Haleth viciously kicked an innocent pebble with the toe of her moth-eaten boot.  The small white stone rolled off the ornamental pathway and stopped in the perfectly kept grass.  It shone there, white upon green, glaringly out of place.

She could sympathize with it except that a gardener or Lady Anairë herself would soon be along to put it back where it belonged.  Unlike the displaced pebble, there was nowhere for Haleth to fit in.

Haleth’s first few weeks in Tirion had not been easy. To make matters worse, she found it impossible to point to an exact reason for her discontent.  Everything was perfect.  It was never too hot or too cold, she never went hungry and she slept in a comfortable bed.  She should be happy; how many times had she wished for a safe place to sleep and enough food? But reality was far less sweet than the dream.  The fact that she didn’t deserve her good fortune made the situation all the worse.  

There had been a slow but steady stream of visitors to Anairë’s home; all interested in meeting, or at least seeing Anairë’s descendent.  And while they had all been polite and restrained, Haleth could not help but feel like an exotic animal on display. She supposed she should be thankful they did not poke at her, although in a way it would have been a relief; it would have justified her resentment.  Drat the Elves and their good manners anyways!

She picked up another pebble and tossed it into a fountain.  The act of defiance did not make her feel the least bit better so she fished it out, soaking her sleeve up to the shoulder, and placed it back on the path. 

Her own sour mood annoyed her. She should be grateful and she knew it.  Anairë had been kind and generous to her, more so than she'd had a right to expect given the distance of their kinship. 

Anairë and all of the elves were beautiful and ageless.  They moved with a natural grace that made Haleth a lumbering bear.  Each and every one of them was talented and capable.  Compared to them, Haleth with her wrinkles and greying hair, was completely inadequate. She felt ashamed of habouring such feelings and dared not speak of them.   

If only she had something purposeful to do it might not seem so bad.  But there was nothing to find in Aman, which left her with a great deal of time to do nothing but brood over her inadequacies.

'Excuse me, is Lady Anairë at home?'

Haleth jumped and whirled about.  A tall Noldo stood on the path; his footfalls had been so light that she had not noticed him until he spoke. His hair was dark and his eyes grey but what truly captured Haleth's attention is that he had addressed her in Sindarin. Oddly accented Sindarin, but Sindarin never the less.

'I am sorry but she is not at home at the moment.  May I give her a message?' she asked. 

The elf regarded her solemnly.  Haleth hoped he would stay or at least dictate a long message.  It was an incredible relief to speak a language she knew well.

'Forgive my presumption, but are you the Lady Silmariën?' he asked.

'Haleth,' she said. 'I prefer to be known as Haleth. And yes, that is me.'

He looked thoughtful. 'I knew the Haladin. You have some of their look about you.'

'Oh,' was all Haleth could say.  It was exceedingly awkward meeting people who had known her distant ancestors. Nothing in polite or otherwise company had prepared her for it and she doubted she would ever grow accustomed to it.

'But I am remiss in my manners for I have not introduced myself.  I am Ecthelion of the Fountain.'  He inclined his head politely.

'Ecthelion,' Haleth echoed thoughtfully.  The name was familiar.

'Of old I was one of the captains of Gondolin,' he said.

'Of course! The other Balro....I mean the Balrog Slayer!' she exclaimed and instantly slammed her mouth shut and felt foolish.    

'You have heard of me, then?' he asked lightly.

'Oh, yes,' she said.  It had not been a happy tale.  Ecthelion had drowned in a fountain while battling Gothmog, the captain of Morgoth's balrogs, during the fall of Gondolin. His memory had been overshadowed by Glorfindel, who had also perished while fighting a balrog.  Glorfindel’s sacrifice had touched her family more closely and his deeds had never faded from the minds of the descendents of Elros.  But many incredible feats had been done that day.  To reduce Ecthelion to the other balrog slayer was beyond rude.

'Why is your sleeve wet?  Have you dropped something in the water?' he asked.

'No!' cried Haleth, terrified he would volunteer to jump into the fountain to retrieve it.  She glanced at her dripping wet sleeve. 'I mean yes but I got it out again so please don't trouble yourself.'

Ecthelion was watching her closely.  Haleth could not be certain for she found the subdued expressions of the older elves extremely difficult to read, but he seemed to be shaking with barely restrained laughter.

'Forgive me,' he said.  'I wanted to meet the descendent of Idril and my friends Tuor and Eärendil.'

'Oh,' said Haleth, looking away and feeling more inadequate than ever.

'Why are you so unhappy?' he asked.

'I....what?' she asked, shocked.  Since she had come to Valinor no one had commented upon her mood.  It had been a relief for Haleth knew she should have been glad of her fate and even happier to be accepted into the Blessed Realm. It was the height of ingratitude to be anything but happy, yet the lack of happiness could not be denied. Haleth, anxious to please, or at least not to disappoint overly much, had been trying her utmost to hide it.

'You look as though you want me to leave,' he said.

'No! Oh, I'm sorry.  I'm just not very good at getting my point across.' 

He said nothing, obviously expecting more from her.

‘That is, when I have a point to make,’ she said weakly, scuffing her toe on the ground. ‘Which I don’t seem to have in this case.’

'Tuor often complained of the same thing,' Ecthelion said.

‘He did?’ asked Haleth, her head snapping up. 

‘Did you imagine it would be an easy thing for him to live in a city of Elves?’ asked Ecthelion.

‘Well…but…he was raised by Elves, was he not?  He was familiar with their customs at least and their language?’ said Haleth.

‘Shall we be seated?’ Ecthelion asked, indicating a stone bench with an elegant sweep of his hand.  Haleth shrugged and sat on the very edge of the bench. 

‘Tuor was fostered by Elves, it is true, but he came of age in the wilderness.’  He gazed at the thin spire Mindon visible over the walls of Anairë’s garden.  ‘Gondolin was a far cry from the wilderness.’

‘It must have been,’ said Haleth, embarrassed at having to be reminded of her own family history.  Still, she was glad to hear Tuor had not been comfortable in Gondolin; it made her feel somewhat less guilty.

‘Tuor often complained that Gondolin was too small and the walls too constricting,’ said Ecthelion.  ‘He and I would often patrol the slopes around the city.  It was the place he was happiest, apart from the time he spent with Idril, of course. Haleth, would you explore the heights of the Calacirya with me?’

Haleth’s eyes grew round with surprise.  She had been wishing for an excuse to get out of the city and Ecthelion had unexpectedly offered her one.  At the same time she could envision the walls of the Calacirya falling inwards and burying her King and countrymen, the trembling of the earth, the screams of the dying, the white dust obscuring the scene like so much mist.

‘Forgive me, Lord Ecthelion, but the heights of the Calacirya are not safe for my kind,’ she said, shuddering.

‘How not safe?’ he asked.

‘They fell on my people.  I saw it,’ she said distantly.

It was Ecthelion’s turn to look surprised.

‘Then perhaps you would accompany me to the sea?’ he asked.

‘You would do that?’ asked Haleth, annoyed at the pathetic eagerness in her voice. 

‘Of course I would,’ he said. ‘Even High King Ingwë needs to breathe the air of Middle-earth from time to time.  If you are amenable to the idea, I shall arrange the details with Lady Anairë.’

A wide, lopsided grin spread across Haleth’s face.  The idea of being outside the walls of Anairë’s garden was appealing.  Ecthelion was right; she missed the freedom of the outside world.   

‘Thank-you, Lord Ecthelion, I would be quite amenable to it,’ she said.

*~*

‘Thank-you for attending to my concerns, Inglor,’ said Anairë.

‘It is a small thing,’ said Inglor. ‘And I have concerns of my own regarding Haleth.’

They were strolling through the streets of Tirion.  It was market day and there were many merchants in the square, their stalls set in neat, orderly rows upon the white cobbles.  The entire population of Tirion seemed to be gathered around the stalls.  Although the numbers slowly grew with each passing year as the Exiles were pardoned and those who had died returned from Mandos, the population was still but a shadow of its former numbers.

The shopping and bartering went on at a subdued, unhurried pace which Haleth, if she had been there to see it, would have found quite surreal.

‘I confess I had some concerns when Silmariën first came to stay with me, especially when you told me of her temperament,’ said Anairë.  ‘She is rather demonstrative of her moods, but apart from her reaction at our first meeting there have been no outbursts.’

‘Truly?’ asked Inglor as he stepped out of the way of a woman bearing a large sack over her shoulder. 

‘Truly. I had rather hoped she would be more forthcoming,’ said Anairë.

Inglor nodded to hide his inner alarm.  He had rarely dealt with a calm, collected Haleth but it had always led to disaster of one kind or another.

‘Perhaps she will be when she grows more comfortable with our customs and language,’ he suggested.

‘Perhaps,’ said Anairë.  Judging by the lowering of her brow, she did not find the prospect likely.

Inglor quickened his pace. ‘Has she done anything of industry since arriving in your household?’ he asked.

‘She attempted to weave, on my insistence. I decided it would be better to not insist again,’ said Anairë.  ‘There is no need for her to toil with her hands.’

‘The Second Born, like our people, require a task to keep them occupied.’  

Anairë considered this as they reached the end of the market square and entered a quiet street.

‘Can she sew?’ she asked.

‘Well enough, although not in the usual manner,’ said Inglor, thinking of Haleth’s shirts with the dozens of hidden interior pockets. ‘She has some skills with leather, particularly old leather.’

‘Yes, I have seen that,’ said Anairë who had caught Haleth repairing a hole in her ancient boots. 

‘She is not given to embellishment,’ said Inglor.

‘Not all of our people are, either,’ said Anairë.  ‘The Inwir eschew all decoration.’

‘True,’ Inglor agreed, although he found it difficult to compare Haleth’s preferred rustic taste in garments to the blindingly white robes of the Vanyar. 

They reached the courtyard of Anairë’s home to find Haleth pacing back and forth in the garden. 

‘Lady Anairë, Inglor, greetings!’ she called, rushing forth to meet them, her face wreathed in smiles.

Inglor sighed inwardly with relief.  This was something closer to the Haleth he knew.  It was quite gratifying to see her smile again.

‘Lord Ecthelion came to visit while you were out,’ she bubbled. 

A shadow passed over Inglor’s heart at the mention of Ecthelion of the Fountain. He was accounted among the heroes of the Elder Days with a fearsome reputation as a warrior.

‘I take it he introduced himself to you?’ asked Anairë.

‘Yes, he did and he told me of Tuor and Idril and all of the marvelous goings on in Gondolin,’ said Haleth.

Inglor was rather wounded at the revelation that the smiles had not been meant for him.

‘You must have had a very good conversation but look, Lord Inglor is here and he is our guest,’ said Anairë.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Haleth, suddenly subdued.  ‘Welcome, Lord Inglor. I trust you are well?’

‘Yes, Lady Silmariën,’ he replied, deliberately using her real name to annoy her.

Haleth’s eyes narrowed. 

‘Lord Ecthelion played the flute for me,’ she said.  ‘He is quite good.’

‘Yes, he does have some talent,’ Anairë agreed.  She thought it strange that Haleth was addressing her and yet looking at Inglor while she spoke.

‘He said he had a diamond set in his shield,’ she said, looking Inglor up and down as though she found his appearance wanting.  This surprised Anairë who did not find Inglor’s garb inadequate.

‘Ecthelion always had a taste for those gems,’ said Anairë.  This, she thought, must be a strange example of the emotional chaos Inglor had warned her of.  Although judging by the way his fists were clenched, Inglor was little better.

‘And he promised he would bring me to the sea, with your permission, of course,’ said Haleth with a smile that was more a show of bared teeth.  ‘You will grant your permission, will you not?’

Anairë hesitated.  Ecthelion was an old friend and follower of her son.  She had entrusted her own daughter to his care without qualm or hesitation.  Haleth obviously wanted to go; indeed, she gave the impression she would climb over the walls if permission were denied. 

‘Of course you may go,’ she said.

‘Splendid!’ cried Haleth.

‘Excuse me,’ said Inglor. To Anairë’s amazement, he disappeared into the house, closed the door behind him and let out a shout of wordless frustration.