This is a work of fan fiction. There will be no monetary renumeration made from it.

Castamir was a noble of Gondor who led the losing faction in a civil war known as the Kinstrife.

The orchestra of the dawn joyously heralded the birth of the new day. Sparrows and finches sang a steady, melodic rhythm while a lark, a virtuoso soloist, soared above the others as dawn crept upon the abandoned, burned out farm.

A whirling grindstone hummed in steady rhythm with the avian chorus. Closer inspection found a tall, slender, sandy-haired woman bent over it, a look of intense concentration upon her face as she drew a shining blade along the edge of the stone.

She was no longer young, though her features were even and fit together well enough to be considered attractive. Her face bore the marks of hardwon character that only comes with time and experience. She wore a plain homespun shirt that hung shapelessly from her shoulders and an equally nondescript pair of trousers.

Nothing about her appearance was remotely outstanding or even interesting, save perhaps her boots. These were of very good quality, but had seen too many seasons of hard wear. They were patched in so many places that it was difficult to tell if any of the original leather remained.

Directly across from her, his boots miraculously clean even in the middle of the ash covered barnyard, stood a blond elf. He was fair to look upon, even for one of his kindred, his garments princely and clean, in startling contrast to Haleth's. Inglor was a High Elf of the House of Finarfin. He had accompanied Haleth on her journeys for several years and that was the sum total of her knowledge of his background. She thought of him alternately as her watchdog or her companion, depending on the circumstances and how badly he was annoying her.

Currently an expression of mild confusion graced his countenance, as if he could not fathom the reason for her actions.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Haleth demanded without raising her eyes from her work. "Haven't you ever seen anyone sharpening a sword before?"

"Yes," Inglor replied calmly. "But I have never seen you do it." He did not add that he had never seen the sword before, either. The weapon had obviously been made by his people; Elvish runes swirled along the blade, which caught the ruddy light of the rising sun so that it appeared blood-soaked. He knew by now that asking about its origins and how she had come into possession of it would be of no use, especially given Haleth's foul mood. He would have to search for fragments of information. Given time he was quite confident he would solve the mystery.

But not, apparently, today. His statement was met with a wordless grunt as Haleth continued with her task.

"Haleth," he said, his voice more melodic than the lark's. "Will you please allow me to do that for you?"

"Why?" she demanded sharply, lowering the weapon. The hum of the grindstone slowed as she stopped pumping the pedal, the better to glare at the elf. "Do you think I'm incapable of sharpening a sword?"

"I never said that." Inglor raised his hands as a token of surrender and took an involuntary step backwards. The conversation was quickly degenerating into the all too familiar pattern where everything that he said was taken as an insult.

"You think I'm entirely helpless without you," Haleth accused him.

"Well, no. Not entirely," he replied honestly and without thinking.

Haleth's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Inglor?" she asked in the deceptively sweet voice that heralded mayhem.

"Yes?" the elf asked politely.

Haleth pointed dramatically towards the half-collapsed shed where they had spent the night.

"Why don't you go and pack?" she asked.

"But I truly think it would benefit you if you allowed me to..." Inglor trailed off as Haleth stabbed the air repeatedly in the direction of the shed, using the sword for emphasis.

Recognising an already lost battle, Inglor sighed and made his silent way back to their makeshift camp.

~*~

The unlikely pair, elf and human, traipsed along the side of an abandoned country road. They deliberately kept close to the neglected hedge that ran along its side in case they needed to hide.

There was no need for stealth. Nothing save the birds and inscets made a sound in the empty countryside. A line of knee-high grass snaked down the centre of the road. Tough weeds poked through the hard packed earth where the passage of wagon wheels had made deep ruts. The hedge was occasionally broken, allowing them a view of burned-out, uninhabited ruins and overgrown fields.

"The forces of Mordor must have overrun this place," Inglor said sadly.

Haleth snorted.

"Inglor," she reminded him, her voice harsh. "We are in near to Umbar. Everyone around here is in the forces of Mordor."

The elf's brow furrowed into a deeper than usual frown of confusion and Haleth braced herself for a series of unwelcome questions about human behavior.

"Then who did this?" he asked when a gap in the hedge revealed yet another derelict farm. "The men of Gondor seldom venture this far south. And if they do, surely they come by sea. They would not attack this far inland."

"Of course Gondor comes by the sea," Haleth snapped. "The men of Gondor are not responsible for this."

"Then who was?" Inglor insisted, his face a mask of baffled sorrow. "The men of Harad? Surely the Dark Lord would not allow his servants to slay each other when they would be of far more use against the Men of the West?"

Haleth stopped dead in her tracks, clenching and relaxing her fists in an effort to control her spiralling temper.

"Firstly, this is Harad. The Haradrim conquered Umbar long ago. They have ruled it ever since, though they allow the old nobility their lands and laws.

"Secondly, the Black Numenoreans are men of the West. Their forefathers walked the Land of the Star just as surely as the forefathers of the Men of Gondor. There was a disagreement about the succession in Gondor several generations ago and their ancestors backed the wrong side.

"Thirdly, in my experience, the Dark Lord gives little thought to how his minions conduct themselves as long as they blindly obey his will and provide soldiers for his armies and slaves for his fields.

"If you want to know who is responsible for this devastation, you probably need look no further than Umbar itself. The ruling families have never taken well to the common people getting ideas, like refusing to send their sons for military service or complaining that their taxes are too high."

"But that makes no sense," Inglor said, baffled and saddened. "Why would they slaughter their own people?"

"As an example to keep the rest from getting similar ideas," said Haleth shortly. She marched away, cutting off any further conversation, Inglor following in silent bafflement.

The road bent sharply to the right and plunged down a steep ridge. A city of white towers and intricately decorated domes lay spread across the plain before them. A small forest of masts grew within the harbour, with ships of war and trader's vessels sitting side by side. The open sea sparkled, blue and white, beyond the harbour.

Inglor stared into the West, his expression inscrutible.

"Can you see it from here?" asked Haleth.

"I can see Umbar, and the ships in the harbour and the gulls as they swoop upon the fishermen's catches and the sea beyond that." His voice trailed off.

"You can go back," she said. "Once we obtain what we seek we will bring it to Cirdan. It will go West with the next ship to leave Mithlond. Nothing ties you here."

Inglor's blue eyes regarded her with a calm, deep intelligence. It was something Haleth expected to see in the eyes of all of the Eldar and which was usually missing from his gaze. She briefly wondered why Inglor was displaying it now and if he thought she was unaware of it. She dismissed the notion almost as soon as it occured to her, but there was nothing to take its place and Haleth was left wondering why, exactly, a Noldo would chose to act alarmingly naive while accompanying a penniless, gruff mortal around Middle-earth. It made no sense, even if the mortal did practice a most unusual trade.

Then the moment passed and Inglor resumed his typical mask of baffled guilelessness.

"How will we find it?" he asked.

"I will go into Umbar and make a few discrete inquiries," Haleth informed him. "You will stay hidden in the last farm at the top of this ridge until I come back."

"Are you certain that is wise?" he asked, looking mildly wounded at being excluded.

"Yes," she said firmly. Inglor meant well, but he was always more of a hindrance than a help.

"You will return to determine a plan for us to retrieve the sword?" he asked calmly.

Haleth chewed her lower lip and considered telling him no, she would get the artifact herself. In her experience, though, this was a wide, well paved road to disaster as Inglor would inevitably follow her and land both of them in trouble.

"I should be back within two days at the latest," she said.

"If you have not returned by the second evening, I will go in search of you," Inglor said tranquilly.

"Make it the third evening," Haleth said quickly, shuddering at the thought of the reaction of the Men of Umbar to the blond elf.

"The third evening, then," Inglor said with equanimity, giving Haleth a small smile by way of farewell.

~*~

Two days later, Haleth returned to the farm where she had instructed Inglor to await her. The sun set as she toiled along the abdanoned, heavily damage road that switchbacked up the ridge and she was forced to search for him in the darkness.

He was not in any of the burned-out buildings, which hardly suprised her; the stench of charred wood still hung heavily in the air.

She wandered through an overgrown vineyard, whispering Inglor's name to no avail. Twisted vines tore at her clothing and dug into her exposed skin.

Haleth was scratched and hot by the time she reached the opposite end of the vines. The babble of a small stream caught her attention and she headed towards it to refresh herself. The sound led her through a grove of olive trees, their branches heavily laden with fruit.

Inglor, seated on a stump, suddenly appeared directly before her.

Haleth blinked and stepped back, startled. She could have sworn there was no one there an instant ago; Inglor had simply materialised. Haleth wondered how often she thought she was alone when the elf was actually hovering nearby.

"You're early," he said pleasantly. "I was not expecting you for another day."

"Yes," Haleth said, dropping herself next to him to hide her surprise.

He wordlessly handed her a bowl filled with water and waited until she had drunk deeply and rested, her shoulders slumped in weariness.

"You should sleep," Inglor said softly.

"No," Haleth said shaking herself out of somulence.

"Is it that serious?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said uneasily. "It could be."

"What did you learn?"

"The leader of the Corsairs, a noble by the name of Gimilkar, is planning an invasion of Pelagir."

"They are planning another raid?" Inglor asked mildly. "They raid all of the time."

"Not a raid," Haleth corrected him, shaking her head. "An invasion."

"Haleth, the Corsairs are not stupid. They lack the strength to take and hold Pelagir."

"Very true. And they are aware of that. There are whispers that this Gimilkar will be coming into possession of a powerful artifact that will give his men an unbeatable advantage."

"So we find this Gimilkar's home, retrieve this artifact and go north," Inglor said with calm self-confidence.

"That is a good plan, but there are a few obstacles to consider," Haleth admitted, knuckling her eyes until bright lights danced before them. "Gimilkar apparently does not have this thing yet. He is on his ship, which is docked in the harbour, and is expecting it any day. Preparations for the invasion are finished. The only thing lacking is this artifact. Rumour is the fleet will leave as soon as it is in his possession."

"That does not give us much time," Inglor said calmly.

"It gives us no time at all," Haleth snapped, pulling herself to her feet. "We should leave at once."

"You should rest. Can it not wait until tomorrow?" Inglor asked.

"No," said Haleth stubbornly. "Where are our packs? There likely won't be time to resupply on the way out."

"I've restocked them as best I could," Inglor assured her, leading her further into the grove of olive trees.

They retrieved their supplies and headed towards the road. Haleth stopped to stare at the derelict ruins of the farmhouse and outbuildings.

"Gimilkar did this, you know," she told Inglor, her voice tight with barely contained fury. "Not himself, but he ordered it."

"All the more reason to hurry," Inglor said gently.