Once again I must thank my patient beta readers, Aearwen and Ruger and all of the wonder writers on the Garden of Ithilien. Any remaining mistakes are my responsibility.

Inglor ambled into the room with Froi behind him. 'Oh. There you are. What are you doing here?'

Haleth blinked at Inglor, shook her head and looked at Froi instead. After spending so much time with Inglor, she had grown sensitive to facial expressions. Even with the massive beard, Froi's face was an interesting study in emotions. Irritation, embarrassment and glimmer of hope played upon his features. For whatever reason, Froi did not want to offend Inglor. She could play this for all it was worth, but she might need to deal with the dwarves in the future. It would be best to keep on their good side.

'I was just...invited for dinner?' Haleth offered, hoping she had not overstepped the bounds of good dwarvish manners.

'Oh. Really?' asked Inglor in all innocence. He grew troubled. 'Why did you not invite me?'

Haleth and Froi exchanged quick, panicked looks.

'We...were just about to?' suggested Haleth.

'Of course we were,' said Froi. 'Now come downstairs, honoured guests, and we shall talk while the food is being prepared.

Minutes later Inglor, Haleth and Froi were seated in the main room of the house. The scent of roasting meat filled the air.

They sat on flat pieces of logs that the dwarves had brought into the house. A small, cheerful fire burned in the hearth. The sounds of dwarves busy in the kitchen drifted to them from the back of the house.

A dwarf carrying a platter with three tankards entered the room. He handed one to Froi, one to Inglor and, after a nod from Froi, offered one to Haleth before exiting the room.

Haleth sniffed before taking a drink. The nutty scent of ale filled her nostrils. She took a delicate sip and placed her tankard on the floor. Negotiations with dwarves could be tricky at the best of times and she wanted to keep her wits about her.

Froi took a long pull of ale from his tankard. 'How may I be of service?' he asked.

Inglor regarded him from over the top of his mug. 'To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?' he asked politely.

Froi glanced at the door. 'There have been troubles,' he said in a low voice. 'Not here, but up the coast. There are Raiders in the Gulf of Lhûn. They are drawn by the riches of the abandoned cities of the elves.'

'There are no riches in the empty cities,' said Inglor.

'But there are,' Haleth interrupted, thinking of the mural on outer wall of Círdan’s workshop. She turned to Froi. 'What are they taking?'

'The marble, mainly, and certain other trinkets left behind,' said Froi. 'Though what they want with it I could not tell.'

'How do they transport their plunder?' asked Haleth.

'Ships,' said Froi. 'Black ships.'

'The Corsairs,' said Haleth. 'I should have guessed.'

'But why would the Corsairs have interest in marble?' asked Inglor. 'Surely there are quarries in their own lands.'

'There likely are,' said Haleth. 'But this has already been cut and polished. It is far easier to take it than to do the work themselves and they can claim the materials for their new palace was once part of an elvish throne room.'

Inglor looked troubled. 'I do not understand.'

'She is right,' said Froi. 'When it first began two years ago we thought little of it. There were only a few ships and they did not trouble the dwarves. But there are more each year and the Raiders are growing bolder. It is no longer safe for my people to travel alone along the coastal roads. Even small parties have been waylaid by these ruffians if they think they can get away with it.'

'Why do you not tell the King?' asked Inglor.

'The King surely knows!' responded an offended Froi.

'I believe what my companion meant to ask was have you informed the new King in Gondor?' said Haleth.

Froi seemed genuinely surprised by the suggestion. 'Why? What does he care for the problems of the dwarves?'

'They are the problems of the dwarves now,' said Haleth. 'But with every success, as you have noted, the Corsairs grow bolder. How long will it be before they are plundering the coast of Gondor?'

'How long indeed?' asked Froi. 'But until then, he will not trouble with them.'

'He will,' said Haleth. 'What will it cost to ask?' she said and immediately realized it was the wrong thing to say. Froi frowned at the idea of asking a human, even a human king, for aid.

Froi looked questioningly to Inglor.

'King Elessar will help you,' he said.

Froi sat back and stared into the flames. The firelight shone in the dark depths of his eyes. 'I will confer with Frar and advise him to send messengers to the King in Minas Tirith,' he finally said.

'Why is an Elf in Mithlond?' asked Froi. 'I thought all of your kind had sailed for the West five years ago.

'I was unavoidably detained,' said Inglor. He looked directly at Haleth while he spoke.

Haleth shook her head. She was about to voice a denial, but at that instant several dwarves burst into the room. They quickly set up a trestle table and brought in several more large pieces of wood for chairs. In minutes the room had been converted into a banquet hall. Platters of roasted meat including, Haleth sourly noted, rabbit, and root vegetables were passed around. There was little conversation around the table. The dwarves were too busy eating to talk.

Haleth sat next to Inglor.

'What took you so long?' she asked quietly in badly accented Quenya.

'Please speak in Sindarin, or better yet, Common,' he said calmly. 'We would not want to be rude to our hosts.'

'Our 'hosts', as you call them, had me locked up as a prisoner,' she said tartly, disregarding his request to change languages.

Inglor took a quick sip of ale.

'I am certain they had their reasons.' he said.

Haleth was too flummoxed to reply.

Once the dinner was over the dwarves, except for Froi, leapt to their feet and began to clear the tables of the detritus of the meal. There was a great deal of activity in the crowded room with dwarves marching back and forth carrying trays piles high with dirty plates, bowls and cutlery. A collision of some sort seemed inevitable, but to Haleth’s amazement none occurred. Someone always swerved out of the way at the last possible instant. It made sense, once she thought of it. Collision avoidance would be a useful skill to employ in a cramped mine tunnel.

Froi leaned back against the wall, stretched his legs before him and took a drink from his tankard of ale which had just been refilled. Inglor accepted more ale with a gracious nod of his head. He kept his legs drawn against the side of the log to keep from tripping people.

Haleth shifted uncomfortably; without any support, her back was growing stiff. She suffered a pang of jealousy at Inglor who could sit or stand in the same position for hours without any apparent discomfort. Bracing her feet, she began to slowly push the log backwards.

The sound of deep voices singing came from the back of the house, punctuated by the clink and bang of dishes being cleaned. While several dwarves disassembled the trestle table, Haleth shoved her perch backwards until its progress was stopped by the wall. She leaned back so that her head and back were supported.

Froi reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a pipe and a smaller bag. He poured a dried herb into the pipe and tamped it down. He took a small, slender stick of wood and struck it against the wall. A small fire came to life on the end of the twig. With the pipe held firmly between his lips, he pushed the small fire into the bowl of the pipe. Smoke rose from the barrel. Froi sat back, puffing on the pipe and regarding the fire.

‘Excuse me, Froi, but what is that?’ asked Inglor.

Froi’s eyes glittered in the firelight. ‘It is a pipe,’ he said. ‘Would you care to smoke?’ He offered Inglor the bag of tobacco.

To Haleth’s surprise, Inglor gave the offer seriously consideration.

‘If I may?’ he asked politely. ‘I do not partake but I know of someone who does.’

Froi glanced quickly at Haleth, who stared, stone faced, into the fire and pretended not to notice.

‘Keep it all,’ said the dwarf. ‘I can always get more.’

The other dwarves were slowly drifting into the room. They arranged themselves on sawn off logs or on the floor and talked quietly among themselves. Most of them lit pipes as soon as they settled. Soon the air was thick with blue smoke.

Haleth’s eyes, nose and throat stung from the smoke. The room was warm and stuffy and she was beginning to nod off.

Inglor noticed her eyes drooping closed.

‘I thank you for your hospitality,’ he said to Froi as he rose to his feet. ‘But my companion grows weary. We must be away. If we can be of any service to you, you have but ask.’

‘Thank-you, Inglor,’ said Froi. ‘We shall stay several days longer although it seems unlikely the Raider have been this far north. Be on the look out for them, nonetheless. They will show you no mercy.’

Haleth bowed deeply to Froi, mumbled a quick thanks and followed Inglor out of the house.

They walked through the rain-washed streets without speaking. Stars twinkled in the gaps between the clouds.