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.

‘I have done as much as I can here,’ said Inglor, laying down the cloth he had been using to polish the ship.

Haleth jabbed herself with the needle. She was perched cross-legged on the workbench, the sail spread like a shroud around her. A drop of blood splattered onto the material.

She jammed her injured finger into her mouth to keep from further staining the sail and sighed inwardly. It was destined that her part in the fashioning of this boat would be flawed. Her injury also gave her an excuse to not speak immediately. The pronouncement had caught her off guard. Her heart sunk to the toes of her boots.

‘What now?’ she mumbled.

‘Now we shall bring it out of doors and put it into the water for the first time,’ said Inglor.

Haleth looked at the ship critically. It was, without question, the most beautiful craft she had ever seen. The keel rose high and proud above the bow and equally high in the stern. It was carved, fore and aft, in the shape of a tightly curled fern of early spring. The gunwales were decorated with alternating motifs of leaves and flowers, each unique and with such painstaking detail that they almost seemed real. The oars had been built to be the perfect size for Inglor’s hands. The blades of all three: the steering oar and the two conventional oars, were carved with the eight pointed, straight-armed star of the house of Finarfin. Even the oarlocks were decorated.

The mast was carved like the trunk of a slender tree. It was a shame that the sail of plain canvas would be so drab in comparison. She thought regretfully of the silver silk. If she had thought that Inglor would have agreed, Haleth would have suggested trying to make the sail again using the silk. But Inglor would be home as soon as he could and while Haleth could not follow, neither would she delay him.

He had polished the wood of the ship until it gleamed to such a high degree that it shone like silver in the moonlight, glimmered like new-fallen snow in the starlight and gleamed like a diamond in the sunlight.

It was achingly beautiful and it broke Haleth’s heart simply to look upon it.

It was also large; far larger than Haleth would have built a ship meant for one person. It could easily accommodate at least two people; in a squeeze possibly three, and all of the provisions necessary for weeks at sea. Even without the mast it occupied most of the space in the tiny workshop.

‘It is too heavy for me to move,’ she said, pulling her finger from her mouth.

‘As it is for me,’ said Inglor with a smile. ‘We shall use rollers to move it.’

‘I’ve almost finished the re-enforcement for the halyard,’ said Haleth, without looking at him directly. ‘I can look for suitable pieces of wood once I’ve finished.’

‘There is no need,’ said Inglor. ‘I have them stacked behind the workshop. I will need your help.’

Haleth nodded mutely. While Inglor was outside retrieving the rollers she finished the last of the stitches and pondered the situation.

It was not that he was leaving that fueled her resentment; she had always known that, sooner or later, Inglor would return to Valinor. She had been hoping for later, but there was nothing she could do to alter his decision. It was probably for the best that he was leaving now. He would not see her grow old and would remember her in her current state; not as a bent and withered old crone.

She disentangled herself from the sail and jumped off the bench. Her back was stiff from hours of sitting hunched over. She placed her hands on her hips and stretched backwards, looking at the ceiling to avoid looking at the ship.

Inglor returned with the rollers. He lifted the bow while Haleth slipped the first roller beneath the keel. It was hard work with just two of them with Inglor pushing from the stern while Haleth held the rollers in place until the boat settled on top of them.

‘What will you use for waterproofing?’ she asked during a break. It was something she had wondered about for a while. The spaces between the strakes were well proofed, but water was very persistent; it would still make its way in. It would be a very long, uncomfortable journey if Inglor had to spend most of his time bailing.

‘There is large barrel of the oil my people use for this. It would be best to do it out of doors as the scent can be strong.’

‘Oh,’ said Haleth, brightening considerably. From her previous experience, she knew it could take months for tar to dry properly. For all his protestations about the sail, Haleth could not imagine Inglor leaving for Aman in a less than perfect ship. Aside from the inconvenience of having to bail water, the elves would look askance at anyone, especially anyone from the ruling House of the Noldor, arriving in a leaky boat.

‘If the weather stays fine, the oil will take about a week to dry properly.’

Haleth reached for the next roller to hide her reaction, silently fighting the urge to throw it at him as hard as she could. Inglor was, as always, oblivious to her mood. In a week, it would no longer be an issue. He pushed the boat while Haleth placed the rollers and mulled over the situation resentfully.

They were making good progress but all of a sudden the ship stopped.

‘What’s the matter? Are the rollers crooked?’ she asked.

She had been expecting a calm, circumspect reply from Inglor and was quite surprised when he remained silent.

‘What happened?’ she asked. She examined the rollers. There were nearly a dozen of them beneath the ship and they all seemed to be in the proper place.

It was only when she stood up that she realized what had occurred.

The double doors had been thrown wide open to allow the ship to pass. The boat was perfectly centred between them.

It was also completely wedged and its widest point was still inside of the workshop.

Somehow, in his hurry to finish the ship, Inglor had misjudged the width of the doors. It was only a fraction too big, but that fraction was enough to trap it inside the workshop.

Haleth could not believe the evidence of her own eyes. She approached the place where the boat was stuck and stared at it in disbelief. She gently shook it, half expecting it to come loose, but it remained firmly stuck.

Suspecting some odd, elvish practical joke, she ran around to the other side, grasped the gunwale and pulled with all her might but the ship remained stuck fast. She glanced at Inglor who was still leaning against the stern of the boat. His face was utterly devoid of expression except for his eyes which burned like twin comets.

In that instant she realized that Inglor of the House of Finarfin, descendant of the royal houses of the Noldor and Teleri, the best shipwrights to even walk upon the face of Arda, had somehow built a ship that would never reach the water.

Laughter welled up inside her. It was the cold, helpless mirth of hysteria. The situation was absurd. She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle herself and hurriedly turned away. She could not look at Inglor. His incandescent fury made the situation all the more funny.

‘It’s not so bad,’ said Haleth, shaking with glee. ‘If we push it back in and turn it on its side a little, we may manage to get it through the doors.’

Inglor did not reply. Instead he turned his furious attention from the ship to Haleth. Her encouraging words died on her lips. If looks could kill, she would have been instantly transported to the Halls of Mandos.

She shrugged her shoulders and examined the situation once again. The ship was wedged against the doorposts, but it wasn’t too wide by very much. If she could widen the doors, the boat would pass through easily.

Without suggesting it, she hopped into the boat and entered the workshop. There was a large hammer on the workbench. With difficulty, she picked it up and stalked towards the door. She took careful aim at the doorpost and swung the hammer with all of her might.

‘No,’ said Inglor as he plucked the tool out of her hands. Haleth, who had been braced against the mighty blow she intended to inflict upon the doorpost, staggered at the hammer’s abrupt removal.

‘But,’ she protested when she had regained her balance.

‘I said no,’ he roared.

Haleth held up her hands in an attitude of surrender. She studied the ship and the doorposts, thinking of possible alternatives.

‘Very well. Shall we try pushing it backwards and tilting it?’

‘No.’ he said shortly.

‘Then what shall we do?’ she asked, exasperated.

Inglor stared at the river. His expression of pure longing put Haleth to shame. Her friend wanted nothing more than to go home. For weeks she had secretly wished for something to slow his progress. Now that she saw how it affected him, she would do anything to put things to rights.

‘We build again,’ Inglor shrugged. ‘Only this time in the large works.’

Haleth nodded in agreement. There was no point in arguing.

‘At least we can use the sail,’ she said, secretly hoping the new ship would be less elaborate than the original. Her sail would look more at home on a simple, unadorned craft.

Inglor did not reply. He began to collect the rollers, crawling through the ship on the way into the workshop, piled them near the back of the boat.

Haleth examined the high prow, the lovingly planed wood and the rich, complex carvings.

‘Still, it is a pretty ship,’ she said.

‘Haleth?’ said Inglor as he dropped a roller over the side.

‘Yes?’ she asked.

‘Shut up.’