They reached the green hills of Emyn Beriad later that day. Elostirion shone in the afternoon sun.

Inglor paused and gazed back along the road, his slender hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Haleth, who was certain he affected the behavior for her benefit, examined his face, hoping for some hint of his mood.

‘Among my people, it is said this road is the very same route we took when the Valar summoned us from Cuivienen to Aman,’ he said.

Haleth stared into the east. The road ran down the slope and through green, gently rolling hills. If she squinted, she could trace its silvery path through the Hobbit’s fields where it vanished into the blue haze of the horizon.

She struggled to find a profound response while the western wind pushed against her back. It picked up her hair and playfully tossed is around her face. She doggedly refused to acknowledge the streaks of silver that glimmered amid the sandy brown.

‘That was very long ago,’ she finally said, giving up on profundity.

‘Indeed,’ said Inglor, ‘It is old even by my reckoning and the reckoning of my father.’

Haleth inhaled sharply. She had always wondered about Inglor’s family. Other than Finarfin, he never mentioned any of them by name. She respected his silence on the matter, partly out of politeness, partly because he would undoubtedly expect similar revelations from her and Haleth flatly refused to think of her family, much less speak of them. The nearby surroundings were more than enough of a reminder.

‘These towers are not so ancient,’ she said to change the subject.

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Although they do appear to have been built by my people.’

‘Gil-galad had them built,’ she said.

Inglor turned towards the north, away from the towers.

‘It seems an odd place to have built them,’ he said slowly. ‘His realm was in Lindon, was it not?’

‘It…was,’ said Haleth, surprised in the apparent gap in Inglor’s historical knowledge. ‘He had them built for his allies in the Last Alliance.’

‘For Elendil,’ said Inglor.

‘Yes,’ said Haleth, shifting uncomfortably and the mention of the name. ‘There was supposedly a palantir in the tallest tower.’

Her jaw dropped open as realization hit. Inglor was far more devious than she would have ever credited him.

‘You mean to take that palantir and send it to Gondor in place of the one we lost,’ she said in shocked admiration.

Inglor finally turned to face her, a faint, bemused smile upon his face.

‘I could never do that,’ he said solemnly.

‘Of course you couldn’t,’ thought Haleth bitterly. ‘Only mortals are so underhanded.  Or at least I am.’

‘Each palantir is different. The King of Gondor has undoubtedly seen the palantir of Elostirion. Any attempt to substitute it for the other would be noticed immediately,’ he continued.

Haleth stared at him, uncertain of how to respond. He seemed to be telling the bare, honest truth, but was there a nuance in the way he had spoken? The slightest twisting at the corners of his lips to show he was not as honest as she believed?

She was still considering when he turned his attention to the tallest tower.

‘A palantir can be a dangerous thing. If word of it got out, it could attract the attention of the unethical. I do not like to think of the Hobbits being troubled by the Hosluin,’ he said.

‘Hobbits are too level headed to have anything to do with the Hosluin,’ said Haleth.

‘If words do not suffice, the Hosluin will use swords. I will not have it.’

He strode to the door of the tower. Elostirion had been built during a time of war. Although the trouble had not reached so far north in many years, it was designed as a stronghold. A slender bridge of white stone arched over a deep ditch that surrounded the base of the tower. The ditch was deceptively green with grass and moss, but here and there sharp edges of rocks jutted out of the turf. Anyone unlucky enough to fall into the trench would have a very uncomfortable landing.

Haleth unwillingly followed Inglor across the bridge, dragging her feet and frowning the entire time.

She reached the opposite end to find him intently examining the doors. Elostirion boasted a pair of white doors emblazoned with the symbol of the white tree surmounted by seven stars. There was no handle or any obvious way to open them.

‘I imagine they were made to open from the inside,’ said Inglor. He pushed on them to no effect.

‘I imagine.’ Haleth shrugged. Deliberately turning her back on the tower, she sat on the bridge’s parapet so her feet dangled over the moat and stared into the east. The gentle hills were covered in the bright, green grass of spring while the distant fields of the Shire were a patchwork of greens and browns. In several months those fields would be golden with ripe wheat that could be made into bread.

Haleth sighed. She missed eating bread on a regular basis for it wasn’t readily available in the wild. It would be wonderful to settle in a place where she could have the luxury of eating bread every day.

‘Do you know of anything that could open these doors?’ asked Inglor, interrupting her musings.

‘A very large battering ram?’ Haleth suggested. It was obvious Inglor intended to enter the Tower in search of the palantir. It was equally obvious they would be there for some time. She wished there was a more comfortable place to sit than the hard stone of the bridge.

‘I was hoping for something smaller,’ he said.

Tapping her fingers thoughtfully against her lips, Haleth studied the heavily built doors.

‘I don’t think a small battering ram would work,’ she eventually said.

‘I was referring to a small, metallic tool you might keep in your pockets,’ he said.

‘You mean a lock pick,’ she said.

‘Is that what it is called?’ he asked.

‘That is the vulgar term, yes,’ she replied, crossing her arms.

‘I would not call it vulgar,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘The term is descriptive, but not indelicate.’

‘But only indelicate people would carry one,’ said Haleth with brittle smile.

‘I never said…’ he began.

‘You didn’t have to; it’s implied,’ Haleth snapped.

‘If that is true, it is you who makes the implication,’ he said sadly.

Haleth glared at him and bit off an angry retort. It was true. Inglor never cast any aspersions upon her character. He hardly had to; her lack of integrity was plain for anyone to see. She was getting rather tired of his skirting around the subject as though it did not matter.

‘A lock pick is only useful in the hands of an accomplished thief,’ she said tartly, ignoring his sudden intake of breath. For an instant Haleth had the oddest impression that he had been going to ask to borrow it. She continued on before he could speak, ‘And even then only when there is a lock to pick; something this door is sadly lacking.’

‘You are correct,’ he said, defeated.

Haleth grunted and began to make her way across the bridge, happy to leave Elostirion behind. Inglor fell into step beside her. ‘We shall have to see if there is a window.’

She stared straight ahead and stifled a nasty comment.