Pitfalls of the Palantir

Garbed in the green gown and carrying the combs, Haleth made her way down the rapidly darkening hallway to Inglor's room. She listened at the door before knocking, wondering if Mrs. Bass had taken the opportunity to impose upon her companion. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she knocked quietly. Inglor opened it almost immediately, as if he had been standing behind the door awaiting her.

He looked at her, blinked and stared, effectively blocking the doorway.

For the first instant Haleth suspected that Mrs. Bass had paid him a visit after all and that Inglor's hesitation in allowing her into his room was out of deference to Mrs. Bass' reputation, which was undoubtedly sterling. Then she remembered that she was dealing with Inglor. There must be something else amiss. She thought of his strange reaction earlier that day and immediately became worried.

"Inglor, is everything alright?" she inquired quietly.

He shook his head quicky, as though to bring himself back to the present situation, and then stood aside to allow her into the room.

"Yes, of course," he answered quickly as she entered the room. "It's just I've never...I mean I didn't expect you...I mean you look...nice," he finished weakly.

"Thank-you," she said, smiling and suddenly feeling abashed. The reason for her visit, indeed her entire presence in the room suddenly seemed inappropriate. It was an entirely ridiculous as she had traveled the length of Eriador with Inglor. Common sense was trying to re-establish the upperhand in her mind when Inglor asked a question.

"What are those?" he indicated the combs in her hands.

"Beregnil loaned them to me for this evening," she said quickly, handing the trinkets to him. "I've been trying to put them into my hair without much success. I was wondering if you...could...maybe..." She trailed off in confusion.

Inglor examined the combs minutely. "These are the work of a true artist," he said, his voice soft with wonder and sorrow. "They are a princely gift."

"They aren't a gift," Haleth said quickly. "They're only on loan."

"Still, they are princely," Inglor said again, raising his blue eyes to hers. He held her gaze for several minutes, as if either searching for something or asking an unvoiced question which Haleth could not fathom.

"Allow me to help you with them," he finally said, indicating that Haleth should be seated on the edge of the bed. He found a fine-toothed comb somewhere in the recesses of his pack and ran it through her still damp, sandy tresses, singing softly to himself as he did so. Haleth sat as still and as silent as a statue under his ministrations, her eyes firmly closed in what was probably a vain attempt to hide a maelstrom of emotions and questions. What was wrong with her travelling companion? As much as she enjoyed Inglor's company when he was not driving her to distraction, it was becoming painfully clear even to her that he was their disagreements were having a bad effect on him. He had become steadily more withdrawn and solemn since the incident in Dale. In fact, the problem had started when she had looked into the palantir and had picked a fight with him instead of admitting it. With a shock she wondered if he meant to leave her at the end of the quest and did not know how to tell her. The idea was too painful to contemplate.

She drew herself back to the present as Inglor continued to comb her hair. She had not realised that elves could spend so much time on what, for her, was a very basic motion that was dealt with each morning and immediately forgotten. His free hand stroked her hair after each passage of the comb, smoothing her locks and caressing her shoulders and back. An all too familiar sensation began to overtake Haleth. To distract herself, she formed her hands into fists so tight that the fingernails dug painfully into the flesh of her palms.

"Look up," he ordered softly, tilting her head back with two strong fingers beneath her chin. Haleth yielded to his gentle pressure and lifted her head. She briefly opened her eyes to watch him. His attention was firmly fixed upon the task at hand, which was something of a relief. With careful skill, he parted her hair and resumed combing while Haleth determinedly resisted the dreadful temptation to pluck the comb out of his hand and throw herself into his arms.

Her self control was slowly sliding away with each stroke of the comb. She was about to ask him to please stop, that she would put the combs in herself, when he expertly pulled her hair back, anchored one comb and then pushed it firmly into place. He quickly repeated the process on the other side and then stepped back to examine his work.

"Thank-you," Haleth whispered hoarsely. She swore to herself that even if she had to appear before the High King of Gondor himself, she would never, ever allow Inglor near her hair again. The entire experience caused too many difficult and unwelcome perceptions.

She forced herself to unball her fists as he turned his back to place the comb on the bureau. It came as no surprise to see eight angry, red halfmoons where her nails had gouged the skin. Not wanting him to see the damage she had inflicted upon herself, mostly because it would require an explanation she was not prepared to give, Haleth clasped her hands on her lap.

"You are welcome," he said as he seated himself on the bed next to her in the growing twilight.

Fed by Inglor's disturbing proximity, Haleth's natural physical restlessness sought an outlet. She began to absently twist the silver ring that rested upon the index finger of her right hand as she stared blankly ahead.

The movement did not go unnoticed.

"You would trade the ring for those combs," Inglor suddenly said in a quiet, resigned voice.


Haleth was spared from having to protest that statement by a rap on the door. It was Mrs. Bass, a covered lantern with a twinkling candle in her hand, come to summon them to the secret meeting which Beregnil had planned. The housekeeper did not even bother to sniff her disapproval at finding Haleth once more in Inglor's room.

Still shaking and miserable from Inglor's comment and the hair combing experience, Haleth followed the Mrs. Bass along the hallway. She had to content herself with a 'we're not finished with this' expression leveled at her traveling companion as she brushed past him on her way out of his room. Inglor, who had seemingly already accepted his decision as the only possible outcome, tightened his jaw slightly but said nothing.

The candle sent fantastical shadows dancing along the walls as they walked beside each other in Mrs. Bass' wake, being careful to not actually touch each other.

She led them down the stairs and into a private room. A large, round table and its accompanying chairs occupied most of the area within it. Heavy curtains covered the wide windows so that not even a flicker of light would escape to the outside. The only light came from two candles which burned in sconces on the walls and a lantern which rested at the centre of the table, its light shielded so that it only shone into the room, away from the windows. The lower walls were of wood, the higher walls of plaster. Several large, ornately framed portraits were set on the walls. Haleth wished that she could see the room in more light; it seemed like a rich and yet thoroughly human place.

There were three people already seated around the table. Beregnil rose to his feet when his guests entered the room. His motion was quickly copied by the man who sat to his immediate right. The man who sat to his left stood, but far more slowly. It was with a slight shock that Haleth noted that the third man was no man at all, but a tall, slim woman.

"Be welcome, Lord Inglor and Lady Haleth," Beregnil said, he smiled and approached them. "This is Calanloss, councilman of Lake Town. Calanloss bowed deeply to the newcomers. He was of similar build and colouring to Berengnil, but his hair and beard were a deep brown with no grey. Inglor bowed and Haleth curtesied.

"And this is Ethirwen, another member of the town council." Ethirwen inclined her head towards them. Again Inglor bowed. Haleth contented herself with nodding her head as Ethirwen had.

Beregnil completed his quick round of introductions. Haleth noted that Ethirwen's attention kept drifting back to Inglor's face. After his unexpected accusation, she found that this did not affect her as it usually did.

Inglor took the chair next to Calanloss. Beregnil pulled out the chair to the right of him for Haleth. "I thank you for accepting the gifts, my lady," he said in a whisper meant for her ears alone. "You look truly radiant."

Haleth stiffened slightly. She was certain that Inglor had heard Beregnil's use of the word 'gift'.

"Thank-you, Master Beregnil," she whispered quietly in return, smiling into his dark eyes. He held her gaze a fraction longer than was necessary before turning back to the task at hand.

"Thank-you, Mrs. Bass," he said to the housekeeper. "That will be all for this evening."

Haleth watched Inglor carefully. His face was its usual mask of beautific calm. She felt Ethirwen's eyes flick quickly from the elf to Haleth and then then back again, as if she were making careful calculations and drawing quick, decisive conclusions.

"Good people," Berengil said after the door had closed on Mrs. Bass. "First let me thank you Ethirwen and you, Calanloss, for coming this evening. There is a very delicate situation that these two travelers are attempting to bring to a positive outcome. I am hoping that your knowledge may be of use to them. I have not told you more than the barest hints of the story, lest those that could harm their cause learn of it. Now I will ask Lord Inglor to explain the situation, as he is more familiar with it than me."

If Inglor was surprised by this request, he gave no sign of it. Haleth watched him get to his feet with some trepidation, worried that he would unwittingly give away more than was safe. Her fears proved to be groundless. Inglor told exactly as much of the story as needed to be told. He skillfully dodged around the areas that were bound to cause questions in such a way as to silence all enquiries.

She wondered at his eloquence; he had certainly never given any sign of it while he was alone with her. He probably thought her coarse and unworthy of the effort. She rejected that thought almost as soon as it occurred. In many ways Inglor was a complete puzzle to her, but she could keenly sense when anyone felt superior to her and she had never had that impression from him. Which was odd, because Haleth felt that Inglor truly was superior to her.

"I see the problem," Calanloss said when Inglor had sat down again, "But I am at a loss to see how we can possibly help."

"Excuse me," Haleth said. "We were given the impression that you were familiar with the area and people around the Sea of Rhun. If you could possibly give us an idea of where the Hosluin are headquartered, we will at least know where to begin to search."

There was silence around the table. At last Calanloss spoke.

"I have heard that they are centred in a castle on a penninsula on the north eastern coast," he said. "A narrow strip of land joins the penninsula to the mainland and it is rumoured to be heavily guarded. The sea surrounding the area is filled with jagged rocks and treacherous currents. No sailor dares to draw near that coast. The leaders of the Hosluin reside in a tall tower within a keep. The tower is said to have a staircase spiralling from bottom to top on the outside. No one knows who made it, whether elves, dwarves or some other forgotten race. It is incredibly ancient and all traces of the original occupants are long gone. There is a pool next to the tower, it is rumoured to be bottomless and that unspeakable things were done there long ago. The grandmothers around the Sea use the threat of the ghosts of the pool to frighten children into good behavior.

"If the Hosluin have indeed taken the palantir there, you will need an army to recover it," he finished.

"Thank-you, Calanloss," Berengil said when it became clear that there was nothing else to be added. "Ethirwen, can you add anything to what Calanloss has told us?"

Ethirwen pushed back her chair and stood to speak. Haleth had noted without surprise that she addressed her remarks solely to Inglor, though it had been Berengil who had posed the question.

"No, I am afraid that Calanloss has told you all that I know already. I may possibly be able to offer some assistance, though," she smiled confidently at Inglor, who returned her gaze impassively. "I make a yearly visit to the lands that my mother left to me in Dorwinion. I was planning on leaving in three days, as you know," she finally acknowledged Beregnil and Calanloss with a smile and a nod, "I book passage on the same, spacious boat each year. I would be honoured to have our guests accompany me on the voyage."

"That would be a great help, Lady Ethirwen," Inglor said with a bit too much enthusiasm for Haleth's liking.

"So it is settled, then," Beregnil said, "you shall accompany Ethirwen down the River Running."

The meeting was adjourned. Calanloss excused himself, claiming early, urgent business the next morning. Ethirwen was slower to make her good nights. She lingered as long as was polite and left only when Beregnil began to make 'oh, look at the time' noises.

Beregnil led his guests to their rooms himself, leaving Haleth at the door of her room first. She had wanted to speak to Inglor privately, but it was late and she was tired. Inglor's mood might be better tomorrow, she would approach him then.

She watched him receding down the hall, his skin and hair glittering in the darkness with a glow that did not come from the reflected light of Beregnil's lantern.

Inside the privacy of her own room, Haleth removed the dark green gown and placed it over the back of a chair, taking care not to wrinkle it. She pulled out the combs and ran her fingers through her hair, remembering Inglor's delicate touch. The memory was almost enough to send her padding down the hall to his room. But then she remembered his accusation. She had no idea what the implications of it were, although they were obviously important to him.

She crawled under the blankets and wondered about her companion. When she finally slept, she had a disturbing dream of standing alone on a rocky shore, futilely chasing a white ship as it sailed towards the West.


"Is there anything else that you need for the journey?" Beregnil asked her two mornings later. The Master of Lake Town had been a solicitous host, offering to bring Haleth on a tour of Lake Town the day before. She had sadly declined his offer out of sympathy for Inglor, who was confined to the house and the sidelong attentions of Mrs. Bass.

If Inglor had appreciated or even been aware of her gesture, he had given no sign of it. They had spent most of the morning of the previous day in the cheery sitting room, pouring over maps and making plans. The quickest way to the Sea of Rhun was to accept Ethirwen's offer of passage down the River Running. They decided to go ashore a day's march away from the mouth of the river and to travel across country to avoid notice.

Once these sketchy plans had been made, Inglor had become stubbornly withdrawn, and nothing Haleth could say or do would get more than a one word answer from him. She had finally abandonned her futile efforts to lighten his mood and had turned to the books for more amenable companionship.

Haleth had sought unsuccessfully for something that might explain the silver ring that hung around her finger like a rebuke, but there was nothing in Beregnil's bookshelves that could shed light on that particular mystery. She would probably have to go back to Rivendell to find the answers. After her last visit, she was not entirely certain of the welcome she would receive. The puzzle would likely always remain unsolved.

To distract herself from her thoughts and Inglor's black mood, Haleth had read a thick book on the peoples of the east for the afternoon.

Inglor had echoed her example in silently reading. A slim volume of Numenorean poetry rested in his delicate hands. An uneasy quiet presided over the remainder of the afternoon as each sat in an upholstered chair, doggedly ignoring the other as the shadows shifted across the room.

The tension even affected Mrs. Bass. The housekeeper had brought another tray of delicacies for Inglor at midafternoon. She had hovered in the sunny room for several minutes before favouring Haleth with an accusatory sniff and leaving.

The evening meal had been an exercise in stomach wrenching tension, with Beregnil in an effusive mood, Inglor wilfully silent, and Haleth desperately trying to keep the elf involved in the conversation. The dream of the white boat riding silver-crested seafoam had haunted her sleep again that night.

Now she was in the entranceway of Beregnil's home, waiting for Inglor to make an appearance so they could begin the next stage of what would definitely be their final journey together.

"No, thank-you Master Beregnil," Haleth answered with a smile. "You have been a most generous host. We lack for nothing."

"That reminds me," he said suddenly. He pulled something from his belt pouch. "Would you consider keeping these? As a reminder of our meeting?"

With a jolt, Haleth recognised the ivory combs he had loaned her. Inglor's words rose in her mind. "You would trade the ring for those combs," she heard his soft, resigned voice say in her memory. She had thought the imagined choice ridiculous until it was actually before her.

Haleth examined the combs. The delicate gold twinkled softly around the graceful lines of the running deer. Then she looked at the plain silver ring on her finger. It had become tarnished in the past two days, as though Inglor's low disposition had clouded its natural brilliance.

"I am truly sorry, Master Beregnil," Haleth said regretfully. "I cannot accept the combs as a gift."

"I see," Beregnil said, his dark eyes glinted with a quick stab of pain. Haleth looked upon him with sudden, unhappy comprehension. For all that she could see the signs directed at others, specifically Inglor, she had completely missed those directed at herself.

Then the Master of Lake Town put the combs back into his belt pouch. "If you could promise me something, Lady," he said softly.

"If it is in my power to give," she said quietly.

"Once you have completed the task you have set for yourself, if you find yourself free, return to claim them."

Haleth thought uncomfortably of her dream from the previous two nights; standing alone on slippery, sea-washed grey rocks, watching the white ship sail away from her.

"I promise you that," she said, trying unsuccessfully to shake the image from her mind. "But I truly doubt that I will ever be free."

"One can hope, Lady," he said softly.

"Indeed," she smiled sadly. "One can hope."

Inglor chose that moment to noisily descend the stairs. Haleth looked at him with a mixture of wonder and annoyance. He never made any sound unless he meant to do so; the racket was a deliberate intrusion. She suspected that he had been at the top of the stairs and had witnessed the entirely scene.

They made their polite farewells. With a magnificent flourish, Inglor gave Mrs. Bass a flower, a chyrsanthemum of deep rusty red. Haleth never learned how he had come by it. She strongly suspected that it had been carefully preserved and saved by the widow for the rest of her life. Inglor himself seemed to be happier than he had been in three days.

At last they were out the door, making their way throught the perpetual crowd of the Market Square to the docks below. Haleth felt Beregnil's eyes on her until she climbed down the ladder to the docks and disappeared from his view.