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.