock of orange-red hair and a bushy beard of the same colour stood by her side.

"Good day to you, Lord Inglor," Ethirwen said.

"Good day to you, Lady Ethirwen," Inglor bowing deeply.

"Good day, Lady Ethirwen," Haleth said, fully expecting to be ignored.

"Good day to you, Lady Haleth," Ethirwen smiled with genuine delight.

"This is Dorlas," she introduced the red-headed man at her side. "He is the captain of this vessel."

"Welcome aboard," Captain Dorlas said abruptly. "We've been expecting you."

They were apparently the last passengers to arrive. The cargo had already been loaded.

"Come," Ethirwen said, "I will show you to your cabins. Do you have any other luggage?"

"No, Lady," replied Inglor. "We travel lightly."

"Very well, then," she said. "Please come."

Ethirwen led them past the banks of rowers to the passenger's area. They entered a low door into a dark, narrow hallway which led down the length of the ship.

"Here, you will have need of these," she said, handing each of them a small, shielded lantern. "Use them to light your cabin. Please try to burn them as little as possible. Captain Dorlas does not approve of the use of fire on his vessel. He tolerates it among the paying passengers, but only barely."

Haleth dug her tinderbox from her pack and expertly lit her lamp. Inglor used her lamp to ignite his own. They proceeded up the hallway.

"This is your room, Lord Inglor," Ethirwen said, pressing a key into Inglor's hand.

"You are to be his neighbour, Lady Haleth," she added, handing Haleth another key.

"I apologise if you find the rooms small. Space is limited on a boat. Shall I see you above decks once you have settled in?"

"Certainly," Haleth said smoothly. She wondered where, exactly, Ethirwen's cabin was and if she had a spare key for Inglor's door. She would undoubtedly find out soon enough.

Haleth unlocked her door and entered her cabin. The only piece of furniture in the room was a narrow bed, and it took up most of the space. If she turned sideways, there was just enough room for her to pass between it and the wall. Two drawers, side by side, were beneath the bed.

Another small lantern was hung from the wooden wall. She lit that lamp, extinguished the first and placed her pack on the bed. The cramped, dim room was already oppressive. Haleth opened the door to admit the faint, natural light and held the door open while she extinguished the wall lantern.

Inglor was already in the hallway.

"Shall we go above decks?" he asked.

"It's much preferable to here," Haleth said.

Together they passed into the sunshine.

Haleth stood near the stern of the boat and gazed into the water.  The day was pleasant enough with the sun shining around white, fluffy clouds.  Behind her, the rowers sang, their voices raised in off-key harmony.  There were many pauses in the music where they skipped some of the more colourful lyrics.  The Captain, who held the ship’s tiller, looked positively grim.  He had undoubtedly warned them not to offend Ethirwen’s sensibilities. 

Haleth had been pleasantly surprised by Ethirwen, who was a far more pleasant travelling companion than expected. The merchant was a wealth of information about the people of Dorwinion and their customs. She also made a point of including Haleth in the conversation, which Haleth found refreshing. Ethirwen's even division of attention between herself and Inglor gave Haleth hope that this intelligent and charming woman held no designs upon the elf. The trio usually spent the day in quiet conversation and shared the evening meal.

Two incidents prevented Haleth from enjoying the voyage as much as she should have.

The first had occurred when she noticed a scruffy, dark-haired, bearded man giving Inglor the evil eye from behind one of the masts. When she had approached him,  he disappeared.  In spite of keeping a careful watch, she had yet to see him again.

The second occurred below decks. An older crewman had blocked her way in the corridor. He was a large, burly man with arms the size of young tree trunks, an unkempt mop of brown hair and an equally wild beard. He nodded at her and grinned in what he probably thought was a friendly manner.  The effect was rather alarming as his large, uneven, yellow teeth glinted in the faint light of Haleth's lantern.

"You're travellin' with the elf, dearie?" he had asked her in a friendly whisper.

"Yes," Haleth had whispered suspiciously.

"You'd best be watchin' that Ethirwen," he had said whine shaking his head in warning, "She's a bad 'un, she is."

"Lady Ethirwen has been nothing but kind to me," Haleth had said.

"Up till now, yeah," he had said, looking over his shoulder to be certain that there was no one within hearing distance. "But keep your guard up. She wants yon elf and you're in her way. I've seen it afore. Mind what I tol' ya."

He had rolled up the corridor, leaving an astonished Haleth behind him.

She was wondering about the first man when Ethirwen and Inglor, deep in conversation, joined her. The reflexive pang of jealousy stabbed her heart when she noticed them together and she quickly stifled it. What did it matter if Inglor was popular with women? He was not for her and their time together was drawing to a close.

Forcing a smile to her face, she joined in the conversation.

 
The next day found the three of them in their usual position near the stern, well behind the rowers. For the most part, the boat kept to the centre of the channel, avoiding the shifting sandbars and other unseen obstacles beneath the brown waters of the River Running.

The rowers were large, boisterous men who, for all that they worked, obviously considered the trip downriver as a holiday. Haleth saw the man who had warned her rowing several times. He winked at her when he had noticed her icy attention and then ignored her.

The men were quite merry, exchanging jokes and ribald comments. Their raucous laughter often interrupted the trio's quiet conversations. There was nothing to do but to wait until the amusement died down before trying to speak again. Haleth never did try to discover what they found so amusing, though she could make a few educated guesses. Inglor likely heard every single word each one of them said, but he neither reacted nor relayed any of the comments.

Occasionally the boat would have to veer closer to the eastern shore when they passed another vessel heading north. The rowers on these boats worked much harder. Often the vessels sailing upstream had tow ropes fastened to them so that men and draft animals on the western shore could aid in the battle against the current.

The weather had grown warmer on their journey south and Haleth found herself rolling up her sleeves and wishing for lighter clothing. Ethirwen had graciously loaned her a brown-red dress of light cotton. The merchant from Lake Town was a fair amount taller than Haleth, though, and Haleth found herself constantly rolling up her sleeves. In spite of the warning, or possibly even because of it, Haleth had found herself unable to dislike Ethirwen, who was quite charming.

Haleth told Ethirwen about the mechanical bird she had purchased in Dale. She rushed to her cabin to show it to both Ethirwen, who was likely accustomed to such wonders, and to Inglor, who was accustomed to far greater wonders and unlikely to be impressed.

They exclaimed over it anyways, much to Haleth's delight.

The sun was westering and the captain issuing orders to have the vessel anchor for the night when Inglor sniffed the air and said "Something's burning."

A shout of alarm went up and men came scurrying from unexpected places like ants whose hill had been disturbed.

Captain Dorlas began to shout urgent orders as smoke poured out of the passenger's area.

Both Inglor and Haleth joined the bucket brigade and helped to pass water belowdecks. Ethirwen hesitated and then joined as well. It seemed as though it took hours of desperate sloshing and passing buckets, though it was no more than a quarter of an hour before the blaze was out.

The trio remained above decks. Captain Dorlas disappeared below. He quickly reappeared and immediately descended upon Haleth.

"What's the meaning of this?" he shouted.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"You nearly set my boat on fire with those firecrackers of yours. What kind of an idiot leaves something like that next to an open flame, I'll never know. Do you have any idea what you almost did? I've put people ashore for far less. In fact, I've half a mind to throw you overboard myself!"

"Excuse me, Captain Dorlas," Ethirwen interrupted smoothly. "This woman came at my insistence. You can hardly put her off the boat without putting me off the boat as well."

This gave the Captain reason to pause. Ethirwen was wealthy and powerful, it would do him no good to antagonize her. Still, he was Captain and he would not be seen giving in to a passenger, even one such as Ethirwen.

The merchant seemed to be aware of this.

"Perhaps if she stayed in the hold?" she suggested. "She could hardly get into trouble there."

"If Haleth goes to the hold, so do I," chimed in Inglor. By the look on the Captain's face, he had approved of this suggestion.

"No, Inglor," Haleth said, thinking of the dark haired man, "It would likely only cause more problems. I will go alone."

The Captain barked out orders and two crewmen escorted her to the hatch which led to the hold.

"Don't worry," Ethirwen said to Inglor, her voice filled with sympathy, her hand resting lightly upon his arm, "I have every confidence that Haleth can look after herself. She is a most resourceful woman, although she never said very much about herself. Could you tell me more about her?"

Inglor watched Haleth being led away by two crewmen. The Captain followed her progress with far less sympathy. When she had disappeared down the hatch at the front of the boat, Inglor sighed.

"I could," he said, watching the empty air above the hatch. "But not, I think, tonight. Would you please excuse me, Lady Ethirwen?" He gently pulled his arm from beneath Ethirwen's hand and walked lightly towards the hatch.

"Lord Inglor," Ethirwen whispered. She had followed him along the deck. "Did Haleth not ask you to remain above deck?"

"Yes," Inglor said. "But..."

"Please forgive my forwardness, Lord Inglor," Ethirwen interrupted him. "But even with the little I know of your adventures together, it seems to me that you are better ruled by her advice when dealing with Aftercomers. She knows our ways better."

"So you believe she is correct?" Inglor asked.

"Although the answer brings you pain, yes, I believe she is correct," Ethirwen answered slowly, choosing her words with care.

"Then I shall have to heed her advice," Inglor said with a wry smile.

"Thank-you, Lord Inglor," Ethirwen said, visibly relaxing.

"No, thank-you, Lady," Inglor said. "And although the stars are bright, I bid you good night."

"But the smoke," Ethirwen said.

"Will not bother me overmuch," Inglor said, bowing. "Again, good night."

Ethirwen watched his lithe figure disappear into the blackness of the passenger area. When she was certain he was gone she went back to her station at the side of the boat near the stern. She studied the far, eastern shore. The boat had been anchored for the night, it being too dangerous to sail in this area without the sun's illumination. She rubbed her thumb and fingertips together and stood sentinel as she made her quiet, careful plans.

~*~

Inglor lay in the close, stinking air of his cabin and worried about Haleth. He knew very well that the she had survived long years without him, but events of the recent past showed that she was vulnerable and did, on occasion, require help; even if she did have to be unconscious before accepting it. There was something strange about the fire. He resolved to get to the bottom of it, literally. He would visit Haleth.

~*~

Haleth descended the ladder that led to the cargo area. It was almost completely dark amid the stacks of crates and barrels. There were several small lamps suspended from the crossbeams. The small, dim circles of light they shed illuminated a tiny area of the hold. The rest remained an inky pit of oblivion.

She reached the bottom and peered into the surrounding blackness, waiting for the crewmen to make a comment like 'And stay down there!'. They remained disappointingly silent, climbing back up the ladder without a word. The hatch swung closed, blocking the small square of stars that hung so far above her.

'They could at least have allowed me to retrieve my pack,' she thought to herself and then realized that most of its contents would have been ruined in the fire.

She knew had extinguished the lamp before leaving her cabin. Someone had deliberately set the fire to implicate her. She needed to find a relatively safe place to station herself so that she could think through the situation.

She inspected the visible cargo. The boxes were piled above her head, but there seemed to be plenty of space between the top of the stack and the ceiling of the hold. Without further hesitation, she scaled the crates.

The hold provided a slightly different picture from the top. It appeared to be an uneven, cracked, wooden floor of various sized tiles. The lamps shed more light up here, closer to their tiny flames.

Haleth picked her way towards one of the lamps, wondering if anyone else were in the hold with her. If Dorlas had left lamps lit, there had to be someone. That theoretical someone could remain hidden in the blackness for quite some time, secretly watching her movements.

There was one particularly tall stack of boxes to her right. Moving like a cat, she made her way to the topmost crate. The deep shadows betrayed no sign of current occupation. This would be where she would make her bed, at least for the rest of the night. Hopefully someone would bring her some water, food and blankets tomorrow. She seated herself on the hard, wooden box and began to think.

She had not set the fire; the lamp had been out when she had left the room. The only possible explanation was that someone else had set the fire. Who could that possibly have been and why would they have done it? If they had actively been attempting to burn the boat, they had chosen a particularly bad place for their arson. A fire in the hold would not have been noticed nearly as quickly as a fire in the passenger's compartments. It was possible that the fire had only been a distraction. But a distraction for what? And why in Haleth's locked cabin? No, her cabin had been deliberately chosen.

So what had the arsonist hoped to accomplish? Haleth surveyed the part of the hold that she could see from her perch and listened intently to the creaking of the cargo and the whispering skittering of small, unseen animals.

Who would deliberately target Haleth? She carried nothing of value. Why have her thrown off the boat?

A dark possibility reared up from her subconscious; if Ethirwen had wanted to be rid of Haleth as a potential rival, this would be one way to do it. Except Ethirwen had convinced Captain Dorlas to not put Haleth ashore, so that could not be right either. She felt relieved in dismissing this particular possibility as she genuinely liked Ethirwen and wanted to believe the best of her.

It was possible that one of the Hosluin was attempting to slow their progress by having Haleth thrown off the boat. But why have her thrown off the boat when it would be so much easier to simply kill her? Now that she thought of it, it would be relatively easy to murder someone in the hold.

Her eyes darted around the dark spaces. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. She had to stop frightening herself. She had thought she had seen a figure descending the ladder.

Haleth strained her ears all the harder, but the only thing audible was the scraping of small claws on wood.

Even if the Hosluin killed her, there would still be Inglor. For all that she knew how to deal with men, Haleth knew that in an open battle, Inglor would be far more formidable a foe than her. So why try to kill her when it would be so much more effective to kill Inglor?

Unless the plan actually had been to have her put ashore, in which case Inglor undoubtedly would have gone as well. Once on land, it would be a simple matter for two travellers to vanish. Haleth had seen Inglor fight on several occasions and knew that he possessed much strength and skill, but she doubted he could win against a large group of men who were determined to see him dead. If that was the case, they both owed Ethirwen a great deal for interceding on Haleth's behalf.

She caught herself twisting the silver ring. The idea of someone trying to murder Inglor made her far more angry than the thought of someone trying to kill her.

If one of the Hosluin was aboard the boat, they would have to find him and expose him before he made his next move. But who could it possibly be? Haleth thought of the man she had seen glaring at Inglor their first day aboard. She had watched for him, but had not seen him since. She was searching her memory for any outstanding details about him when a hand suddenly appeared over the edge of her crate.

Haleth's knife whispered death as she drew it from its sheath. She held the blade low, ready to stab at the face her hunter, when Inglor's familiar blond head cleared the top of the crate.

"Hello, Haleth," he said quietly.

"Good evening, Inglor," she said pleasantly after taking a long, deep breath to steady herself.

"I thought I asked you to not come down here," she added as she sheathed her knife.

"You did," Inglor agreed, "But it is the middle of the night and the only other woman on the boat is Ethirwen and she is likely asleep so it seemed fairly safe."

"I don't know," Haleth whispered doubtfully. "I don't believe the Captain would be at all happy to know you are here."

"What he does not know will not hurt us," Inglor shrugged.

He smiled at Haleth's raised eyebrows. "What?"

"You've got to stop spending so much time around humans," she observed. "You're beginning to pick up our speech patterns, and worse, our facial expressions."

Inglor mimicked the look on Haleth's face to perfection and they both laughed quietly.

"I brought you a few things," he said. He handed her a small bag. Inside was a flask and dried fruit.

"You have my most grateful thanks, most thoughtful elf!"  said Haleth, who was becoming rather thirsty.

"Now who is taken on the mannerisms of the other kindred?" he asked.

"Oh come now, we Second Born know courtesy, we simply chose not to practice it most of the time," said Haleth, opening the flask and taking a quick sip. She offered it to Inglor, but he shook his head.

He looked around the hold. "I think it would be better if we moved over there." He pointed to a completely dark area, far from the dim circles of light thrown by the lamps.

"Are you certain?" Haleth asked as she peered doubtfully into the utter darkness.

"You're too visible here," he answered. Without waiting for her to argue, he picked up the sack he brought and gracefully leapt downwards to the next crate.

Haleth followed him over the uneven wooden paving of the cargo. It quickly became almost impossible for her to see and she found herself isolated in the soft blackness, trying to follow Inglor using hearing rather than sight. This also proved hopeless as he made no discernable sound. Only faint air currents told of his passing, and these quickly dissipated in the stale air of the hold.

Moving by guesswork, Haleth soon found her foot in thin air. She had to literally throw herself backwards to keep from falling. A strong, steady hand caught her at the elbow before she could tumble.

"I can't see," she whispered.

"I will guide you." The words seemed to appear in her mind without having passed either Inglor's lips or Haleth's ears.

A strong arm snaked around her waist. Haleth had to force herself to relax at Inglor's touch as he drew her against his side. She quickly looked downwards and away from him to hide her face while she regained her composure. Inglor had the most distracting way of helping that Haleth could possibly imagine.

Whether it was another elven talent or because they had been together for many years, Haleth now found it quite easy to judge each step or leap without benefit of her eyes. It was unsettling and yet pleasant to be jumping through the utter blackness, trusting herself entirely to Inglor's senses. It was an unpleasant shock when he stopped and withdrew his arm.

"It is safe to sit down," he whispered.

She slowly lowered herself until she was seated on top of the crate.

"Wait here. I am going to look around," he whispered.

"Just let me know when you get back," she replied, thinking of her knives.

She waited in the darkness, watching the triple circles of light for any sign of movement and listening intently for any out of place sound.

"I am returning," a soft voice said in her mind. She sensed the air currents that heralded Inglor’s movement rather than actually hearing him.

"Did you find anything?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "Someone has set up a small nest among the crates just beyond the reach of the light. Whoever it is, he is not home at the moment. I do not need to tell you that you shall have to watch for him.

"There was something most strange about the fire," Inglor suddenly changed the subject.

"There certainly was," Haleth agreed.

In hushed voices they spent most of the remainder of the night discussing possible reasons behind the suspicious fire. Haleth shared all of her theories except for the one which involved Ethirwen. Once she has realized that Ethirwen may very well have saved her and Inglor from a plot of the Hosluin, she was far too ashamed to mention her suspicions.

Inglor seemed to agree that the Hosluin were behind the arson and that the mysterious stranger was most likely their agent. There was nothing they could do in the present circumstances except to watch carefully.

"Should we take Ethirwen into our confidence?" Haleth asked at one point.

"No," Inglor said quickly.

"It's far too dangerous," he explained at her startled silence. "It's bad enough having to worry about one woman without having to worry about two."

"I can look after myself," Haleth said automatically while simultaneously wrestling with the green-eyed monster.

"I know you can," he agreed pleasantly. "I simply intend to help you."

Haleth shook her head and chuckled. "Is there really any point in arguing about this?"

She could sense his grin, even in the dark.

"I didn't think so," she said, resigned.

"You'd better go," Haleth said suddenly. "You shouldn't be caught here."

"I am not certain that would be wise," Inglor said quietly. "It may not be safe for you down here alone."

"If you mean that this man could kill me, you are right, but I doubt that he would bother. Someone from the crew will be bringing me food. If I were to die, it would only draw attention to the arsonist," Haleth said. "Besides, you're by far the more dangerous of us. They'll target you first."

"I would also be more difficult to kill," he said.

"All the more reason to kill you first," she insisted. "Besides, you can't stay down here all of the time and protect me. If both of us were confined, how would we ever catch this Hosluin?"

"You are right," he said with the characteristic mildness. "I should be going.

"Please, take this," he said, unclasping his cloak and placing it around her shoulders. It was light but warm. "No one should see it if you fold it and find a place for it during the day. It is too cold for you to sleep comfortably without some kind of covering."

She opened her mouth to protest and immediately closed it again. Some things were worth fighting over. This was not one of them. She did not want to spend the night contemplating her next apology.

"Thank-you," was all she said.

"Inglor?" Haleth said as he made ready to leave.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I'm glad you came," she said, smiling.

"As am I," he answered. "Good night."

"Good night."

Haleth snapped to full alertness. A small, unexpected sound had registered upon her sleep-shrouded senses. There was an initial moment of disorientation as she tried to remember where she was, then the cold intincts of the hunter took control.

A dark figure slunk down the ladder, faintly illuminated by the trio of small lamps. In the blackness beyond the triple circles of light, Haleth flattened herself against her crate and waited.

The figure disappeared, hidden between the stacks of boxes. Again Haleth strained her ears. She thought she could hear the soft echoes of footfalls amid the silent barrels and the tiny rustling movements of the other inhabitants of the hold. There was a creak and a barely perceptible thud and the newcomer appeared on a crate the opposite side of the small lanterns.

They were at an impasse. Haleth could see the intruder, but he could not see her. She could not approach him directly as the area around her was too dark to move without the risk of making noise; at least not if she moved quickly.

She began a silent, tortuously slow journey towards the new arrival.

~*~

Ethirwen watched the western shore of Dorwinion glide past, listening to the strokes of the oars, the laughter of the rowers and the calls of the lookouts who scanned the river for sandbars and other obstructions. Grey and white sheep dotted the gentle green hills that rolled down to the river's edge.

She had been there since early in the morning, patiently waiting.

"Good morning," a fair, musical voice unexpectedly said beside her.

"Good afternoon, you mean," Ethirwen said, laughing. "You slept well?"

"After a fashion," Inglor said as he leaned against the side of the boat and looked across the muddy waters to the green hills.

"The smoke was too thick for you?" Ethirwen asked, at once concerned.

"Not exactly, no," Inglor said truthfully. There had not been any smoke in the hold which was where he had spent most of the night. He had also retrieved Haleth's pack from her cabin. The smoke had been dreadful, but he had not stayed long. He had found a flint on the floor and he was certain it did not belong to Haleth. The rest of the morning had been spent sifting through the remnants of Haleth's supplies, looking for some other clue as to what had happened. He meant to return to the hold at the first possible opportunity.

Ethirwen watched him from the corner of her eye. There were only three days left before the boat reached the mouth of the river at the Sea of Rhun. Inglor seemed to be physically present and very far away at the same time. She contemplated the best way to drag his full attention into the present. The only subject that would likely do this was far from Ethirwen's liking, but there seemed little choice.

"You were going to tell me of Haleth?" she finally asked, smiling to mask the sour taste in her mouth.

~*~

Haleth crept through the hold, moving with exquisite slowness in the complete dark, now on the floor, now on of the cargo. She wondered if her quarry had gone to sleep; she had neither seen nor heard any movement from him since he had found his perch. The other possibility was that he was stalking her through the blackness.

She stretched her hearing as well as her sense of smell as she felt her way along. At last she heard a faint rustling that could not have been made by rats. She silently drew her knife and approached the area from where the noise came. Soft, regular breathing told her that the stranger was asleep. Haleth hesitated, wondering how to best to subdue him without hurting him very much. She raised the hilt of her knife over his head, intent on knocking him out when there was a loud creak and a beam of sunlight penetrated the darkness of the hold.

"C'mon, lass," a crewman's voice said as heavy boots descended the ladder. He carried a large bucket with him. "I've brought yer food and water. Captain says yer can come out for a few minutes." It was the man who had warned her of Ethirwen.

"Where are yer?" he asked, peering into the solid wall of darkness outside the brilliant sunbeam.

Haleth's unseen companion seemed to have awakened. She could hear him pulling himself into a seated position. He obviously had no clue about her presence.

Haleth considered the situation. She would lose the initial advantage of surprise if she called out, but the crewman would help her subdue the stowaway.

"I'm over here," she called in a loud, clear voice.

She heard a sharp intake of breath as she moved out of his reach; or at least where she judged his reach to end.

Squinting in the darkness, the crewman raised a lantern and moved in her direction. Presumably he had carried the light with him in the bucket.

"I've got company," she added, immediately moving once more. She could hear someone scrambling along the tops of the boxes. She began to follow.

"Come this way," she called to the crewman.

There was a dull thud and a muffled curse as the stowaway felt into a crack between the piles of crates.

Haleth approached the noise cautiously, not wanting to suffer a similar fate.

"There yer are," the crewman said, the weak beams of light from his lantern had finally reached Haleth. "And what's this?" he added, studying the dim figure that was struggling to pull himself out from between the stacks of cargo.

"You know very well who I am, Taeg," said the stowaway said.

"I do, but the lass here don't," answered Taeg.

"It's alright, lass," he added to Haleth as he approached her. "Orolondë won't hurt yer. His bark is far worse'n his bite." Taeg placed his lantern on the crate and helped the stowaway back to the top of the crate, boosting his foot upwards from below.

"This, I take it, is Orolondë?" Haleth asked, peering suspiciously at the ragged, bearded man who was rubbing his bruised arm and leg. The name was familiar and Haleth tried to place where she had heard it before.

"Orolondë of Lake Town," the presumed stowaway replied, bowing in an elegant manner that was completely at odds with his tattered appearance.

"Haleth," she replied automatically.

"And I'm Taeg and we're both expected above," the crewman interrupted. "Ye'll be alright, Master Orolondë?"

"Yes, Taeg," Orolondë replied.

"That was good work creeping up on me. I never heard you coming," Orolondë said to Haleth.

"You were asleep," she remarked suspiciously; Orolondë was far too friendly.  She was about to ask who he was when Taeg spoke again.

"Up the ladder with yer," he ordered.

Haleth had no choice except to obey.

The sunlight was dazzlingly bright after the dim light of the hold. Haleth blinked and shielded her eyes as she climbed onto the deck. Through her half-closed eyes she could see two tall figures looming before her. They stood just a hair's breadth too close together for her taste.

"Haleth," Inglor smiled, stepped forward and grasped her arm as she squinted like a bat at noontide. "I am so happy to see you."

"There are matters we must discuss," his voice whispered in her mind. "I shall pay you a visit tonight."

"I've found something unexpected as well," Haleth thought. She shook her head and winced, wondering what she expected to accomplish. She repeated the thought aloud in her stilted Quenyan.

"I heard you the first time," Inglor replied quietly in the same language.

"May I remind you to use your time wisely." The captain's voice was icy.

"It is good to see you again, Lady Haleth," Ethirwen smiled warmly at the dishevelled woman. Haleth returned the expression with a somewhat forced grin, mentally berating herself for her unreasoning jealousy.

"Thank-you, Lady Ethirwen. Please just call me Haleth. If you will all excuse me, there is some private business I need to attend to and I have just been reminded that I have limited time to see to it."

~*~

The final thing Haleth saw before the hatch closed was Inglor's outline etched against the blue sky as he looked down on her. She raised her hand in farewell.  Then the hatch swung closed and her world returned to the dimness of the hold.

" Orolondë?" she whispered.

"Over here," came the reply. He was once again in his spot outside of the circles of light.

"I've brought a few things," Haleth said as she made her way in his direction, a small pack across her back. She kept her hand near her knife just in case he decided he was not friendly after all.

She heard the soft click of tinder being struck and a candle flame blossomed into life, illuminating his lair.

"Be careful," Haleth remarked as she crossed the uneven stacks of cargo, "The Captain wouldn't be very happy if he knew you had an open flame down here."

"The Captain knows and wouldn't mind," Orolondë chuckled. "Who do you think paid him to leave the lanterns lit down here?"

Haleth reached Orolondë and dropped the pack. She studied him in the flickering light. He seemed young, about Ethirwen's age. He had the dark hair and beard of the men of Lake Town and his dark brown eyes were as keen as a hawk. With a pang, Haleth realized that he reminded her of Beregnil. That memory triggered another of Beregnil speaking of the members of the town council. There was Calanloss, Ethirwen and Orolondë. Could this be the Orolondë he had mentioned? If it was, what was he doing skulking in the hold? It was more likely that he had just taken the name and assumed that Haleth would feel comfortable enough with him to lower her guard.

"I take it that means you aren't a stowaway?" Haleth asked.

"No. I have a right to be here," he replied.

"You've chosen interesting accommodations," Haleth said, her hand still near her knife.

"Yes," Orolondë sighed. "But I could say the same of you."

"This wasn't my original cabin," Haleth noted. "But you must know that."

"I know who set the fire," said Orolondë.

"Really?" asked Haleth, readying herself for an attack.

"Well, I don't know his name, but I know who hired him," said Orolondë.

"And that would be?" she asked.

"Ethirwen."

"What?" Haleth jumped to her feet. The proximity of the ceiling meant that she had to crouch. "That's ridiculous. Lady Ethirwen has been nothing but kind to me. She was the one who prevented the Captain from putting me off the boat entirely. Why would she do that if she wanted me out of the way?"

"To get you away from that elf," answered Orolondë. He spat out the word 'elf' as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Or rather, to give her the opportunity to be alone with the elf. That wouldn't have happened if he had followed you off of the boat. From the little I've seen of the two of you together, that is exactly what would have occurred."

"Of course it would have," said Haleth, exasperated and still poised for a fight. "We're partners.

"But that doesn't explain why you're here," she added.

"That is a long story in itself and one which I don't intend to tell," said Orolondë . "It's enough to say that I am watching the Lady Ethirwen to be certain that she does not do anything rash."

"Such as run off with an elf?" asked Haleth.

"Exactly," Orolondë said with a lopsided smile.

"Would you like something to eat?" he asked, turning his back on her and rummaging in a pack that she had not known was there. "Please sit down."

They shared a meal of bread, cheese and watered wine and discussed the Captain's temper. Haleth kept her guard up the entire time, fully expecting him to try to shove a knife into her ribs as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

"If you'll excuse me," he said when they had finished. "I did not sleep last night and would like to try to nap now. I don't expect Ethirwen will be a problem until after the sun goes down and there are fewer eyes to mark her actions. We've three days travel until we reach our destination. The real trouble will come the night after next.”

“Why then?” she asked.

“It will be her last chance," Orolondë explained as he stretched out with his head on the pack.

Haleth didn't bother to tell him that she and Inglor were planning on leaving the boat before it reached its final destination.

Haleth sat cross-legged in the darkness of the hold, listening to Orolondë’s even breathing. She could not trust him to be what he claimed. She also did not want to believe that Ethirwen was anything other than the gracious, kind woman she seemed to be.

She caught herself dozing off. It would not be wise to leave herself vulnerable in that way.

~*~

Above deck, Ethirwen was having difficulty sustaining a conversation with Inglor. Every subject she had opened had been met with a bemused confusion on the elf's part. Each promising beginning quickly dwindled to nothing unless she carried both halved of the conversation.

For Ethirwen it was most disappointing that Inglor could not or would not speak as his voice was musical and very pleasant to the ears. It did seem a shame that one so fair should be so lacking in the more intellectual gifts. When she looked upon the elf again, Ethirwen felt herself more than satisfied by his physical appearance alone. She was confident that, in the long run, his lower mental acuity would make things easier for her. In the meantime, she would have to settle for his physical proximity, which was quite intoxicating.

When Ethirwen tired of speaking, the only sounds were the wind in the rigging and the rhythmic strokes of the oars cutting through the muddy waters of the River Running. There may have been other sounds, but they were only audible to Inglor.

He stood against the railing, watching the western shore move past them. The sheep had been replaced by vineyards. Men were harvesting the last of the season's grapes, singing as they worked.

"You said that you would tell me more of your travelling companion," Ethirwen finally said. "How did the two of you meet?"

"We met in Lake Town several years ago," Inglor answered quietly.

"Did you meet Beregnil then as well?" she asked.

"No," admitted Inglor after a moment's pause, "We only made his acquaintance on this past visit."

"I only wondered because the Master seems to be quite taken by Haleth and that in itself is unexpected," said Ethirwen. A person with a keen sense of observation may have noted the note of jealousy in her voice.

Inglor shrugged and effectively closed that particular thread of conversation.

Ethirwen was racking her brain for something else to say when tatters of the grape-pickers melancholy song was carried to her by a trick of the wind.

"Almost all of the music of Dorwinion is sad," she said.

"Truly?" Inglor asked with slightly more enthusiasm than he had used to greet her other attempts at conversation. "It almost sound elvish."

"There are tales of elves in this area," Ethirwen said. "And of the dwarves."

This finally seemed to catch his interest.

"Could you tell me of them?" he asked with a brilliant smile.

Ethirwen fought to maintain her composure in the wake of that devastating grin.

~*~

Haleth prowled the hold within the dim circles of light cast by the lanterns. It was not curiosity that drove her as much as the need to remain awake. She had taken the opportunity to rummage through Orolondë’s belongings. There was nothing there to indicate he was anything other than what he claimed to be; a love besotted merchant from Lake Town. The cautious (or what some might call paranoid) part of Haleth's mind told her that a clever agent of the Hosluin would not carry anything that would betray his allegiance.

She could not afford to trust Orolondë.

The hatch opened and Taeg once more descended the ladder.

"Here now, where are yer this time?" he called.

"Over here," Haleth replied from the top of a stack of crates.

"I brung yer a bite to eat," he said, offering her the sack that he carried once she had clambered down.

"Thank-you," she smiled and took the bag from him.

"Is there anythin' else yer need?" he asked.

"Maybe," Haleth said as she dug through the bag. Her hand encountered the smoothness of a wineskin. She pulled it out and examined it. Taeg watched her with interest.

"I don't think I'll need this," she said slowly. "Would you like it?"

"Well…If yer don't need it," Taeg said slowly.

She handed him the wineskin. He opened it and took a long, careful pull.

"Have you known Orolondë for long?" she asked.

"All my life," Taeg answered. "My da worked for his da."

"Why is a wealthy merchant from Lake Town travelling like a stowaway in the hold of a ship?" she asked him.

"I'm sure he tole yer tha himself," Taeg said, shaking his head. "He's here to keep an eye on the lady, that Ethirwen."

The tone of his voice told Haleth that Taeg's opinion of the lady in question was far from good.

He chuckled at the expression on Haleth's face. "She got him right bewitched, she does. And she's done it to you, too. There's only one I've ever seen that she can't charm."

"Then maybe you could tell me of Ethirwen?" Haleth asked stiffly.

Taeg took another long pull from the wineskin.

"She's one of the richest merchants in Lake Town," he said. "The richest, 'cept for Beregnil."

Haleth winced at the mention of the Master of Lake Town’s name.

"Her mother was from here, Dorwinion," Taeg continued. "She left her the estates the lady suddenly had to visit when she saw your friend there and learned he was heading in this direction. Her dad was the second richest merchant in Lake Town. He was killed nigh on four years ago. She's been leading almost all the men of Lake Town on a merry chase since then with all of them trying to marry her and her playing them off against each other. She's made a small fortune by hinting that she might say yes to one of them. My master thought he finally had a good chance with her when you and your elf showed up."

"He's not my elf," Haleth corrected him automatically while wrestling with the twin monsters of anger and jealousy. This time they had been joined by righteous outrage.

"Begging your pardon," Taeg gave her a crooked half smile and raised one bushy eyebrow, "He sure won't be Ethirwen's no matter how hard she tries."

"You can be certain of that," Haleth muttered under her breath.

"'Scuse me?"

"Nothing."

Taeg drank from the wineskin to hide his broad grin.

"I should be wakin' up the master," he said. "The sun’s nearly down and he watches her cabin at night to make sure she's alone."

Haleth followed him, a grim expression on her face.

The Scene According to Ethirwen

Night had fallen once more. The boat was anchored near the western shore and the watch had been set. Most of the crew had again made camp on the shore. The red and orange lights of their fires danced in the darkness.

Ethriwen stood beside Inglor on the deck of the boat. "And so for the men of Dorwinion, the harvest feast has always been sweet and yet sorrowful," she said, finishing yet another of the legends of the area. Her throat as dry and her voice tired from speaking for so long. "They are thankful for the food but they mourn their loss of freedom."

Inglor absently studied the stars. It took him some time to realize that Ethirwen had finished her tale.

"That is very interesting," he said softly. "Are there any other legends?"

Ethirwen was torn between the desire to slap him for not paying complete attention to her and the need to smile and do as he had asked. Her voice was a problem as she was not certain she could talk for another half hour. The sun had set. It was time to put her plan of seduction into practice.

"There is one legend..." she said in a very low voice meant for Inglor’s ears alone. In Ethirwen’s mind, he would to lean closer to hear her.  She would move imperceptibly nearly to him and bush against him ever so gently. She had used this trick to good effect many times before. The effect was always the same.  The man would become distracted and Ethirwen could easily convince him to do her bidding.

"Only one tale left?" Inglor asked, turning towards her but shifting away at the same time.

It took Ethirwen a fraction of a second to realize that her opening tactic had, for the first time in her experience, failed.

"There is more than one," she said in a more normal but somewhat strained voice. "This particular story involves my family."

He waited for the to continue, his face a mask of polite but distant interest.

Ethirwen studied the blue eyes and the fair face and found her thoughts becoming jumbled and confused. She mentally shook herself and regrouped.

"There's something I'd like you to see," she whispered. She had only used this line one time before.  It had worked wonders on Orolondë. The usually collected merchant had jumped to his own conclusions about what 'what' was and had been quite easily manipulated from there. He never had seemed to notice that Ethirwen had not, in fact, shown him anything.

Inglor was another matter entirely.  He simply stood there, heart-breakingly beautiful and only vaguely interested. In fact, he did not even seem to be looking at Ethirwen directly. He was watching the rowers' benches over her shoulder.

"It's in my cabin," she said, hoping he would understand the remark was an invitation.

Inglor's attention drifted back to her but otherwise he did not move a muscle.  He was content to watch her with infinite if distracted patience.

"Oh," he eventually said, effectively throwing the ball back into Ethirwen's court.

"I suppose I should get it," she said slowly and stepped closer to him. "Only..."

He refused to pick up on her increasingly unsubtle hints. Again he sidestepped her and looked at over her shoulder. Ethirwen silently fumed at Inglor's continued lapses of attention. No man ever paid her less than one hundred percent attention. Annoyance was quickly replaced by a steely resolve to bend him to her will. The first thing she would do would be to wipe that expression of detachment from his face.

"Only?" he finally asked, as if prompted.

"Only I don't want to reveal it outside of my cabin," Ethirwen said after pondering her response.

There was a dull thud and a muffled curse from the oarsmen's area behind her.

"Lead on," Inglor said smoothly indicating that Ethirwen should precede him.

Pleased that her charms seemed to be working again, Ethirwen swept towards her cabin. She allowed herself a quick smirk of triumph in the darkness. She was more than confident that she could easily seduce the elf once she had him alone.

The Same Scene According to Inglor

Crouching in the shadows, Haleth led Orolondë to the rower's area. They crept forward until they were three rows from the back. This was the last row where Haleth felt comfortable that a stray beam of light from the lantern on the stern would not reveal them to Ethirwen. She could see the couple standing by the side of the boat, Ethirwen's graceful form leaning towards Inglor, who, as always, seemed to glow in the starlight. The woman's voice murmured in the soft darkness.

"Inglor," Haleth whispered. She hoped that he would hear her. "I'm in the rowers seats. Give me a signal if you can hear me. " Inglor made a small waving motion without looking in her direction. "I've got someone with me," she added.

"What did you say?" Orolondë demanded in a loud whisper.

Haleth immediately hushed him. "They'll hear us," she whispered to him.

"I doubt Ethirwen heard you," Inglor's voice said in Haleth's mind. She noted that he sounded vaguely amused and wondered what he and Ethirwen had been discussing. "But she is bound to notice if your new companion insists upon being so noisy."

Orolondë glared at Haleth and then turned his murderous attention back towards Inglor and Ethirwen.

"He'll be quiet for now," Haleth breathed the forms of the words.

"The Lady Ethirwen had been telling me some of the stories of Dorwinion," Inglor's voice again chimed in her head. "They are very interesting."

"You'll have to tell me later," Haleth breathed. The murmurring of Ethirwen's voice had stopped.

"I think she's finished," Haleth breathed.

"So she is," observed Inglor.

"I think she's expecting you to say something," Haleth prompted him.

"That is very interesting. Are there any other legends?" Haleth experienced the extremely odd sensation of hearing Inglor's words in her mind as well as with her ears. A powerful wave of vertigo rushed over her senses and she had to clutch both her head and stomach to not be immediately sick.

"Stop that!" she breathed at Inglor.

"Stop what?" Orolondë asked. Haleth immediately shushed him.

"You can hear me?" Inglor asked in her mind. He seemed pleasantly surprised.

"Of course I can hear you," she whispered.

"I know you can hear me," whispered Orolondë, "But you shushed me for no reason." Haleth shushed him again.

"Just speak with your mind," Inglor told her. "It will avoid misunderstandings."

"I think I am going to be sick," Haleth groaned silently.

"There is one legend," Ethirwen's voice was on the very edge of Haleth's hearing. Haleth saw Ethirwen take a half step closer to Inglor, who immediately sidestepped and turned to look directly at Haleth and Orolondë.

"It will pass quickly," Inglor's mind spoke directly to Haleth's. "Who is your new companion?"

"His name is Orolondë, He is a merchant of Lake Town," Haleth told him as the nausea began to recede. "He's been staying in the hold. He's in love with Ethirwen."

"I'll kill that elf," Orolondë whispered viciously under his breath.

"He doesn't like you very much," she added to Inglor.

"Only one tale left?" Inglor asked Ethirwen, too distracted by his silent conversation with Haleth to pay much attention to the raven-haired beauty before him.

"There is more than one left," Ethirwen's voice sounded forced. "This particular story involves my family."

"How can he want to murder me when we have not even been introduced?" Inglor asked Haleth.

"Do elves consider it bad manners to kill someone without a proper introduction?" Haleth asked.

This was met with a dry chuckle. "You are feeling better," came the thought.

"There's something I'd like you to see," Ethirwen said to Inglor.

Orolondë gasped so loudly that Haleth was certain Ethirwen had heard him. She placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. A steady, dull, scraping sound came from the merchant's direction. With a start Haleth realized that it was his teeth grinding together.

"It's in my cabin," whispered Ethirwen

"What is that noise?" Inglor's voice was in her mind again.

"I believe that Orolondë is coming to the realization that Ethirwen is not as he believed," Haleth answered. Inglor's response could only be described as a mental snort, which surprised Haleth to no end. There was no time to consider her suspicions of Inglor, though, as Orolondë's muscles tightened under her hand.

"Oh," Inglor said vacantly to Ethirwen when he finally noticed the pause in their conversation.

"Either that or he's getting ready to kill you," Haleth added to Inglor.

"I suppose I should get it," Ethirwen said slowly as she stepped closer to Inglor. "Only..."

Inglor sidestepped Ethirwen again and looked directly at Haleth. Even with her distance from him Haleth could see his eyes glittering in the star light.

"Are you in danger?" came the calm question. Haleth was surprised by the strength of the feeling underlying the query. Inglor noticed her reaction and immediately drew back as though she had seen something that she should not have.

"No," Haleth answered Inglor, pretending that she had not noticed anything unusual. "But Orolondë is in danger of revealing us."

"Only?" Inglor asked Ethirwen aloud.

"Only I don't want to reveal it outside of my cabin," Ethirwen answered in a conspiratorial whisper.

Haleth gripped Orolondë's shoulder with more force to remind him of their current situation. Instead of an outburst he settled for a muffled curse.

"You better get her away from here," Haleth though to Inglor. "I don't think Orolondë will keep quiet much longer."

"Lead on," Inglor said to Ethirwen.

Haleth watched Ethirwen sweep past her hiding spot. The woman wore a smug, over-confident smirk. She was unhappy to know that Orolondë had seen that particular expression. It would likely kill any of his precious, lingering illusions about Ethirwen's true personality.

"I think we should follow them," Orolondë said with quiet determination once the other couple had disappeared below deck.

He stalked towards the door without saying a word. Haleth trailed after him treading lightly on the boards of the deck, uncertain of what to say or if comfort would be welcome.

"You have nothing to fear from Inglor," she finally said with some hesitation.

Orolondë appeared to not hear her. He went without pause directly to the closed door of Ethirwen's cabin and leaned on the oak panel.

"Can you hear anything?" Haleth asked, not unkindly.

"No," he answered. "You seem to have better hearing than me. You try."

Haleth placed her ear firmly against the door.

*********************************************

Inglor was being very careful to keep himself between Ethirwen and the door. His fear of Haleth being discovered outside of the hold and put off the ship had made him decide to accept Ethirwen’s invitation to her cabin. While the situation was potentially educational, it was also potentially dangerous. He would use the earliest opportunity to leave and escort Haleth back to the hold.  Once there, he intended to spend the rest of the voyage in the hold with her.

Ethirwen's cabin was slightly larger than his. There was a small, round window and the bed was slightly wider. If she could have seen the room, Haleth would have thought that it looked as though Ethirwen had been expecting company. A gentle breeze ruffled the delicate curtain that screened the small window. The bed was covered in a soft, delicate cloth.

Ethirwen lit the lamp, which was filled with fragrant oil. When that was done, she stood and watched Inglor expectantly.

"You were going to show me an artifact and tell me a legend about your family?" Inglor prompted her.

Ethirwen scowled at him, but he maintained a serene expression in the face of her obvious displeasure. Remaining tranquil was not nearly the challenge Ethirwen liked to think. Haleth had given him plenty of practice under far more trying circumstances. He was aware of his companion’s presence on the other side of the door.

"Would you please go back to the hold?" he spoke directly to Haleth's mind. "I would like to get out of here."

"Orolondë won't go," her voiceless words replied.

Inglor bit his bottom lip in consternation.

Meanwhile, Ethirwen was desperately trying to think of something to show Inglor in order to keep him in her cabin and give her more time to work her wiles upon him. The artifact, of course, had been imaginary. She could, however, take an old legend and rework it to her own ends.

She sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to her. Inglor blinked once and remained standing.

********************************************

"Hey!" the night watchman's voice rang in the corridor. "Who's there?"

"Run," Haleth whispered and, pushing Orolondë before her, they fled above deck. She dived beneath one of the rower's seats and hoped the Orolondë would follow her example. She heard rather than saw him crawling under another bench.

The night watchman stomped past, cursing under his breath. The man's grasp of the curse words of several languages impressed even Haleth, who had grown up in a country of seafarers. He passed by without seeing them. 

*******************************************************************

"What was that?" Inglor asked.

"What was what?" asked Ethirwen.

"That noise," he said. "Did you not hear shouting?"

"I'm sure it was nothing important," she said with false brightness.

Inglor sprang to the door and opened it, intending to make his escape. He was in time to see the night watchman's back moving up the hallway.

"Haleth?" he called with his mind.

"We're fine," came the quick reply.

"See?" Ethirwen said as she pulled Inglor back into her cabin and closed the door while he was distracted. "I'm certain that everything is under control." She tried to push Inglor onto the bed but he neatly slipped from her grasp.

"The story?" he asked. There was a slight edge in his voice.

*****************************************

"That was a bit too close," Haleth whispered once she had made her way to Orolondë's hiding spot. "We should go back to the hold."

"No," Orolondë's voice was a soft, menacing whisper. His jaw was set and his eyes gleamed fiercely in the starlight. Haleth thought of his earlier reactions towards Inglor. She doubted that Orolondë’s new knowledge of Ethirwen's true personality would make things less dangerous for the elf. It was unlikely that the merchant could harm Inglor, but he could cause a great deal of trouble, which was the last thing they needed.

"I am not going to walk up the hallway," Haleth said firmly.

"There's a window in her cabin," Orolondë said.

"What?" asked Haleth who was of the opinion that holes in boats were a bad thing.

"Come on," he said, leading the way to the side of the boat without looking to see if she followed. He leaned over the railing. Haleth, after checking the deck to be certain there was no one watching them, followed his example. There was indeed a small, round hole in the side of the ship.

"Can you hear anything?" Orolondë demanded.

They both stood stock still, barely breathing.

"Just the waves on the hull," Haleth admitted after straining her ears for several moments while keeping a careful eye for the watchman.

"Here," Orolondë whispered. "I have an idea."

********************************************

"And when she grasped him, he turned into a lion," Ethirwen said, staring intently into Inglor's clear, blue eyes as she told her tale. She leaned forward slightly and breathed deeper, certain her charms were finally working. For once Inglor seemed to be listening very intently.

**********************************************

"Can you hear anything?" Orolondë demanded. He was holding Haleth by the ankles over the edge of the boat.

"Yes," she whispered. "She's still talking."

"As long as one of them is talking," Orolondë said grimly.

"This is ridiculous. Pull me up," Haleth said after several minutes of listening to Ethirwen's story which had been old when the hills were young. Haleth was beginning to get dizzy from the blood pooling in her head.

"Just keep listening," Orolondë growled.

Haleth was not in a position to argue.

*******************************************

"And finally he was changed into fire." Ethirwen rose from the bed and approached Inglor, who shrank against the door of the cabin.

"It burned her hand cruelly, but she refused to release him as he was her own true love." Ethirwen reached for Inglor, intending to hold him tightly to her.

Inglor cocked his head towards the window.

"Did you hear something?" he interrupted.

*******************************************

"You're going to have to lift me up," Haleth said.

"No," Orolondë insisted. "Are they still talking?"

"I can't tell," Haleth snapped. "My ears are ringing too much and I'm getting light headed. Pull me up before I pass out."

"Not yet," Orolondë protested.

"Now," she ordered. "I'll go back once I've recovered."

"Here! Who’re you and what're you doing?" The night watchman had returned.

Orolondë spun around guiltily. Haleth's ankles slipped out of his fingers. There was a quiet splash as she disappeared beneath the dark water's surface.

Author's notes. I always wondered why Inglor was so perpetually distracted. I think I now know part of the reason.

And yes, Ethirwen's story is indeed the tale of Tam Lin.

I heard a splash," Inglor said, leaning towards the window. This incidentally moved him in Ethirwen's direction.

"It's probably just a fish." Ethirwen believed this was a ploy on his part, an excuse to draw closer to her. She smiled softly and prepared to step into his arms, shivering with anticipation.

But then even she could hear the shouts of alarm from the deck.

"Excuse me," Inglor said. He spun on his heel and burst out the door before Ethirwen could blink.

Ethirwen cursed. She still trembled, but now it was with rage. She had been so close. Whoever had been responsible for this interruption was going to pay dearly for it. She took a moment to compose herself and then followed Inglor above deck, intending to drag him back to her chamber at the earliest possible moment.

*******************************************

"Man overboard!" came the emergency call.

A small crowd had gathered around the area just above Ethirwen's cabin. They were all leaning over the railing, pointing at the dark waters and talking excitedly. The captain was there, looking as though he was going to burst a vein.

"Oh no," Inglor said as he surveyed the surface of the water. He had braced himself on the side of the boat, ready to jump over when someone grasped his arm. His first impulse was to forcefully remove the hands that kept him from diving overboard and rescuing Haleth. Then he released it was Ethirwen who was holding him. It still took a conscious act of will for him to not simply sweep her aside.

"Haleth?" he called with his mind. There was no reply.

"What is it?" Ethirwen asked, sounding both concerned and frightened. She secretly hoped that it would be something dangerous enough that it would give her a valid excuse to cower against Inglor and beg for his protection.

"Haleth has fallen overboard," he said shortly.

Ethirwen paused at the tone of his voice. He was certainly very worried, even angry. She thought she had detected a certain amount of distraction there as well, as though his mind was not entirely on the immediate problem. She smiled inwardly, believing herself to be the cause of his preoccupation, and considered the best way to play the situation to her advantage.

"How could that have happened if she was in the hold?" Ethirwen asked as she leaned against Inglor. She appealed to him with her large blue eyes. "Do you think someone pushed her?"

"Possibly," Inglor said, too distraught to notice Ethirwen's body language.

He pushed his awareness beneath the surface of the water, searching for a spark of human life in its cold depths.

"Haleth?" he called again.

One of the crewmen had lit a torch. The faces gathered on the deck shone red in its ruddy light.

**********************************************

Haleth had just enough time to take a quick breath before she was engulfed by the river.

Normally she would have simply swum to shore, cursed heartily, and sloshed to the camp on the shore. But she was not accustomed to hanging upside down for extended periods of time. She had already been light-headed when she had hit the water. The shock of the cold had cleared her mind just enough for her to realize that she was in enormous trouble.

Haleth tried to get her bearings. She was surrounded by featureless darkness and could not trust her already ringing ears to tell her if she was swimming up or down.

"Haleth!" Inglor's voice burst into her mind with the tremendous power. The force of his communication stunned Haleth's already reeling mind. She stopped fighting the water and allowed herself to be pulled downwards by the current.

Her instinct for survival forced her focus. If Inglor had called for her once, he was likely to do it again. He was probably trying to determine where she was before diving after her. She tried to brace herself for the mental juggernaut.

"Haleth!" The call came again, just as powerful.

She tried to send him a message asking which way would take her to the surface, but could not form a coherent thought. She desperately clawed the water, fighting the current and the ever increasing pressure to breathe. With luck she had given enough information for him to find her in the endless, wet, cold dark.

A bright, red light suddenly flared to her right. Hoping desperately that it was a torch, Haleth kicked out in its direction. Of all the ways to die, drowning after being dropped over the side of a boat by the jealous suitor of another woman and then mentally stunned by her best and only friend had to be the stupidest. It was not even her own jealousy that had been fatal.

Haleth's lungs were ready to burst when she at last broke the surface of the river, choking and spluttering. She inhaled deeply and immediately began to swear.

**********************************************

Inglor heard something erupt through the surface of the water. This was followed by a round of sulphurous cursing. He closed his eyes and drew a thankful sigh of relief. If Haleth could still swear like that, she was fine. The several of the crew camped on shore were already approaching her in a dinghy.

"Who would do such a thing?" Ethirwen asked, sounding small and frightened. She pressed herself against Inglor, believing that her non-verbal appeal would dissolve the barriers between them.

"I have an idea," Inglor said. "Excuse me." Satisfied that Haleth was no longer in danger, he gently but dismissively brushed Ethirwen from his arm and went in search of Orolondë.

Ethirwen, trembling with fury, found herself abandoned and forgotten.

**********************************************

"There he is!" someone shouted.

"Bring him in," the Captain called. A small craft left the shore. Four oarsmen rowed to the place where Haleth fought with the current and the cold to keep her head above the water.

After what seemed like an age, a paddle was carefully extended within her reach. She grasped it tightly and was pulled to the safety of the dinghy. The sailors rowed back to the boat as she panted her profound thanks. They must have thought her worse than an idiot, judging by the looks they threw at her.

A small crowd had gathered to watch the proceedings, their curious faces glowing ruddy in the light of the torches.

The rescue craft was raised and Haleth was roughly aided over its side to stand alone, dripping and exhausted, within a circle of blurry faces. A quick glance told her that Inglor was not among them.

"You again." The Captain was livid. "If I'd known it was you, I'd have left you for the fish."

Then he paused to consider. As annoying as Haleth was, actively throwing her overboard to drown was too harsh. If he was going to do that, he should have done it right after the fire. Besides, the elf travelling with her might take a dim view of her being left to die. The Captain had heard the stories of the elves.  He did not want to contemplate what an angry Inglor would do.

He was about to order his crewmen to throw Haleth back in the hold when Ethirwen pushed her way into the circle of men. The merchant’s beautiful face was twisted in fury.

Again the Captain hesitated, waiting for Ethirwen to speak. Her money gave her great power. Any decision that went against her wishes could break him.

Ethirwen was upset, confused, and most of all furious. She had never had her pride wounded as badly as Inglor had done by rebuffing all of her advances. But when she thought of his fair face she could not bring herself to do him harm; at least not yet.

Haleth was the only thing that stood between Ethirwen and her goal, and she focused all of her keen, angry intelligence upon the ragged vagabond who stood so high in Inglor's affections. Jealousy raged within Ethirwen as she raked the dripping, bedraggled woman from head to toe with her eyes, searching for something to use to compare her unfavourably with herself.

The list was so long that Ethirwen could not decide where to begin. Haleth was older than her and far more travel-worn. She evidently paid little or no heed of her personal appearance and refused to say anything in her own defense. Ethirwen could not imagine what Inglor could possibly see in this woman who was completely lacking in every charm and social grace.

Her eyes fastened on the silver ring that Haleth was nervously twisting around her right index finger.

"What is that?" Ethirwen shrieked. Everyone jumped at the strident tone and volume of her voice.

Ethirwen grabbed Haleth's right hand and held the ring up for all to see. The silver shone blood red in the reflected light of the torches.

"How could such a creature possibly come by such a treasure?" the raven-haired beauty demanded, her voice as shrill as a hawk's. "She must have stolen it!"

"Put this trash ashore," the Captain ordered his men. Two of them moved to flank Haleth.

"I gave it to her." Inglor had chosen the perfect moment to reappear.

The words were uttered softly, but with such force that everyone froze where they stood. All eyes were turned upon Inglor, who looked as he had on that one night in Dale: tall, imperious and extremely dangerous.

Ethirwen dropped Haleth's hand as if she had been burned by it. She backed away from the intensity of Inglor's quiet rage, which was directed squarely upon her.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, quailing at his anger. "I didn't know...I thought that...I'm sorry."

As Inglor came close to her, Haleth grasped his arm with all of her returning strength and firmly planted her feet on the deck. She was not certain if he even noticed her.

"Inglor," Haleth whispered, "Just leave it. Please."

"If Lord Inglor gives his word to be responsible for this woman, that is good enough for me," a new voice called from the back of the crowd.

Every head snapped in the direction of the newcomer, grateful for some distraction. Orolondë, wearing clean clothes, approached them. He had found time to comb his hair and beard so that he looked less like a tramp and more like the rich, powerful merchant that he was. Taeg followed behind his master, his face a careful blank.

"You have my word," Inglor said, inclining his head towards Orolondë. "I shall be responsible for her."

"Only for the time we're on this boat," Haleth insisted.

She was answered by a mental sigh and the slightest of tightening of Inglor's jaw muscles.

"Master Orolondë," Captain Dorlas bowed his head.

"Captain Dorlas," Orolondë inclined his head in a similar manner. "I am pleased with the way you run my ship. As her owner, I request that you to release this woman to the custody of Lord Inglor."

The Captain heaved a sigh of relief. He was in a very delicate situation and Orolondë had just offered him a relatively graceful way out of it.

"As you wish," he said shortly. "Crew dismissed."

The men began to make their way back to their sleeping quarters, as did the Captain. Orolondë remained with Inglor and Haleth. Taeg winked at Haleth when he thought no one was paying attention. Ethirwen was nowhere to be found.

Haleth relaxed her grip on Inglor's arm. He seemed to have contained his anger and displayed once again the vague, distracted personality that he usually presented to the world. The muscles under her hand were still as tense as a steel spring, though. She absently reached for and squeezed his hand. He immediately caught her hand in his and clenched so tightly that Haleth gasped in quiet pain. The strength of his grip quickly abated, but he refused to release her.

"Thank-you," Haleth said to Orolondë when the others were out of earshot.

The merchant gazed at her steadily and remained silent. She evenly returned his inspection.

"It was the least I could do," he finally said.

A night breeze sprang up and Haleth, who was still dripping from her close encounter with the river, began to shiver.

"It would probably be a good idea to get her inside," Orolondë said to Inglor.

"Of course," Inglor replied quickly. "She's prone to the cold."

"Excuse me?" Haleth asked, one eyebrow cocked in half-mock indignation. "I ammm not." The effect was spoiled by the cold-induced stutter.

"Good night," Inglor bowed to Orolondë. "You have my thanks."

"Good night," Haleth echoed.

"Good night," Orolondë answered. He watched the unlikely pair until they disappeared.

"I called to you," Inglor said quietly as they moved up the corridor to his cabin.

"I heard," Haleth replied, wincing at the memory of Inglor's panicked mental shout. "I couldn't not hear. I couldn't answer. I’m sorry."

They stopped outside the door of Inglor's cabin, the elf intently studying the woman. Haleth dropped her gaze and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. She had not known the Eldar could communicate without speaking.  Although she was amazed that she could hear and answer him, she was too busy being terrified that he had seen her guilty daydreams to wonder about her unexpected talent.  The entire situation was so mortifying that she briefly considered diving into the river again.

He sighed and placed one hand gently on her shoulder. "I apologize," he said softly. "It will not happen again."

Haleth blinked in confusion. "Inglor, I don't blame you for my falling into the river. And that or something like it most certainly will happen again."

A ghost of a smile drifted across his face as he unlocked the cabin door. Haleth waited until his back was turned before allowing herself to shiver. As much as she liked Inglor, carrying on a mental conversation with him was simply too intimate.

"I need to get into some dry clothes," Haleth said, immediately turning to practical matters to hide her embarrassment. Inglor’s cabin was identical to the one she had used before the fire. There was only enough space between the bed and the far wall for one of them at a time. A long, narrow bed lined one side of the cramped room, a large drawer beneath it. The space smelled of wood and sunshine on green meadows. "Too bad all of mine were burned."

"They weren't," Inglor said quickly, a faint smile twitching the corners of his lips.

"What?" Haleth found herself answering his grin in spite of being thoroughly confused.

"Just sit down and lift your feet," he told her.

Mystified, Haleth sat on the very edge of the bed and pulled her feet up. Inglor opened the draw under the bed and displayed the contents to her with a quick flourish of his hand. Her spare clothing and the other contents of her pack were neatly arranged beneath her feet.

"Oh most wondrous elf!" she said when he handed her the box containing the mechanical bird she had purchased in Dale. "I did not know that the Eldar could perform miracles."

"If you mean that using soap and water to clean things is a miracle, yes, we can," he laughed.

"But everything was burned in the fire," Haleth said.

"No," Inglor corrected her. "Your pack was not touched by the flames. The fire was started on the floor and made up in such a way as to cause a great deal of smoke."

"I guess we know who had it set," Haleth sighed as she leaned over and took her spare set of clothes from the drawer.

"I will never understand humans," Inglor said with quiet intensity.

"If it makes you feel any better, neither will I," said Haleth. He closed the drawer and she stood up and dripped on the floor instead of on the bed.

"That is not very encouraging," said Inglor, shaking his head.

"It wasn't meant to be," she replied, smiling.

Haleth’s smile faded to a frown.  She shivered and rubbed her arms, pointedly looking at the door. 

"I guess I should change my clothes," she said.

"Yes," he agreed pleasantly.

"Inglor, I don't know about elves, but it's a custom among humans to change in private," Haleth said when it became clear that he was not going to leave without prompting.

"I agreed to be responsible for you," he said as though it explained his refusal to leave the room.

"You're going to be responsible for me catching my death of cold if you don't get out so I can change!" said Haleth, her voice rising.

Her frustration died a quick death when she saw the amused look in his eyes.

"Just get out," she said, pointing emphatically to the door.

"But..."

"OUT!"

"Very well!" he said, finally moving towards the door. "I do not understand your anxiety. It would not be the first time I have seen you unclothed."

He ducked out and closed the door in time to hear the dull thump of a well aimed boot on its opposite side, chuckling at the outraged expression on her face.

The southern plains of Wilderland echoed with the dim thunder of horses' hooves. Halmir and his men, tall, grim and dire, coursed over the golden fields of autumn, riding ever southwards, bloodhounds on the trail of the elusive palantir.

Beams of sunlight glistened in golden pools across the land where Arien peered from the wrack of high clouds. The Celduin lay to their left, an alternating ribbon of dull, muddy brown beneath the clouds and bright, gleaming topaz within the lidos of sunlight.

The Dunedain had been warmly welcomed in Dale. King Bard had been quick to offer the Dunedain what aid he could give and they had remained there for several days to rest their travel-weary steeds.

Erysa's kitchens had bustled with relentless busyness as the cooks prepared the larder for the lean months of winter. The delectable scent of spices and cooking apples had permeated the air as far as Bard's throne room, setting everyone's mouths watering. In spite of her responsibilities, the redoubtable housekeeper had still found time for her new charges, appearing as though by magic whenever any of them so much as thought of being slightly hungry. Erysa had merrily stuffed the Dunedain with food and drink at every possible opportunity. It would be some time before Halmir or any of his men could face apple dumplings again.

They had gathered news of the palantir from Bard and from Thorin, King Under Mountain. The palantir had reportedly fallen into the hands of an Elf Lord and a woman who had promptly lost it to a shadowy group of people known as the Hosluin. Rumour of a new, possible threat on the eastern boarders of Gondor had sent a chill through Halmir's heart. Gondor had lost many of its fighting men in the War of the Ring. His kingdom's strength lay in the valour of her men and her king. These Hosluin posed a new, insidious type of menace at a time when the kingdom was healing its wounds and rebuilding. Bard had been reticent about the Hosluin, unwilling or unable to give much information. Halmir guessed that the king of Dale would have quickly offered more guidance if he had any certain information. Bard was not a man prone to share wild speculations or dim intuitions. All the same, Halmir sensed the unease the Hosluin created in Bard. King Elessar would have to be informed of the shadowy blue horde and decide how best to deal with the group of poisoners who held a palantir. Halmir had asked King Bard to send messengers to Minas Anor while he and his men went south towards Esgaroth.

Along the way they had met with more unsettling news.

Froi and his men had booked passage on a boat that was sailing to Dorwinion two weeks after Inglor and Haleth left on the same voyage.

The dwarves preferred to trust their own sturdy legs rather than the tossing vagrancies of a loosely assembled pile of lumber, but news had been carried to them on the wings of the southern wind which urged them to greater speed than their feet could manage.

They kept to themselves below deck. The dark, tight spaces which oppressed most humans were a comfort to the dwarves. With no crafts to occupy their restless hands, they sat together, eyes gleaming in the lamplight, and discussed their business plans once they had recovered the palantir. They spoke quietly in low, rumbling voices in their own tongue, which they did not teach to outsiders. The conversation would falter only when they considered the one obstacle that was rumoured to stand in their way.

A wheezing nightmare of hard scales and scrabbling claws marauded its slow, cautious, way down the eastern bank of the River Running, wheezing like a broken bellows. The hunting was better here than in the rocky desolation of the Withered Health and Lithul feasted on sleek, fat sheep as he pleased. The Long Stair at the foot of Esgaroth had almost been the end of him with its narrow, twisting pathway, but at last he had gained the bottom and immediately lost the trail of his quarry. Lithul had crossed the river and was slowly making his way downstream, leaving rumours in his wake and casting a shadow of dread before him.

An inevitable as winter, the last of the cold drakes crept southwards, his quarry somewhere ahead of him.

"The question now is how do we get inside?"

From their hiding place, Haleth squinted thoughtfully at the tower and the wall which surrounded it. The landscape of the northeastern shore of the Sea of Rhun was rugged, barren granite. The tower loomed on a rough outcrop that was joined to the shore by a narrow strip of land.  Haleth and Inglor were huddled behind an enormous boulder to avoid being seen.

A small troupe of guards patrolled the isthmus several times a day. Their guardhouse was just in front of the wall that blocked access to the tower. Haleth had the odd impression that their purpose was to keep people within the tower rather than preventing intruders from entering.

Inglor watched the white capped waves crash onto the shore without comment. He had become steadily more withdrawn in the weeks that it had taken them to find the Hosluin's tower. The long silences weighed heavily upon Haleth, who was still determined to go her own way once the palantir was in the hands of the King of Gondor. To distract herself from her inner anxiety, she concentrated on retrieving the Seeing Stone from the squat, gloomy lair of the Hosluin.

"Is the tower completely smooth?" Haleth asked Inglor. She was planning on scaling the wall at night and entering the tower through a high window.

"No. There is a stairway spiralling up the outer wall. It may reach all the way to the roof," Inglor replied quietly, his eyes never leaving the waves.

"Oh," Haleth said, taken aback. Walking up a staircase was certainly easier than climbing a stone wall. It would be far too easy; the stairs were undoubtedly watched.

"Last night there was a light flickering in one of the topmost windows," Inglor said, his voice remote.

"It wasn't candlelight?" asked Haleth dryly.

"No," he replied, without the slightest trace of humour. "Unless Hosluin candles burn with blue flames. It must have been the palantir."

"Can you be certain?" Haleth asked quickly, wondering if the Hosluin could use the Stone properly. If that was the case, the Hosluin could become aware of their presence at any time, assuming they were not aware of them already.

"Quite certain, yes," he said distantly. "I very much doubt that any of them have learned to direct it, though. It takes a certain amount of skill and raw willpower to operate a palantir.

"Have you seen the bottomless pool that Calanloss mentioned?" Haleth asked while she wondered how Inglor was so knowledgeable about the palantiri.

"We are not high enough for me to tell," Inglor said, finally looking at her directly. "But it seems as though several new structures have been built."

"What additions?" asked Haleth, forcing her mind to stay strictly on the business of taking back the palantir. It was not easy to maintain her concentration beneath Inglor's calm gaze.

"A rough wall, a moat and a few outbuildings," he shrugged. "None of them look especially well made."

"I imagine the Hosluin needed more room," Haleth muttered. She caught herself twisting the silver ring and forced her hands apart. "I wonder how many of them are in there?"

"I would guess about fifty," Inglor answered.

"How are we going to get in?" she wondered again, her fingers drumming on the ground.

"We could join them," Inglor said evenly.

Haleth flashed him a sour look. "I'm sure they'd never be suspicious us," she said acerbically. "Especially after they tried to..." She stopped abruptly, regretting mention of the poisoning incident in Dale. Her fingers automatically sought the ring.

"They are not aware of us yet," said Inglor.

"We can't be certain of that." Haleth shook her head.

"We can be fairly certain of it," he corrected her. "I went into town last night to gather information."

"What?" Haleth demanded, motioning him to stop. "You went into town last night? When?"

"After you had fallen asleep," said Inglor. He shifted uncomfortably and studied the horizon.

Haleth briefly reviewed her memory of the previous evening. There had been no mention of his going anywhere.

"You left me vulnerable to anyone or anything that might happen along?" she asked. "You wouldn't let me stay alone in the hold of a ship where one call would bring half a dozen people but you did this? Why?"

"I knew someone else was in the hold," Inglor tried to explain.

"You did not!" Haleth roared, her voice carrying over the crash of the waves. "I discovered that for myself and told you of it."

"Please do not speak so loudly," he begged her. "Someone might hear you."

"The same someone who might have found me alone and asleep last night?" she asked acidly but more quietly.

"There was no one in the area," he said firmly. "I checked very carefully before leaving."

"It may not have stayed that way. You could have woken me!" she huffed.

"I thought it best that you slept," he said weakly.

Haleth thought of all the sleepless nights Inglor had caused her over the past several months.

"Never mind," she snapped. "In the future, wake me if you decide to leave in the middle of the night. I don't want anyone sneaking up on me. I want to be alert and watching if I'm alone...What?"

This last was asked because of the uncomfortable expression that had come across Inglor's face. Haleth was shocked to discover that he looked guilty. She had not imagined Inglor capable of any action that would make him feel guilty.

"I actually left and came back while you were on watch," he finally admitted, his long fingers tracing a pattern on the granite boulder.

Haleth twisted her ring and silently considered this new morsel of information.

"I was not asleep while on watch," she said huffily.

"Of course you were not," he said soothingly.

"That settles that then," she sniffed.

"It certainly does," he agreed.

"You were saying that you were certain the Hosluin did not know we were here?" she asked, resuming the original topic of the conversation.

"Yes," he said, happy to abandon the tangent. "There was no word of those in the complex being worried. In fact, there was a fair amount of talk of a large number of Hosluin traveling to the tower at this time. There was some mention of new recruits. I thought it would be relatively easy to gain entry to the tower by posing as two of them."

"I don't think that would be a good idea," Haleth said slowly.

"Why not?" asked Inglor.

"Because they'd likely get very suspicious when they saw your face," Haleth sighed, wondering how Inglor managed to remain oblivious to the effect that his appearance had on humans.

"But the Hosluin all wear cloaked, blue hoods. They never show their faces within the walls of their complex. Only the varying shades of blue robes signify the person's rank."

"Oh," said Haleth flatly. She shivered inside at the thought have having her individuality stripped away. The idea repelled her so much that she doubted she could impersonate a Hosluin at all. Inglor's descriptions, meant to bolster his argument for disguising themselves as cult members, had only convinced her to try to retrieve the palantir in a more traditional manner.

"I'd rather try my way first," she said. "If that doesn't work, we'll do it your way."

"If your way does not work, it will likely be me doing it my way because you will be in a dungeon beneath the tower," said Inglor.

"Then you can rescue me," Haleth said, smiling wryly.

"If you have time," she added, growing serious again.

"I would not leave you," Inglor said, earnestly but wearily. "You know that."

"Not if you thought I could eventually catch up with you again," she said with a crooked smile.

In the depths of the night Haleth began her solitary assault upon the Hosluin's tower. The quarter moon cast a fitful light upon the land. Its pale illumination wavered on the water of the moat that ran before the makeshift wall. The ditch cut across the isthmus to join the restless sea. Long strands of brown seaweed, carried in by the tide, floated on top of the murky water. A single cricket chirped its slow, lonely song in counterpoint to the distant wash of the waves on the stony beach.

Inglor and Haleth had scouted the full length of the wall. The tower looked as though it would be better able to withstand an attack than the haphazard wall that had been built in front of it. From where they stood, only the top of the tower was visible. The outer stairway entwined around it like a constricting snake. A pale, bluish light flickered in one of the highest windows. 

There were several heavily shuttered windows in the wall itself. Streams of dim yellow light shone through them.

Haleth stood barefoot in the shadows, carefully aimed her grappling hook and judged the distance to the top. Inglor loomed behind her in silent disapproval.

"What if you cannot reach the tower from the wall?" he whispered.

"Then I'll climb back down," Haleth answered calmly.

"What if there is a locked door?" he wondered.

"Locks are not an obstacle," she said dismissively

"What if there is a guard?" he asked.

"Inglor," Haleth sighed, still intently studying the top of the wall. "I'm not a child, even if you see me as one. I've gone into far more dangerous situations than this and come out alive. You're worrying for no reason.

"Here," she added an instant later. "I don't think I have the strength to throw this far enough. Could you do it for me?"

Inglor blinked at the grappling hook that Haleth was offering to him.

"You're asking me to help you die," he said flatly.

"No, I'm asking you to throw the grappling hook for me," she said while making an effort to not grind her teeth. "If I needed your help in dying I'd ask you to hold a sword while I fell on it."

"I would not do that, either," he said gravely.

"Inglor!" Haleth tried to slap herself on the forehead and almost embedded the grappling hook there.

"Give me that before you kill yourself with it," Inglor whispered, taking the apparatus from her. The metal barbs spun around his head, a halo of dull steel in the moonlight. It shot through the air and landed amid the crenellations at the top of the wall. He pulled on the rope until he was certain that it would hold fast and looked at Haleth, patiently waiting for her to see the flaw in her plan.

"Hold this end of the rope until I get at least two thirds to the top of the wall," she whispered to him.

Apparently she did know about the rudiments of triangulation, at least in relation to swinging from a rope.

Haleth swarmed up the rope until she thought she was far enough up to not sink into the moat or slam into the wall with stunning force. Then she signalled to Inglor to release it.

After an instant's hesitation, he did as she had requested.

Legs bent slightly in front of her, Haleth swung towards the wall in a graceful arc. While she did not splash into the moat, she hit the wall harder than she had expected. After taking a few minutes to recover from the shock of the impact, she began to climb with what Inglor considered surprising agility.

The Hosluin depended upon two things; loyalty and blind obedience. The cult insured these traits in its members by utilizing a strict hierarchical structure and enforcing it with fear and an absolute insistence on ritual. One of those rituals was about to be carried out on top of the wall.

A large cast-iron pot fell over the edge. It was supposed to be thrown with great force, the reminder of an ancient duel the Founder had fought in the early days.

Discipline was not being enforced quite as well as it once had been, though, as the current leader of this particular enclave had interests that were more commercial than spiritual. The cauldron was dropped over the edge by an acolyte. The lad knew that the next morning he would have an easier time retrieving it from the base of the tower instead of from the middle of the moat. The trick to avoiding a swim was to drop the pot straight down the edge of the wall. The young Hosluin released the cast iron cauldron and hurried back to his warm, hard bed without watching it fall.

Whether by bad luck or because fate had willed it, the pot's trajectory was aimed directly at Haleth. The sound of metal scraping against stone caught her attention and she looked up to see the cooking implement plummeting straight towards her head. There was no way she could move quickly enough to avoid it entirely. She bobbed her head and the pot crashed into her shoulder instead. Fiery coals of pain exploded in her arm and she lost her grip on the rope, sliding down the face of the wall while vainly scrambling at the stones to stop her descent.

Two stories, three stories. She was certain that Inglor had been right about his helping her to kill herself when her feet suddenly shot past a void. Wood replaced stone for a split second.

Haleth made a wild grab for the edge of the embrasure with her left hand and by some miracle, or, perhaps again fate, her fingers caught and held. After several failed attempts, her toes found purchase in the rough masonry. She scrambled upwards until her elbows rested on the windowsill and took stock of the situation. She had lost several stories of height and her right shoulder blazed with volcanic pain.

Haleth gingerly rotated her shoulder and flexed her right hand, wondering if she could still manage to scale the wall. She had to at least make the attempt. The rope hung just to the right of the window. She was bracing herself to grab it with her good hand when someone spoke.

"I'm sure I heard something out there." A voice like old, sun baked leather came from the other side of the shuttered window. Its sneering tone set Haleth's teeth on edge.

"Of course you heard something. The ceremony of the cauldron was just held," a second voice said.

"I heard something else," the leathery voice insisted.

"You're imagining things again." The second voice uneasily dismissed the suspicions.

Haleth strained towards the rope. It was stubbornly just beyond the reach of her outstretched fingertips.

A high-pitched squeal of protest sounded from the rusty bolts that secured the shutters from the inside.

Haleth desperately hurled herself off the ledge just as the shutters opened. She caught the rope with her tingling right hand and slid downwards, gritting her teeth against the pain that sliced through her bruised shoulder.

Her left hand gripped the rope and her toes once again found purchase against the wall, enabling her to stop her descent. Then the shutters were thrown open and slammed into Haleth like a runaway wagon.

Stars exploded across her vision as her face, propelled by the shutter, hit the wall. It was all she could do to keep silent and not let go of the rope.

"See anything?" asked voice two.

"No."

"You'd better close the shutters. If Vaet catches you with them open..." The threat was familiar enough to the people inside the tower to not need elaboration.

"Vaet doesn't scare me," the leathery voice said sulkily. But he quickly closed the shutters without more than a cursory glance outside.

"You're a fool, then," the second voice said, once again muffled by the closed slats of wood.

Haleth hung from the rope, wiping the blood from her nose onto her left shoulder. There was no way that she could reach the top of the tower in her current condition. Still slightly stunned, she slowly lowered herself to the ground. She had just enough presence of mind to secure the rope to herself before swimming across the moat. The chill of the water soothed the pain of her nose and shoulder. Algae and worse entangled her arms and legs, making the crossing twice as miserable as it should have been.

Worse was yet to come. She slogged out of the brine, dripping wet, seaweed trailing from her limbs and hair, nose swelling, to find Inglor waiting for her. His features were the image of tranquility in the faint moonlight.

Wordlessly she handed him the rope. He murmured something inaudible and pulled on it. The grappling hook came sailing downwards as Haleth brushed the clinging strands of kelp from her sodden clothing.

She followed him over the sharp, unforgiving rocks of the peninsula, away from the tower complex. It took the better part of an hour to reach their cheerless camp amid the stones of the desolate coastline.

"Alright," Haleth sighed as she lowered herself to the rocky ground, still rubbing her injured shoulder and shivering from the cold. "We'll try it your way.”

Gongs crashed, discordantly beaten to life by a throng of anonymous, blue-robed acolytes. The welcoming ceremony had begun before dawn. The sun was now halfway to its zenith and the rites showed no sign of ending. A pall of choking smoke so thick it obscured the ceiling filled the great hall. The surroundings made it very difficult to think clearly which, Haleth realized as she struggled to stay close to Inglor in the crush of blue clad, anonymous novices, was likely the desired effect.   

They wore patched robes which they had borrowed from two hopeful applicants who were currently tied and stowed amid the boulders along the shore. The faded blue wraps covered Haleth from head to toe.  Inglor was covered from head to knees and he had to crouch to keep the hem dragging along the floor.

Even their hands were concealed in the folds of the coarse material. Except for variation in height and girth, all of the novices were identical. It seemed that the room hall was filled by one large, pale blue animal rather than many individuals.

At first she had attempted to speak to Inglor, but the level of noise made communication impossible. For the most part she allowed herself to be carried around the room by the currents within the crowd.

She glanced to her right and saw the inside of the hood. Fighting the crowd, she slowly revolved around, searching for Inglor’s hunched figure.  To her surprise and annoyance Inglor who was typically the first person anyone noticed in a crowd, was lost in the teeming, identically dressed throng. 

A large weight suddenly pushed against her back.  Haleth would have bolted if the crowd had been thinner, certain that she had been recognized as a fake, but the sheer number of people held her in place. 

Shouldering her nearest neighbours out of the way, she turned to face her attacker. The weight shifted as she moved.  It quickly became apparent that it was a dead weight across her back.  A quick glance past the side of the hood revealed a large, blue-cloaked figure slumped against her.  Haleth almost laughed with relief.  One of the novices had fainted.  She awkwardly reached around to support the unconscious person, unwilling to let him fall to the floor where it seemed certain he would be crushed. 

It quickly became apparent that no one else noticed or cared that someone had fainted.  If not for the press of bodies around them, the weight of the unconscious novice would have driven Haleth to the floor.  As it was, she grunted and strained to hold him upright, all the while silently observing that Inglor had once again chosen the perfect time to desert her.

The crowd suddenly parted, revealing several figures in robes of sky blue.  Without acknowledging Haleth, they took the unconscious novice by the arms and legs and began to carry him away. 

Haleth glanced around the hall for Inglor but the elf was nowhere in sight.   Muttering under her breath, she followed the sky blue clad people through the crowd.

It was difficult work as she dared not follow them too closely. Whereas the crowd parted willingly before the sky blue acolytes and their burden, Haleth found it difficult to move against the pale blue tide.  Progress was made mainly by judiciously placed elbows.  More than one instep was bruised as she fought to keep pace with her quarry.

There was a heart-stopping moment when she lost sight of the sky blue robes.  She was wondering if she would have to aid another novice in fainting to attract them again when she noticed the party, nearly obscured by thick smoke, apparently disappear into the wall.

Haleth shuffled to the wall, wondering how she could manage to open a secret door without drawing attention to herself.  To her surprise, the doors were not hidden.  The wood had faded to the same colour as the stone.  With the obscuring smoke, it was simply not obvious until she was quite close to it.

She hesitated, wondering what to do.  She was certain the door led deeper into the tower and the palantir.  If she went back into the crowd to search for Inglor, she may never get another chance to get this close to it.  She scanned the teeming ocean of blue and realized it would be next to impossible to find Inglor until the ceremony was finished.  And once she did find Inglor, it seemed unlikely there would be another opportunity to approach the door.

She shook her head.  She would have to start without Inglor and trust him to eventually catch up or at least to not allow himself to be captured.  Her mind made up, Haleth slipped unnoticed through the door. She found herself in a small alcove. Several robes of varying shades of blue hung from pegs on the wall. She selected one of medium blue which was a bit too big for her. Then she hung her discarded novice's robe beneath one of a darker shade.

It was probably more dangerous to remain in the alcove than it was to be seen moving around the rest of the tower where there was less of a chance that she would be stopped and challenged.

Fervently hoping that the Hosluin did not bother with passwords, Haleth found another door and exited the alcove.

The alcove opened onto a dimly lit hallway. People passed her without acknowledging her presence. Haleth shuffled forward, her hands thrust into the sleeves of her robe, her hood covering most of her face and wondered what to do next. 

If the eldritch lights emanating from the tower several nights ago had been any indication, the palantir was somewhere far above her.  It was very difficult to tell where she was going with nothing more than the floor around her feet to steer by. Every so often, she would furtively raise her chin to glance at her surroundings

It took several wrong turns and bad moments, but she finally found the stairs. They wound upwards, a grey spiral, along the main outer wall of the tower. Slowly she climbed them, her hood obscuring almost all of her vision, the hem of her robe threatening to entangle her feet with every step.

At varying intervals a landing would lead off the stairway into a long hallway. In these places, Haleth could hear the muffled shambling of feet in the corridor. She forced herself to walk at a slow, measured pace across the exposed area to the next flight of stairs.

Once on the staircase again, she risked pulling back her hood to get a better view of her surroundings.

Light was provided by either smoking torches or a rare, shuttered window. Each time she passed one of the latter she had to make a conscious effort not to rub her bruised nose.

Most of the people within the compound must have been busy with the ceremony because she saw and heard no one on the stairs.

The staircase narrowed as she ascended. The torches were replaced by oil lamps. Evidently the decor improved as one climbed higher. Every so often she would pass a narrow door that led into the body of the tower.

Curiosity beckoned her to open one of those doors to learn what was on the opposite side. She steadfastly beat the impulse into submission, determined to recover the palantir without being distracted.

Haleth was just beginning to believe that she would reach the top without meeting anyone when there was a shout of alarm from outside. This was joined by wordless howls from below her. Guessing that someone had discovered she was loose in the tower, she sped up the steps, searching for concealment.

Loud voices and many descending footsteps echoed ahead of her.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before turning back down the stairs, intent on hiding behind the door that she had forced herself to leave unopened.

The clamour of voices and the dull thunder of many feet pounding down the stairs grew steadily louder. Haleth reached the small door only to discover that it was locked. Not even bothering to take the time to curse, she put her arm into her robe, fumbled within the pockets of her own clothing and produced a lock pick.

The unseen crowd was almost on top of her. While it was unlikely that they would recognise her as an intruder, they could challenge her. Her strength was in stealth, not in battle. At the very least the newcomers would expect her to help them with their errand. Having come this close to the palantir, Haleth did not want to be forced to retreat.

One more instant and the first of them would appear around the curve of the stairs. Haleth concentrated, sweat forming a fine sheen across her forehead. The lock clicked open and she charged through the door, closing it behind her.

The throng thundered by. There were quite a few people and they took them some time to pass, their footsteps muffled by the thick door. Haleth could not make out any of the words that passed between them so she could not learn the reason for the race to the bottom of the tower.

As it was apparent she would be there for some time and her eyes had begun to adjust to the relative darkness, Haleth examined her hiding space.

A very dim light suffused the area, floating into the room from the thin space under the door. From the limited amount that she could see, Haleth judged the chamber to be the size of a closet.

Once more she dug into her many pockets. Her search produced a candle stub and tinder box. The clink of flint striking steel was ominously loud in the small, dark space.  She raised the stub of the lit candle to examine her surroundings.

A dark curtain covered most of the far wall. Haleth approached it out of morbid curiosity, fully expecting to find a pile of bodies behind the thick fabric. With trembling hands, she lifted the corner of the drapery and examined what it concealed.

There was no pile of bodies. Instead, the curtain hid something entirely unexpected and puzzling: a large woodcut hung in a niche. A tall elf was depicted upon it, his hair lying upon his shoulders, a bow held in his slender hand. Haleth examined it minutely but did not recognise the individual. There was a small inscription along the bottom of the woodcut.

She read it and almost dropped her candle in surprise.

Bottles of various sizes lined the lower shelf made by the niche. Still trapped by terminal curiosity, Haleth placed her candle on the shelf and opened one. It smelled of strawberries. She quickly closed it and put it back, not wanting to disturb anything else.

Haleth retrieved her candle and carefully placed the curtain back the way she had found it.

She had been wrong. It was not a closet. It was a shrine. She doubted that the leading Hosluin would approve of it. It went without saying that they were unaware of it.

In light of this new discovery, Haleth wondered what size and variety of commotion Inglor would cause if he were discovered. The mere thought sent a shiver up her spine.

When the noise outside had faded for what she judged was a reasonable amount of time, she snuffed her candle and waited for a few seconds before replacing it in the hidden pocket. Then she listened carefully. When she was satisfied that no one was outside, she opened the door a crack and listened again. There was still no one there. She left the room, locked the door behind her, and resumed her climb.

*~*

Inglor had tried to stay beside Haleth but the milling crowd had forced them apart. Daring exposure, he straightened and scanned the room.  The air was heavy with thick smoke but he thought he had caught a glimpse of her slipping through a door. With the enveloping robes, it could have been anyone. But the person had skulked in such a familiar way that he could not imagine it being other than Haleth.

A Hosluin in a cerulean blue robe approached the azure-robed man who led the ceremony of welcome and delivered an urgent, whispered message. The incessant chanting broke for a moment and Inglor listened intently. There was a disturbance outside. He briefly thought that Haleth had been caught, but that would not likely warrant disrupting the ceremony.

Again the chanting faltered. In the relative quiet, Inglor could hear the faint but unmistakable sounds of panicked shouting from outside. Although he could not make out any words, he guessed the tower complex was under attack.

Inglor knew that he had to get out of the great hall before the doors were barred to prevent the crowd of novices from escaping and adding to the confusion. He quickly pushed his way to the door where Haleth had disappeared, using his height, strength and agility to either shove people out of the way or dodge around them.

He gained the door and slid through it as quickly as he could, his robes a blue blur.

Several blue-robed figures were in the alcove, watching the door to the rest of the tower. Inglor was almost on top of them before they noticed him. One Hosluin cried out in alarm and the rest immediately spun to face him.

"You!" one said in what was likely meant to be an intimidating tone. "You're not supposed to be here!"

Inglor picked up the nearest blue hooded figure and threw it at the others. They all went down in a heap. He carefully made certain that they would stay down and quiet for some time.

He exchanged his novice robe for one of deeper blue before ducking into the hallway. He followed it, looking for a way up the tower. Small crowds of panicked Hosluin ran past him without noticing him.

Inglor quickened his pace. It took several turns before he found what he sought; a wide staircase that spiraled upwards.

He ascended it, taking the steps three at a time.

Puffing from exertion, Haleth dragged herself onto a landing high up in the tower. The staircase, now wide enough for only one person to pass at a time, continued to spiral upwards, its end obscured by the curve of the stone walls. A closed door barred passage into the tower’s body.

Haleth pushed on the door and was not surprised to discover it was locked.  Her hand disappeared within the voluminous folds of the blue robe and reappeared seconds later grasping a lock pick.  She glanced quickly down the staircase, half expecting a blue robed figure to appear and challenge her, but no one materialized. It seemed the entire population of the tower had sudden business outside.  The noise of her breath echoed off the stones.

Straining her ears for the sound of footsteps, Haleth slid the pick into the lock and gently twisted.  The click of the moving pins thundered through the landing.

Holding her breath and hoping the hinges had been properly oiled and that any guards had joined the general exodus from the building, Haleth slowly pushed the door open a crack and peered inside.

It was quite dark; the only illumination provided by two tall, white candles that burned upon silver sconces. But even in the muted light it was obvious the corridor was luxuriously appointed. The tapestries and thick rugs were all the more opulent when compared to the rough, unadorned stone of the lower floors. These, Haleth realized, had to be the apartments of the highest ranking Hosluin.  The palantir must be close by.

Without further hesitation, she slunk into the hallway.  The thick, blue carpet muffled her footsteps as she proceeded, cautiously opening heavy doors and briefly examining the rooms behind them.

Much to Haleth’s disappointment, none of them proved to be of immediate interest.  Most were richly decorated but currently unoccupied sleeping quarters.  She experienced a twinge of professional regret as she closed the door on several minor treasures after only the briefest of glances.

One chamber held little more than a very large table and many ornately carved chairs, several of which lay on their backs upon the floor, knocked there, without doubt, by their former occupants in their rush to quit the tower.  Faint screams drifted through a small, high window and Haleth was sorely tempted to push a chair beneath it to catch of glimpse of the circumstances down below. For once her sense of urgency overcame her curiosity and she hurried to the next room.

The door of the next room was locked.  Haleth’s heart pounded with anticipation.  There had to be something very valuable behind this door. Once more she slid her pick into the lock only to discover the pins too strong for her to move.  Withdrawing her hand into her sleeve, she groped for a particular one of the many pockets hidden in her shirt and produced a very thin, silver lock pick.  Candlelight glimmered off it as she jammed it into the lock.  After several quick twists, the door was opened to reveal an utterly dark room.  Without hesitation she grabbed one of the beeswax candles from the corridor to examine the room’s contents.

The light revealed shelves piled high with weapons. Candlelight glinted upon the cold steel of swords and spears.  Haleth’s breath hissed in through her teeth. The Hosluin, it seemed, had plans beyond currying influence and selling an addictive beverage. A palantir would be a very valuable tool indeed if they were planning a military invasion. 

There was no time for further investigations.  It was imperative the palantir be taken out of Hosluin hands and returned to its proper owner. Heedless of being discovered Haleth barreled into the corridor and raced to the next door. 

This was also looked.  It took several minutes of clever work with the mithril lock pick and much muttered cursing to open it. 

The doorway loomed like an open mouth.  Inside, the room was pitch black. Still holding the candle she had taken from the wall, Haleth slipped inside and closed the door behind her.

The floor was of bare stone and the echoes of her footsteps whispered through the darkness. In the centre of the room she discovered a large, wooden pedestal, draped beneath a heavy cloth. She approached it slowly, peering into the blackness about her, alert for traps.

Suddenly she heard the very faint but unmistakable sound of a voice.  There was someone in the corridor, asking questions in an agitated tone.

Haleth ran to the pedestal , tore the cloth away, and succeeded in snuffing out the candle as she did so. She was immediately plunged into complete darkness.  Then a dim, flickering, orb-shaped light appeared before her.  Without thinking she plucked the stone from its stand.  Staggering slightly under its weight, she glanced into its sparkling depths.

The palantir awoke Haleth's insatiable curiosity. She sought a way to justify making use of it again. With all the earlier commotion, she told herself, it might be a good idea to find out who was in the hallway.

Then the latch clicked and the door opened on silent hinges.  The room was immediately flooded with light which dazzled Haleth’s eyes.  

"Who are you? What do you think you're doing here?" a tall, imposing man demanded as he strode into the room. The hood of his dark blue robe was thrown back to reveal a leonine head of iron-grey hair.

Cradling the palantir in the crook of one arm, Haleth lunged towards him and threw the cloth that had covered the Seeing Stone over his head. As she raced past him, she paused briefly to hit him with the palantir.  There was a muffled yelp of pain as the fabric collapsed to the floor, still covering the man - who was undoubtedly the leader of the Hosluin.

Haleth raced out the door, not bothering to close it, and tore down the hallway back to the stairs. To her horror, the unmistakable thump of footsteps came from below. The downwards escape route was closed. She raced upwards towards the roof, hoping against hope for a chance of finding an escape; or at least of not being caught as quickly.  It was just possible that Inglor might find her before the Hosluin did. He was a formidable warrior. Together, if luck smiled upon them, they had a chance of getting away.

She mounted the final turns of the narrow staircase as quickly as she could while burdened with the palantir.

The stairway ended abruptly at a landing where a ladder led up to a trap door in the ceiling. Hefting the palantir under her left arm, Haleth scrambled up the ladder with all possible speed, her feet constantly tangling in the long, blue robe. The bolt that held the trap door closed was frozen shut. She struggled and cursed and finally threw all of her weight against it before it slid open, shrieking in protest as the rusty catch was forced through the brackets.

The trap door was devilishly heavy. Braced precariously on the ladder, Haleth shoved it upwards with her head, right arm and shoulders. It was a struggle to not tumble off the ladder when the door passed its centre of balance and fell open with a resounding crash.

She caught herself on the edge of the doorframe and quickly took in her surroundings. The noonday sun blazed down, temporarily blinding her.  She squinted about her. The tower top was a round, narrow space about as wide across as Haleth was tall. She rolled the palantir onto the roof and clambered after it.

The tower top was completely surrounded by a low parapet, except for the space where the outer staircase ended.  She gaped at the stairs for a moment and then laughed out loud in relief.  In the excitement of finding the palantir and being discovered, she had utterly forgotten about this alternate escape route.  

She wasted precious minutes levering the trap door closed again, in the hope that the latched door would buy time. The heavy door was far easier to move when she could use her leg muscles as well as her arms. It fell shut with an enormous clang before she noticed there was no way to latch it from the outside.
 
The swell of panicked voices drifted upwards, reminding Haleth that something besides the theft of the palantir was amiss in the lair of the Hosluin. The disruption was a huge blessing.  She and the palantir would simply melt into the crowd and escape in the confusion.  There was a faint hope that Inglor would have the sense to do the same instead of stubbornly trying to follow her and getting caught in the process.

There was no time to worry about the elf.  She had to escape with the palantir and get word to Gondor about the Hosluin.  Straining with the effort, Haleth lifted the leaden Seeing Stone and stumbled towards the edge of the tower. The scene below froze her heart.

A long, grey, snake-like form covered in scales the colour of dead ashes crawled laboriously up the exterior stairs.  It was more than halfway to the top. Although its head was currently not visible, Haleth knew in the pit of her stomach that it could only be Lithul, come from his dank hole on the Withered Heath. She and Inglor had previously encountered the Cold Drake and had barely escaped with their lives and one of the dragon’s treasures. News of the palantir must have drawn the worm. Although he lacked the intelligence to use the palantir, the cold drake undoubtedly knew it was a treasure. That alone would be enough reason for him to covet it.

The courtyard of the tower complex was pure chaos as people ran towards the exits.  Anyone unlucky enough to fall was trampled by the crowd. As Haleth watched, several blue robed people tumbled into the bottomless pool. They struggled to get out, pushing each other beneath the water in the process. From the top of the tower they looked like mice trying to crawl out of a bucket. No one stopped to help them.

As Haleth helplessly watched, a small party of warriors forced their way to the bottom of the tower and began to ascend behind the worm. They were tall and advanced with their swords flashing in their hands. She thought she caught a glimpse of the White Tree of Gondor on their shields.

Another group appeared around the curve of the tower and marched up the stairway. They were much shorter and equipped with axes and shirts of mail. With a shock Haleth recognised dwarves in full battle array.

It was impossible to tell what would happen next. The men and dwarves were moving fast, but Lithul was far ahead of them. The safest thing for Haleth to do was to hide in the tower and allow the fully armed dwarves and men to deal with the Cold Drake.

Encumbered by the palantir, she staggered towards the trap door only to see it lurch upwards. With all the excitement going on below, Haleth had forgotten about the Hosluin inside of the tower.

Again hoping to buy time, she jumped on top of the trap door, slamming it closed.

~*~

Inglor pounded up the stairs, moving faster than any man could. No one bothered to question him or even seemed to notice him. Under other circumstances, he might have enjoyed the anonymity.

He saw no sign of Haleth but it only seemed logical that she had ascended the stairs in search of the palantir. He was sorely tempted to call to her with his mind, but she had requested that he not use this Elven ability. As dangerous as the current situation was, he was honour-bound to heed her request.

There was a commotion above him on the staircase followed by a large group of panicked Hosluin flying down the steps as though pursued by a demon. They washed around Inglor like the tide rushes around a rock. Several of them occasionally grunted curses about idiots with no sense of self-preservation who insisted on blocking the way of the more sensible people.

From listening to their brief, clipped conversations, it quickly became obvious to Inglor that none of them had a clear idea of what was happening outside. The words dragon and attack were mentioned several times. Judging by the terror-stricken screams coming from outside Inglor could easily believe a dragon was assaulting the tower.

Coming upon a closed window, unbarred the shutters, threw them open and leaned out. The exterior staircase spiraled away above and below him. As he watched, a group of dwarves ascending the stairs disappeared around the curve of the tower.  Whether they were in hot pursuit of some unseen thing above or trying to escape something below he could not tell. He looked further. The courtyard was a patchwork of varying shades of blue as people crowded around the main gate, shoving and fighting each other to be the first to escape.

Inglor glanced at the sky, half expecting to see the snake-like, bat-winged form of one of the great fire drakes soaring through the air. It was a relief to see nothing but fat, white clouds, at least from this vantage point. If there was a dragon, it likely could not fly.

Not bothering to take the time to close the window, Inglor resumed his race up the stairs.

He soon reached the landing near the top of the tower. It stood ajar and several people garbed in varying shades of deep blue robes came running towards him, shouting variations of "stop the thief" and "get her". Inglor smiled with relief at the discovery of Haleth's unmistakable trail.

None of the blue-robed figures guessed that Inglor was not a Hosluin until he reached the first one and grasped him tightly by the shoulder. The Hosluin cried out in pain and dropped to his knees, holding his broken clavicle and whimpering. The other four stopped dead in their tracks before the tall, hooded figure dressed in the robes of a middle-ranking priest.

"Another one," sneered a Hosluin resplendent in midnight blue robes trimmed with silver. He stood at the very back of the crowd. "Finish him."

Three of the remaining Hosluin rushed Inglor. There was a blur of blue fabric and suddenly only man in the silver trimmed robes was left standing. The others slumped against the walls where Inglor had thrown them. The unmistakable ring of steel drawn from a scabbard rang through the air. Unarmed, Inglor prepared to face the nex threat. 

The Hosluin in dark blue, silver-trimmed robes stood before him, a cruel, curved sword in his hands. The light of the candle gleamed off the jagged steel blade. Judging by the way he held the weapon, this Hosluin was quite experienced in fighting. He advanced slowly but confidently, holding the scimitar high before him as Inglor slowly backed away.

"You must be with the woman," said the Hosluin conversationally. "I saw her run towards the top of the tower stairs with the palantir. I shall have to thank her for disposing of Remel before I kill her. I've been trying to be rid him for years.

"I am Vaet, now the leader of the Hosluin, soon king of much more. You've done quite well getting this far. I don't suppose I can persuade you to join me? I can pay you more than fairly and suddenly seem to be in need of competent new recruits."

Inglor said nothing as he edged backwards without relaxing his guard. His eyes, hidden by the shadow of the hood, remained fixed on Vaet.

"Please don't tell me that you're one of those who can't be tempted by money," Vaet sighed.

"I can offer you more than money," he said, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Old Remel never understood the potential he controlled; never knew how to wield it properly. Join with me. A man of your intellect and ability can rise to great heights under my command."

He fell silent, waiting for Inglor to respond, his sword pointed directly at the elf’s heart. When no answer was forthcoming, Vaet tried once more.

"There must be something you want. I can offer the woman's life. You can keep her as long as you can hold her thieving impulses under control and are willing to share on occasions. She could prove useful as well as entertaining."

Inglor allowed himself to relax.

"I knew you were intelligent," said Vaet, who took this as a sign of willingness to bargain. "If we are to be partners, I should at least know your name."

A resounding crash echoed from above.

Inglor took full advantage of the distraction. In a blur of motion he lunged forward and to Vaet’s side, chopped down on his sword arm with his right hand and effortlessly wrested the weapon from Vaet’s suddenly nerveless fingers.

Vaet now slowly retreated. Sword extended before him, Inglor backed the Hosluin against the wall until the razor-sharp edge bit ever so gently into the skin of the man's throat.

"I know your kind," he growled. "You crave power but utterly lack the wisdom to use it. You have no honour." A trickle of crimson stained the bright steel as Vaet stared in wide-eyed terror at the elf.

Another crash came from above. Again it echoed through the corridor, drowning out the racket from outside.

Inglor, appalled by his own anger, shook himself and slowly lowered the sword.

"Get out," he told the Hosluin, his voice deadly quiet.

Vaet hastened to obey, the edges of his hood tattered, blood trickling from the wound on his neck.

Still holding the sword, Inglor lightly raced up the stairs and then up the ladder. He pushed on the trap door. It began to open but was suddenly closed with such force it seemed someone had jumped on it.

Haleth was on the wrong side of the door.

Inglor dropped the sword, braced himself and pushed the trap door upwards with all of his strength.

Lithul roared in anger as he clambered up the spiral staircase. There were entirely too many people here.  They were too loud, too quick and the blue robes had an unfortunate tendency of getting stuck between his teeth. He had climbed the tower to escape the worst of them.

The cold drake's ear-splitting bellow was abruptly cut off by a whooshing gasp as he caught as familiar scent. After tracking her for months, Lithul was almost upon the thief who had stolen his single greatest treasure.  She was somewhere above him.  He was certain of it.  The heady scent of her fear and desperation hung like the sweetest perfume in his nostrils.  Very soon he would have his long awaited revenge.

Once again the dragon began to roar, but the thunder of his voice immediately dissolved into a less than terrifying fit of coughing. The exertions of the past weeks had taken their toll on Lithul. He lowered his head to climb the rest of the way in silence, at least as silently as an asthmatic dragon can ever be.

At the top of the tower, Haleth, still clutching the palantir, stood with her feet braced upon the trap door. She had concocted a wild plan of escape; it depended entirely upon her keeping the trap door closed until the time was exactly right.  Once Lithul’s head was visible, she would jump to the side.  The Hosluin would find themselves face to face with the Cold Drake. She would take to her heels in the ensuing confusion.

Suddenly the door flew violently upwards as though several Ents had pushed it with all their strength.

Haleth was not prepared for the brute force of the effort. She lost her balance and, moving backwards, slid off the door. Her arms automatically flew upwards as she fought to regain her footing, the palantir still locked in her stubborn grasp. In other circumstances she might have managed to recover, but she ran out of space on the narrow rooftop. The backs of her thighs encountered the edge of a crenellation and she flew over backwards, the weight of the palantir speeding her downwards path.

She twisted as she plummeted, the extra momentum of the palantir dragging her further from the edge of the tower.

A familiar voice cried out,

"Let go of it, you fool!"

There was no denying the power of that voice. Haleth immediately released the palantir. With her hands held out to protect her head, she prepared to crash into the stone staircase half a story below. She judged it would be a stunning blow but not a fatal one; not fatal as long as she recovered before Lithul reached her, that was. Even as she hurtled downwards Haleth frantically calculated her best course of action - she could either try to crawl back up the stairs or make her way downwards to lure Hosluin towards the dragon. This was optimistically assuming she was not too stunned to move after she smashed into the stairs.

These pleasant thoughts were rudely interrupted when, without warning, strong hands suddenly grasped her by the ankles. Now, instead of falling into the staircase, she was in danger of dashing her brains out against the stone wall of the tower. She barely managed to place her hands behind her head before the back of her skull crashed into the masonry. She hit with such force that she bounced back slightly, her knuckles smarting from the impact.

It was from that vantage point, hanging upside down from the top of the tower, that Haleth witnessed an amazing chain of events.

Immediately after she had released it, the palantir bounced off the stone banister. From there, it took on a new trajectory and dealt the panting but determined Lithul a lethal blow directly between the eyes.

The Cold Crake's eyes were already glazing over as the palantir continued its murderous path downwards towards a dwarf. Froi raised his axe to ward off the ferocious attack of the Seeing Stone. There was a sharp metallic ring as steel met unknown substance and the palantir flew down to the next level, where one of the group of tall, armoured warriors (Haleth realized with a shock that they were Dunedain) raised his shield to deflect it. There was a dull crunch of denting metal and the deadly orb flew upwards in a graceful arc. For an instant the glistening blue ball hung motionless in the air.  Four Ages of the history of Middle-earth glimmered in its depths. Then it plummeted once again, landing with a faint splash and disappeared into the depths of the bottomless pool.

Haleth saw all of this from her upside down vantage point. Inglor, who was holding her ankles, witnessed the whole episode from right side up. The entire sequence could not have been less likely no matter how the viewer was situated. They remained in their positions, as still and unblinking as statues, for several minutes.

A faint ringing began in Haleth's ears. She was too stunned by what she had just seen to notice it.

Inglor recovered his senses first.

"I am going to release one of your ankles," he said as he leant over the parapet. "Give me your hand."

Haleth braced the heel of her foot against the stone of the tower. She bent from the waist and grasped his outstretched hand. He pulled her upwards in one smooth motion, taking care not to scrape her against the stone.

Elf and woman stood together on the top of the tower, both at a complete loss for words. With her head aching and her knuckles smarting, Haleth leant against Inglor while they surveyed the scene of pandemonium below. A diminished crowd of mottled blue figures still churned and pushed for the main gate, unaware that most of the immediate danger had passed. The dwarves and the Dunedain had recovered from the surprise of the aerial attack and were climbing upwards.

Haleth squinted at the pool. The palantir had already sunk far beyond sight. She thought she could see small ripples expanding concentrically from the center of the water's dark surface.

"Well," she said determinedly. "I am not going retrieve it."

"And neither are you," she added to Inglor with complete sincerity.

He shifted his calm gaze from the pool to his companion, looking for all the world as though he was about to disagree, to tell her that it would be a simple thing to bring the palantir from the depths of the bottomless pool. She glared at him and was preparing to tread heavily on his foot when she noticed the mischievous gleam in his eye. Her outraged expression increased his amusement.

Haleth's scowl faded to an annoyed grin, and she began to chuckle. Inglor joined in the mirth, his laughter like the peal of a silver bell.

They both laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks.

Several days after the palantir had disappeared within the bottomless pool, Inglor and Haleth found themselves at the mouth of the Running River. With no specific destination in mind, they slowly began making their way north, passing through the fields and vineyards of Dorwinion. The world faded from golden to grey as the sun sank below the western horizon.

There was a small settlement on the western side of the river, a rough hamlet consisting of warehouses, docks and the tumbledown huts of the river sailors and their families. Several boats were moored at the docks, ready to resume their journeys in the morning.

The largest building in the village was an inn. A welcoming, golden light spilled out of the open doorway into the evening chill. The inn was doing a brisk business that night; the crews and passengers of the riverboats were spending the evening in the Common Room. Rough voices, raised in boisterous song, drifted through the twilight.

Neither Inglor nor Haleth suggested spending the night at the inn. By silent, mutual consent they ignored the welcoming light of civilization and continued to walk through the gathering darkness.

The stars were burning brightly in the sky by the time they stopped in a vineyard in the low, rolling hills of Dorwinion. The harvest was finished and the remaining foliage had dried under the autumn sun. The north wind, the herald of winter, whispered mournfully through the dying leaves.

They prepared their camp and ate in companionable silence. All in all, Haleth thought, things had not fallen out that badly. Lithul, the last of the Cold Drakes, was no more, his body rotting and picked by gulls on the grey, stone tower on the shores of the Sea of Rhun. The Dunedain had returned to Minas Anor empty-handed, but the scattering of the Hosluin would keep Gondor's eastern borders free of intrigue, at least for a while.

She was wondering which watch to take when Inglor spoke. "This adventure certainly did not end the way I expected."

"No?" she drawled. She sat hunched inside of her cloak, huddled against the cool breath of the night wind. "How did you expect it to end?"

"Not the way it has," Inglor replied, his handsome brow furrowing.

Haleth sighed inwardly at the deflection. There was something more he wanted to say, but he would not speak plainly. A few days earlier, frustrated and tense, she would have let the conversation die. Now she was calm enough to make the effort to draw him out. She picked up her mental fishing rod and prepared to mount an expedition.

"Do you think King Elessar will be upset about the palantir being lost again?" she asked.

"No," Inglor answered with surprising directness. "His prime concern would have been to keep it out of the wrong hands."

"The wrong hands being the Hosluin," she said.

"The wrong hands being anyone who did not use it properly, as well as those who would use it for evil," he said gravely.

"So, the Hosluin, then," Haleth said, shifting uncomfortably. She had an ugly premonition that one of her past indiscretions was about to return to haunt her.

"And the dwarves," Inglor added.

"I suppose it could have been used to carry messages between the northern and southern kingdoms," she mused, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"Haleth," Inglor's voice was stern. He would brook no evasions this time. "What did you see when you looked in the palantir?"

"Though it will be some time before the north kingdom can be re-established," she continued, doggedly ignoring the question.  “Gondor lost many of her men-folk in the war.  There is plenty of land and empty farmsteads in the south.  People will not be anxious to move and begin anew.”

"Haleth." Inglor was practically glowing with exasperation.

"I told you," she said sourly. "I saw a line of women outside of your door."

"Haleth." He refused to be drawn into the argument. "What did you see?"

"It isn't important," she said, avoiding the piercing blue eyes.

"Then why will you not tell me?" he asked.

"Because it's embarrassing!" she shouted, her hand thumped hollowly on the silver-lit grass. "I wanted to see what would captivate the dwarves to the extent that King Thorin would eagerly send away an artifact as powerful as a palantir. But..." she huffed and studied the burning embers of the fire. It reminded her of what she had seen in the depths of the Seeing Stone.

"But?" he encouraged her, his tone gentle but firm.

"It was gold," she admitted sullenly. "Just piles and piles of gold."

"What did you expect?" he asked lightly.

"Not that," she answered grumpily and with finality. She twisted the silver ring and frowned at the fire, hoping its ruddy light masked the blush that spread crimson flames across her cheeks.

It was a pity she was not watching Inglor. He was wearing a knowing expression that was completely at odds with her perception of his naiveté.

"I imagine the dwarves will be busy for some time," Haleth finally said. Froi and those who had followed the path of the palantir had remained at the tower by the shores of the Sea of Rhun. They were determined to bring the Seeing Stone out of the pool, in spite of the rumour that the pool was bottomless. Haleth had the impression that they would be there for quite some time.

"Yes, dwarves do not give up easily," Inglor said.

"How do you know so much of dwarves?" Haleth suddenly asked. It was something she had wondered since Moria, but had forgotten to enquire about until now.

Inglor sighed and looked up at the stars. He seemed to be weighing his words carefully.

"I know someone who had many dealings with them," he finally answered.

"And that someone is?" Haleth prodded.

"An elf," Inglor answered evasively.

"And this elf had a name?" Haleth asked. If Inglor was going to pry her secrets from her, she was going to return the favour.

"Yes," he answered quickly.

"And that name was?" Haleth insisted.

There was a very long lull in the conversation while Inglor stared into the dancing flames. Haleth scowled at him with the same intensity that he had focused upon her earlier in the conversation.

"Finrod Felagund," he finally answered with obvious reluctance.

Haleth jaw dropped open.  She stared at her companion in stunned silence. Then her shoulders slumped and her eyes rolled heavenwards in sheer exasperation.

"I regret to inform you that Finrod Felagund is deceased," she said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice. If Inglor had to lie about his source of information he could at least use a different name. Even a made up name would be better than that of the long dead king of Nargothrond.  "It happened about six thousand years ago. The news has somehow failed to reach you. Maybe we should go and get the palantir in case there was anything else you missed."

"Stop it," he said heatedly.  He suddenly appeared as he did on the night she had infuriated him in Dale, his voice stern and his eyes flashing with anger.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, shocked by his fury and not wanting to enrage him any further.

The conversation lapsed as the stars wheeled in their fiery paths. Haleth worried the silver ring and wondered what to say next.

"Do you truly know Finrod?" she finally asked, somewhat wistfully.

"Yes, quite well," he answered. "He was released from Mandos long years ago."

"Oh," she said faintly, not quite believing it. "That's...good."

"Yes," Inglor agreed, having recovered his normal tranquility.

The mention of Finrod brought Valinor and the city of Tirion to Haleth's thoughts, reminding her that Inglor would have to return to the Blessed Realm someday. Even if he did not want to leave Middle-earth just yet, Haleth had determined that he would not be dragging her along on of his future wanderings. She was far too prone to fits of unthinking rage and jealousy on his oblivious behalf. She shouldered the blame for her unacceptable reactions. The lack of self-control was certainly not Inglor’s fault.

She would soon have to tell him of her incipient departure and this did not appeal to her in the least. She shifted uneasily and chewed on her lip. It was a beautiful night, even if the air was chill.

Haleth looked across the fire at Inglor, trying to commit his features to memory. He was surrounded by a faint glow that was not entirely comprised of reflections from the flames, the stars and the moon. He noticed her steady scrutiny and smiled. She automatically answered his smile and felt her breath catch. It was too lovely a night to mention their leave-taking. She silently resolved to do so on the first day that it rained and quickly looked at the sky, fully expecting it to be suddenly crowded with storm clouds.

There were wisps of clouds riding high above, flying across the bright stars and the face of the nearly full moon. The hills were awash in silver and barred by patterns of light and darkness where the clouds passed before the moon.

Haleth forced her eyes back to the fire and stifled a yawn.

"You should sleep," Inglor said softly.

She suppressed an instinctual sardonic comment. He was correct. She had already upset him once that evening; that was more than enough.

"Wake me for the second watch," she said, rolling herself in her cloak and lying with her head on her pack. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep while listening to his quiet, melancholy singing.

The cold seeped from the ground through her cloak and chilled her. She thought about moving closer to the fire and discovered that she was already lucky not to be singed. Sitting up, she began to rummage through her pack for extra clothing.

"What are you doing?" Inglor asked.

"I'm cold," she said shortly. "I know I've got some extra clothes in here somewhere."

"We should have stayed at the inn," he said. "Maybe we should go back and see if they will give us a room?"

"Rooms," Haleth automatically corrected him as she pulled an extra shirt out of the bag. "And no. We don't seem to have much luck at inns."

"That was just co-incidence," said Inglor, thinking of Dale. "The Hosluin could have given us the poison in the streets."

"I was thinking of the incident in Bree," Haleth said, her voice muffled as she pulled a heavy shirt over her head, the rough wool scratching the exposed skin at her wrists. "I am not strong enough to fight a horde of women on your behalf."

"Daisy was hardly a horde," Inglor said, baffled once more. Haleth had to give him credit for remembering.

"She was just the one who did me physical violence." She laughed and gingerly rubbed her jaw. Then she grew serious. "There was also Lily who took your pack, and all of the others who took your things except for the gold and the palantir."

"The palantir was not mine." Inglor shook his head.

"Very true," Haleth agreed. "But those ladies certainly made a mess of things."

"I do not understand it at all." Inglor's face was a study of regretful confusion.

"Oh, Inglor," Haleth said sympathetically as she pulled her cloak around herself. "The way that women react to you isn't your fault. You affect all of them the same way."

Inglor did not respond, and Haleth fell back into her thoughts as she lay down once more.

'Yes, you have the same affect on all women,' she thought sadly. 'Including me, but not for much longer.' For what had to be the thousandth time she dared to imagine what it would be like to be his lover, to feel his hands and lips upon her bare flesh.

The fire was slowly dying to charred embers and she watched him across the fire. Maybe it would not be so difficult. Maybe if she simply went to him and confessed her feelings she would discover that he felt the same way towards her. The temptation grew in her mind as the flames subsided and the wood crumbled to ashes. She found herself sitting up, pushing herself up on her elbows, when Inglor shifted and a brilliant light shone over his shoulder.

Eärendil rode low in the sky, the symbol of purity, light and hope. The Mariner's sudden appearance was a blow to Haleth's heart, a tangible reminder that some things were higher and more pure than her and, by extension, most definitely beyond her soiled grasp.

"Haleth?" Inglor asked, concerned. "Are you still cold?"

"No," she answered, "I'm just trying to get comfortable. Good night, Inglor." She rolled away from Inglor, Eärendil and the remains of the fire, her face towards the cold, dark east.

"Good night, Haleth."

She was very deeply asleep when he approached, knelt beside her and watched her face, for now peaceful in repose.

Inglor unfastened the silver brooch that pinned his cloak in place and threw it over Haleth. The silky material fanned above her, a mantle of protective grey and silver glimmering in the moonlight, then slowly floated downwards to cover her. He studied her face, momentarily relieved of the cares she bore while awake and the memories that haunted her nights. Kneeling gracefully beside her, he tenderly kissed her forehead and then went back to the other side of the dying fire, singing quietly.

Far to the north, in the Ice Bay of Forochel, Odob the walrus stalked the frigid waters in search of clams. His dim walrus memory still could recall the huge prize that had been unfairly taken from him months earlier.

Something glittered blue and green in the corner of his blood-shot eye and Odob quickly swam towards it, his walrus bulk gliding with a grace that could hardly be guessed by his appearance on land.

It was indeed another large, heavy clam; a clam beyond all imagining; the clam of all clams. Summoning all of his strength and determination, Odob began to force it towards the shore.

Many of the sillier ideas in this story are my own inventions.  In the less that totally ridiculous concepts (like T'Ang), there was at least an attempt to use canon references as inspiration.

Appendix B of the Return of the King.  The entry for the year 1975 indicates that Arvedui, the last king of Arnor, drowned in the Ice Bay of Forochel.  The ship he was aboard was also carrying two palantiri; one from Amul Sul, the other from Annuminas. Odob, not being the most clever of pinnipeds, takes almost a year to discover the second.

Thorin's map in the Hobbit mentions 'the Withered Heath whence came the Great Worms'. It is mentioned that Smaug was the last of the Fire Drakes.  Tolkien neglects to make any specific mention of the Cold Drakes at this particular time and I've exploited this loophole to create Lithul.  By the Fourth Age, magical creatures like dragons are dying out.  Lithul (roughly translates to Ash Breath) could not be too ferocious.  I used artistic licensce to give him asthma. 

The inspiration for the Hosluin can be found in Book 12 of the History of Middle Earth, The Five Wizards, which states that the two blue wizards went into the East and started a fifth column movement against Sauron by organizing the tribes of men who had revolted against Sauron's rule.  Something obviously went wrong with this particular branch of their sect.   Hosluin loosely translates to Blue Horde.  It should be probably be Luinhoth.  This is what happens when you don't study Sindarin properly.

Somewhere in the middle of writing this story I watched the animated movie The Road to Eldorado.  It occurred to me that this story has a lot of elements in common with the old 'Road' movies featuring Dorothy Lamour, Bing Crosby and Bob Hope.  This was instumental in deciding the location of the final chapters; the shores of the Sea of Rhun.  I was sorely tempted to add a subtitle, 'The Road to Rhun', but was worried people would throw rotten vegetables at me if I did.