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.