I would like to gratefully thank my beta readers, Aearwen and Ithryn and the writers at the Garden of Ithilien for helping me to beat this into shape. Particular thanks to Gwynnyd for her expertise in rock-climbing.

Soon they were strolling about the perimeter of the dry moat. Inglor studied the tower while Haleth watched anything but. The Gulf of Lhûn glimmered in the distance. Beyond the water, the Blue Mountains marched to the north, vanishing into the haze at the horizon.  Soon they would reach the western edge of Middle-earth.  What would they do then?  Turn around and walk back to Esgaroth?

Haleth sighed.  Although she would enjoy seeing Berengil again, the thought of walking all that distance held no appeal.  The years were catching up to her.  Soon she would have to find a place to settle.  Could she convince Inglor to stay with her? He would if she asked, but did she really want him to watch her grow old while he remained ever youthful?   Would he be repulsed by her deepening wrinkles and stooped back?   Or would he stay out of pity in spite of his revulsion.  She would rather they part company than have him pity her; even if it meant dying alone. 

‘There is one,’ he said when they were half way around.

Haleth glanced up. There was an opening three quarters of the way up the tower. It was wider than an arrow slit, but from this distance still seemed quite narrow.

‘It looks rather small,’ she said, frowning at the high, narrow opening.

Ignoring her doubts, Inglor dug through his pack. He pulled out a grappling hook and a length of rope and quickly secured them together. The grappling hook whirled around his head, sailed through the air and landed inside of the window with his first throw.

‘Could you please hold the end of the rope?’ he requested.

‘I could...’ Haleth began as she frowned at the slender opening.

‘Thank-you,’ he said. Before she could express further doubts, he threw off his cloak, grasped the rope and swung across the moat. Haleth was forced to dive after the end to keep the cord from falling into the moat. She barely caught it, landing on her stomach with her arms and shoulders over the edge.

She lay there for a moment, staring at the sharp rocks on the side of the ditch, winded and silently cursing the quickness of Elves.

By the time she sat up, Inglor had already covered half the distance to the window. He walked up the tower wall as if it were a flat, paved road. It was beyond galling for Haleth; climbing was far more difficult now than it had been five years earlier. She bit her lips and suppressed the urge to shout at him. It would serve no purpose; he would never understand.

There was one advantage to her current situation; she could watch Inglor without having to guard her expression. It was impressive to watch him for he was quick and graceful, the muscles of his arms and legs rippling beneath his clothing.

Her thoughts drifted to subjects that were better avoided.

Shaking her head, Haleth flushed and searched for a rock on which to tie the rope. When she looked up again, Inglor had reached the window. His golden head was inside the tower, but the rest of him from the shoulders down was outside, struggling and squirming to worm his way in. It made for a very interesting view. She felt a ridiculous urge to climb the rope and pinch his unprotected backside.

To distract herself, she shifted her gaze westward. Dark clouds piled high on the horizon, heavy with the promise of rain. Getting inside the tower suddenly became a great deal more appealing.

‘I think it’s going to rain,’ she called conversationally. Most of Inglor was still hanging outside the window. The visible portion of him was writhing about in a rather alarming fashion. His frantic gyrations amused Haleth for half a moment until she suspected something more sinister.

‘You’re stuck, aren’t you?’ she called.

Inglor chopped his hand downwards. She did not hear any other reply.

‘Stupid, stubborn, Firstborn fool!’ she muttered under her breath. He should have let her try the window. She was smaller and had enough sense to not get stuck.

How could she help him? There were no other windows on that side of the tower. She would have to climb into and out of the moat, scale the wall and hope there was a way inside from the roof. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of rain upon it.

‘Hang on, I’m coming,’ she called as she examined the tower. The walls appeared to be smooth and woefully lacking in handholds. The rain would make the situation worse. ‘Although it might take me a while,’ she muttered under her breath.

The best way to climb the tower would be to scale the rope first. That would bring her over half way to the top. The worst struggle would be keeping her hands to herself.

Inglor’s head popped out of the window.

’Secure the rope!’ he called.

’What?’ asked Haleth.

’I am coming down. Secure the rope.’

Haleth barely had enough time to loop the cord around her waist and place one foot on the slack. In the blink of an eye Inglor slid down, almost dragging the Haleth off balance.

‘The window was too narrow,’ he said as his feet lightly touched the ground beside her.

‘I’d surmised as much. Shall we search for shelter?’ she asked, frowning at the heavy, grey clouds that scudded towards them like an approaching army.

‘We have already found it,’ he said, bewildered.

‘Yes, but I believe for it to qualify as shelter we actually have to be able to enter it,’ said Haleth, crossing her arms.

They watched the approaching storm. Rain poured down from the sky.

‘There are the other two towers.’ Haleth finally acknowledged.

‘The palantir would be in the highest,’ Inglor insisted.

‘Right. Fine,’ sighed Haleth. She shrugged the pack off her shoulders and let if fall to the ground. A bit of fumbling in the many pockets of her shirt produced a pair of thick leather gloves. Without looking at Inglor, she passed the rope between her legs and launched herself across the moat.

Haleth was surprised by the amount of time it took to swing across the gap for she seemed to be moving very slowly. She had expected to take a few bruises when she connected with the tower, but her outstretched feet landed as gently as a feather. For an instant she wondered if she had somehow acquired Inglor’s reflexes. When she looked over her shoulder he was standing at the edge of the moat, the rope in his hands. He must have paid it out slowly to keep her from slamming into the building.

It was a considerate thing to have done but it irritated Haleth. ‘He thinks I’m getting old and fragile.’ A strand of grey hair blew in front of her eyes. ‘Maybe I am,’ she thought sadly. There was nothing to remedy that particular condition and little point in complaining about it.

Wrapping the rope around her calf, Haleth and began to climb, pushing herself up the rope with her feet. It took her far longer than it had taken Inglor. Her legs were burning when she finally reached the window. She transferred her grasp to the window ledge and stared into the cool darkness.

The window was as narrow as it had seemed from the ground. After a moment’s rest, Haleth experimentally pulled herself into the opening. She managed to get her head most of the way inside the thick wall, but her shoulders would not fit through the narrow gap. She shrugged and twisted sideways. Her right shoulder met the unyielding edge of the upper window opening.

If she was careful, she might be able to wriggle inside but there were a few preparations she would need to make first.

She inched down the rope. The darned Elf! She had made it perfectly clear she wanted nothing to do with the tower and he had deliberately ignored her. But Elves were stubborn creatures. Being immortal, he had a distinct advantage over her; he could wait until he got his way. Besides, it was not as though she had anything more important to do. This train of thought darkened her mood as the clouds covered the sun.

Inglor pulled the rope back across the moat so that she did not have to climb down the ditch and scramble back up. If he hadn’t been driving her to find a way into the tower, she might have thanked him.

‘How badly do you want to get in there?’ she asked as soon as her feet touched the ground.

Inglor blinked. It was as close to a response as she was likely to get.

‘Fine.’

She fished through her many hidden pockets and produced a leather case. ‘No,’ she said, returning her spare lock picks to their secret place. These were followed in quick succession by a bar of soap, a lump of wax and a thing that looked suspiciously like a tinderbox. ‘Is that where that went,’ Haleth muttered as it disappeared into the depths of her shirt once again.

She pulled out a vial and uncorked it. The aroma of rancid animal fat wafted through the air. ‘Ah. There is it. Here. Hold this.’ She thrust the smelly concoction at Inglor who took it with great reluctance and held it at arm’s length.

‘What is this?’ he asked, breathing delicately through his mouth as his nose wrinkled in disgust.

‘Bear grease,’ she replied. Turning away from him, she pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it on the ground.

‘Rub some of that on my shoulders and back, would you?’ she asked.

There was a long pause then the vial flew over her head. It sailed in a graceful arc before plummeting into the dry moat, leaving a faint whiff of rancid bear behind.

‘Inglor! Why did you do that?’ An outraged Haleth rounded on the elf who was calmly digging through his pack as though nothing outrageous had occurred.

‘Forgive me, Haleth, I could not endure the stench,’ he said calmly.

‘That stench was going to get us inside the tower,’ she snarled.

‘Although I could understand their revulsion, I somehow doubt the stones would move away from the smell,’ he said as he laid items neatly onto the ground.

‘It wasn’t the smell that would get us in. The grease would allow me to slide through the window,’ she huffed.

‘I know, but this will have the same effect and the aroma will not choke an orc.’ He held up a crystal vial carved in the shape of a flower.

‘What’s that?’ Haleth asked, her eyes narrowed.  She was wary of anything from Inglor’s pack. Through hard experience she had learned that concoctions made for elves did not always have the expected effect on mortals.

‘It is a fragrant oil made from the flowers of Lorien,’ he said, pulling the cork from the vial. The sweet aroma of exotic blossoms filled the air. The scent washed away Haleth’s weariness and lifted her spirits.

‘What is it used for?’ she asked, somewhat mollified.

‘Various things,’ he shrugged. ‘In this case, squeezing into a tight space.’

Haleth stared into his blue eyes. It was difficult to judge Inglor’s facial expressions for they were always muted, but he seemed to be smirking. The expression unsettled her for she had never seen it on his face before. She suddenly remembered that she had removed her shirt. Only the band of material wrapped around her chest preserved her modesty. She crossed her arms and spun away from him.

‘Fine. Go ahead,’ she said, trying to ignore the heat rising in her face.

Warm, strong hands massaged the fragrant oil into her shoulders. Haleth’s knees grew weak. She fought the ridiculous urge to fall backwards and allow Inglor to catch her. The air, heavy with the oncoming rain and the scent of sweet oil, promised vivid dreams.

‘That’s enough,’ she said gruffly. ‘I don’t need to be dripping with it.’

‘Half a moment, you should have some on your back.’ His voice was directly above her. Haleth bit her lip and stared at her feet to avoid looking up and meeting his eyes. The toes of her boots were stained black and green from her earlier slide through the turf.

‘You are tense,’ he said as he ran his fingers along her flesh.

‘Of course I’m tense! What are you doing to me?’ Haleth screamed in her mind.

‘I want to get into the tower before the rain starts,’ she lied.

His hands left her body, leaving Haleth with pangs of regret mixed equally with relief.

‘Off we go,’ she said, grasping the rope.

‘Wait, Haleth,’ he said. ‘I must dry my hands before I can hold the rope safely.’

‘If you don’t want me to injure myself, why are you insisting I go at all?’ she thought. ‘Dry them fast!’ she growled.

‘There. You can go now.’ He took the end of the rope and held it loosely. Haleth passed the rope between her legs and once more launched herself across the moat. Inglor paid out the rope behind her. The second trip up the rope took even longer than the first.

Once again she climbed to the window opening. This time she slowly wormed her way through. The oil, whatever it was, seemed to have the additional virtue of protecting her skin against the worst abrasions from the stone. She paused when she had her shoulders most of the way through, confident she could get the rest of the way without getting stuck, and examined her surroundings.

The interior of the tower was almost pitch black. The window was the only source of illumination and her body blocked most of the light. She called out. The echoes bounced about the stone and carried up and down the walls.

How far down was the floor? She peered into the darkness but could not see it. If she had her shirt, she could try to light the stub of the candle she kept for such emergencies but the candle and the tinderbox were on the grass far below. She lacked even for something to drop to judge the distance to the bottom.

Out of desperation, she leaned in as far as she dared. With her toes hooked on the outer window ledge, she reached downwards into the darkness. Her hands encountered nothing but the smoothness of the inner wall.

Sighing in frustration, she worked her way upright. On an inspiration, she took the grappling hook and wormed her way out of the window.

Inglor stood at the bottom of the rope, looking up. The clouds completely covered the sky and the wind had picked up, making Haleth shiver.

‘Why didn’t you tell me there wasn’t a floor?’ she shouted.

‘There is a floor,’ he replied. Even from this distance she could see the confusion on his face.

‘Yes, but it’s rather a long way down, don’t you think?’ she said tartly.

Inglor’s eyebrows flew above his hairline.

‘I suppose but could you not see that?’ he called.

‘No! I’m old and my eyes are growing weak,’ she snapped as she attached the grappling hook to the outside of the window.

‘Let go of the rope,’ she added. With her arms confined by the window, it took a long time to haul the rope into the tower.

‘Could you please put my shirt into my pack so it won’t get wet?’ she asked. ‘And don’t go through my pockets!’

She pulled her head back inside before she could see his sad expression. Of course Inglor would never go through her pockets. His perfect manners would never allow such base behavior.

When she was satisfied the grappling hook was properly secured and the rope was paid out properly behind her, she lowered herself into the unknown.