Pitfalls of the Palantir

The morning of the theft, at the in of the Prancing Pony.

It was still early, but the weather looked as though it promised to hold and the travellers had far to go. Froi the dwarf rose at dawn and made his way towards the kitchen for an early breakfast.

His company would be well away from the trouble that had been brewing at the Inn of the Prancing Pony the previous evening. Humans were too violent. Even their women fought against each other instead of doing something useful, like metalworking.

It was hardly surprising that an elf had instigated the uproar. From claiming necklaces that were not their own to forging over-powerful rings, elves had been responsible for much of the grief of Middle Earth.

Annoyed at the world in general, Froi tromped down the stairs in his heavy boots.

Something awaited him at the bottom of the stairs. It was round and large and flickered with an inner blue light of its own making.

It could not be.

Froi had heard of the palantir, but he had never thought he would ever catch a glimpse of one, let alone find one in a human inn.

It was just sitting there, plainly discarded. He glanced around quickly for the owner. Nothing moved in the morning stillness.

"Hello?" he whispered. "Does this belong to anyone?"

Silence answered him.

"So you won't mind if I take it, then. Don't say anything if the answer is yes."

As he picked up the palantir, he reflected that humans simply did not understand the value of anything.