Haleth rose from the evening meal.  There was always a fair crowd at Master Elrond’s table, which she appreciated; the crowd and the after meal chaos made it easier for her to slip away. 

She had chosen her place carefully; close to a door but not precisely next to it, a quarter of the way down one of the long tables where those less exalted than Master Elrond and his close family and important guests were seated.  Ecthelion was at the high table, his head bent in conversation with Lady Celebrían. 

The last course of the evening meal was being brought from the kitchens.  Haleth shuffled into the confusion.  She paused only to take a silver spoon from her sleeve and lay it on an empty chair.  The petty theft was a ridiculous exercise, especially because she never actually carried of the stolen property out of the dining area.  She did it, she told herself, to stay in practice.

Picking up a platter littered with crumbs and pieces of gristle, she sauntered into the corridor that linked the kitchen to the dining hall. 

The kitchen was a scene of barely controlled chaos as Canril directed her small army of cooks and servers.  There seemed to be more turmoil than usual with Canril barking orders over the clang of pots and the chatter of the kitchen staff.

Haleth deposited the platter with the mound of dirty dishes and headed for the door that led to the outer world and escape.

A tremendous crash and a wraith-like shriek stopped her in her tracks. 

A pretty serving girl was shouting at one of the luckless scullery man.  ‘How could you be so clumsy?’  Her dress, which to Haleth seemed rather fancy for work, even for an Elf, was splotched with gravy.  ‘What do you mean you’re sorry?  How could you?  And tonight of all nights!’  The unhappy man made a half-hearted attempted to brush away the half-congealed sludge.

‘Do NOT touch me!’ the girl howled with offended dignity. 

‘That’s enough.’ Canril roared.  ‘Herion, get on with the washing up.  Faelwen, stop making such a fuss.’

‘But my dress! It was new!’ Faelwen cried.

‘Yes, yes.  You should wash it as soon as possible before the stain has time to set.’

‘But I was to serve the Head Table the final course,’ Faelwen protested.

‘Well you cannot do that now, can you?  All covered in sauce and grease.’

Faelwen openly wept as she raced for the exit.

Haleth dodged out of her way.  She began to follow when a hand grasped her shoulder.  ‘You seem to be unoccupied.  You can serve the last course to Head Table.’

‘But…’ Haleth protested.

‘No buts,’ said Canril, shoving a heavy platter of delicacies into her arms.  ‘No one comes into my kitchen without working.  You are here.  You will work.  Off you go.’

‘But…’ Haleth said as Canril frog-marched her to corridor that led back to the dining hall.  She could think of any number of reasons she should not be carrying the serving tray.  One glance at Canril’s face was enough to tell her they would all fall on deaf ears.

‘It is not overly heavy.  I am certain you can manage.  If you insist upon using my kitchen as an escape route, you can expect more of the same.

‘And smile, girl,’ she said as they reached the end of the hallway.  ‘Your face could curdle fresh milk.’

‘I am not a girl,’ Haleth muttered under her breath as she forced a courtly smile to her face.  The last course was announced and she swept into the room at the head of the procession. 

Master Elrond and Celebrían were kind.  They accepted her presence without comment, continuing their conversation as though nothing was unexpected.

‘What have we here?’ asked Ecthelion when he saw her. 

‘Honeyed fruit by the look of it,’ said Haleth.

‘Yes.  So it is.  Thank-you.’  He drummed his fingers against his lips as she held the platter for him.  ‘They look very good.’  His gaze flicked to her reddening face.  ‘Are they good?’

‘I don’t know.  I haven’t tasted them,’ she replied, struggling to keep her voice even.

‘Truly?  I’ve been led to believe that those who work in the kitchen sampled the food before it is served.’

‘There are likely those who have tried them.  Shall I go back to the kitchen and have one of them serve you?’

‘No.  That will not be necessary.’

To Haleth’s frustration, he returned to contemplating the dessert.  The platter was very heavy for her arms were tired after a day of mixing pulp to make paper.

‘What would you recommend?’ he finally said.

‘I’d recommend choosing something before I drop it on you lap,’ growled Haleth.

‘Ecthelion, I believe you have tormented our guest enough.’ Celebrían’s voice was as soft as a butterfly wing but it carried unmistakable authority.

‘As you say, My Lady.’  He leapt to his feet and took the platter from Haleth before she could protest and proceeded up the table with it.

‘Please be seated,’ Celebrían requested.

Haleth threw a last, despairing look at the door to the kitchen then sat down in Ecthelion’s place.

‘There is to be a gathering at the Tale Fire this evening.  Would you be so good as to join us?’

Haleth pasted the fake smile on her face.  Her cheeks were beginning to ache. ‘It would be my greatest delight, Lady Celebrían.’

‘I am happy to hear it,’ Celebrían answered with a smile so bright that Haleth thought it might be real.  She bent in and placed her hand over Haleth’s.  ‘You are too much alone.  I know how it is, wishing for solitude when you are wounded.  Please believe me when I say that you will heal more quickly with the company of others.’

Haleth looked away.  Ecthelion was making a great show of serving Glorfindel, pointing to from one delicacy to the other but not allowing him to touch any of them.

‘You are having a good affect on our people.’  Haleth looked at Celebrían questioningly.  Celebrían was watching Ecthelion’s performance.  ‘None of us has been so animated in an Age.’

Haleth turned her attention back to Ecthelion.  He was laughing, the expression lighting his handsome features.  Her heart lurched in her chest. 

‘Oh.  Well.  I…’ she spluttered, her face blazing.

She was saved as Master Elrond signaled the end of the meal.  With Celebrían at his side, he led the assembled guests to the Tale Fire. 

Haleth followed slowly.  She wanted nothing better than to melt into the shadows and go to her own room.  There was a hole in her heart.  It had been there since Inglor left. But she had given her word to Lady Celebrían to attend the Tale Fire. She would only stay a little while.

‘Haleth.’

‘What?’ she asked, startled.

Ecthelion was standing by her side, offering her his arm. ‘I asked if you would allow me to accompany you to the Tale Fire.’  

She looked into his grey eyes and her heart sank.  There would be no quick escape now. ‘Yes.  Thank-you, Lord Ecthelion,’ she murmured as she placed her arm upon his.

They were quite near the front of the processional line, which made sense given Ecthelion’s position in Elvish society.  Several of the maidens were watching her with something more than the usual Elvish impassivity.  She stared at them, trying to decode their expressions.  As she watched, one turned to another and whispered something. 

‘Pay them no heed,’ Ecthelion murmured as he smiled and nodded in their direction.

‘I think they’re angry. They’re angry, aren’t they?  Why are they angry?’ she asked, puzzled.

He shook his head and laughed.  ‘You have a great deal to learn of Elvish society.’

Haleth sighed.  She understood the women’s reactions now.  They were jealous.  After so many experiences with Inglor she had grown accustomed to the misplaced jealousy.  She had hoped that Elvish society was above that sort of pettiness.   

‘Are you…tired?’  Ecthelion had groped for the final word as though it was a foreign concept.  Haleth sourly reflected that it probably was.  It seemed unlikely that Tuor had ever tired on the many patrols the two of them had shared.

‘Yes,’ she said.  It was easier than explaining her true thoughts; besides, it would spoil his merry mood.

‘Well, then I shall have to speak to Master Elrond and change the plans for this evening. There is something I would like very much for you to hear.  If you are asleep you will certainly not hear it.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Haleth as they swept into the Hall of the Tale Fire.

Like the Hall of Fire in Rivendell, the gathering place was a large room.  The high ceiling was held up by many pillars carved in the shaped of trees.  Haleth wondered why the Elves did not have their Tale Fires out of doors. It would save the effort of carving pillars into the shape of trees. 

There were no tables but a myriad of cushions and pillows were strewn about the floor.  Master Elrond and Lady Celebrían sat in two high-backed chairs.  There were several stools for the guests who did not want to sit on the floor. A fire burned in a large hearth, its flames casting a ruddy light throughout the room. 

‘Here.  Please be seated,’ said Ecthelion, leading her to a cushion very close to the hearth.

Haleth protested weakly.  She would have much preferred a place in the cool shadows.

‘Please remain here.  You will not be disappointed.’  He flashed a smile that froze Haleth’s objections on her lips.

‘Very well,’ she said.  She was thankful for the ruddy light of the fire; it masked the flush that was rising on the cheeks. 

Haleth rubbed her face as he walked away.  What was happening to her? One moment she was, sick for worry over Inglor and the instant Ecthelion smiled at her she became a vapid young girl. Ecthelion was showing interest in her because of her distant relationship to his old friend.  That was all.  She was too old, wrinkled and physically imperfect to be attractive to him.  This never happened with Inglor.  She had always been certain of Inglor’s complete lack of romantic interest.  

Her glance fell to the silver ring, now red-gold in the firelight.  Drat Inglor anyways for never explaining the meaning of the stupid ring.  If he hadn’t explained it, that was probably because it had no meaning.  It was a token of friendship, nothing more.

She silently cursed the limpë for making her a fool.  No one would be interested in her, let alone the Elf Lords.  Compared to the least attractive of the Elves she was plain. Her personality could be generously described as cantankerous.

‘Are you well, Haleth?’ Master Elrond sounded concerned.

‘Yes, Master Elrond.  I am merely somewhat fatigued, thank-you,’ she lied.

Her face set, Haleth stared into the golden flames of the Tale Fire and vowed to keep her foolishness to herself. It was one thing to know that she was a fool.  It was another thing entirely that everyone else should discover it.

Ecthelion, Glorfindel and an individual Haleth did not recognize made their way to the front of the hall.  Ecthelion carried a flute, Glorfindel a fiddle and the unknown elf a harp. 

Haleth was surprised.  She knew that Ecthelion played the flute, but had no idea that Glorfindel had musical talent.  The three of them were discussing something in low voices.  The firelight shone on their faces, flushing their fair skin. 

It seemed to Haleth that Ecthelion was transformed into someone else, a someone who frowned and snarled.  The hair on the back of her neck rose.

She started, expecting to find someone sitting beside her, but there was no one.  She looked around in confusion, but then Ecthelion raised his flute to his lips and the music began.

The flute played a merry tune while the violin played a tremolo.  The tune quickly progressed to include the harp which kept the rhythm while the flute and the fiddle played exchanged melody, counter melody and harmony. 

Haleth was captured by the music.  As she watched the musicians, there was a movement in the corner of her eye.  She dismissed it as a stray spark from the Tale Fire, but the movement came again and again.

A butterfly of golden light fluttered out of the Tale Fire.  It hovered above the musician’s heads.  It was quickly joined by another, then another until it seemed the entire room was filled with the delicate insects. 

The music continued, growing in complexity.  The walls and pillars fell away and she found herself standing in a green meadow, surrounded by butterflies of every shape, colour and description.  There was one of impossibly bright blue, brighter than the autumn sky, brighter than Inglor’s eyes.  There was another of red and yellow and another of green and silver.  Their wings beat in time to the music, a living, ever-changing mosaic.

The melody died away, the fiddle alone carrying the fading tune.  Haleth found herself sitting indoors as the butterflies retreated to the Tale Fire.

Ecthelion came to speak to her as the hall filled with cheers and applause.

‘Did you enjoy that?’ he asked.

‘What was that?’ she answered.  ‘There were butterflies and a field and…’ she stopped.  She sounded like a lunatic. ‘I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep and dreamt.’

‘That was no dream,’ said Ecthelion.  He looked quite pleased.  ‘That was the dance of the butterflies.  It is seldom played now though at one time in Gondolin it was quite popular.  Did you enjoy it?’

So she was supposed to see butterflies? Or at least think of them?  That was encouraging.  Maybe she wasn’t quite as insane as she believed.

‘Yes.  Very much,’ she replied.

‘Splendid!  I intend to sing a song now.  Never fear, it will not be so long as to put you to sleep.’

Haleth’s protests were lost as Ecthelion stood up and called the crowd’s attention to himself.  He began to sing, his voice soaring through the dim hall.  Haleth stared up at him, her jaw slack. 

Compared to the preceding instrumental, the melody was relatively simplistic, but his clear voice compelled her to listen.  Although she could not understand all of the words, Haleth could follow the gist of it.  The song was the lament of a young man who loved a woman far above him. His pain at the certainty that his love would never be returned and the necessity of keeping his feelings secret as he would never jeopardize the friendship he had with the object of his affection. 

Haleth found herself in complete sympathy with the song’s composer.  It perfectly described her situation with Inglor.  She glanced around the room, half hoping he would appear  from the shadows. 

‘Little idiot!’

The words registered in her mind without bothering to pass through her ears.

Haleth blinked and looked away, the spell of the heart-rending song broken.  The flames of the Tale Fire leapt higher.  She had to agree with the unseen speaker; she was a fool.  What was worse, her foolishness was no longer temporary.  She would go on being a fool for all of the Ages of Arda. 

She buried her head in her hands and groaned.

Ecthelion finished his song.  Silence fell across the hall.  Haleth looked up from her bout of self-pity.

‘I have seldom heard that song performed, Lord Ecthelion,’ said Master Elrond.

‘Indeed, Master Elrond.  I hope I have not overstepped the bounds of hospitality.  The one who wrote it has been much on my mind of late,’ Ecthelion said smoothly.

‘Not at all,’ said Lady Celebrían diplomatically.  ‘My husband’s grandfather is never far from our thoughts.’ 

The charged silence relaxed as she continued.  ‘This evening seems dedicated to songs and stories which many of us are unfamiliar.  Perhaps our guest can tell us a tale of her homeland?’

Home.  The memory of her family home on the western shores of Númenor appeared in the fire. The garden, the trees, her mother coming out of the front door, her arms extended in welcome. It was all Haleth could do to not leap into the flames. 

‘The situation was less than ideal in our guest’s homeland,’ said Master Elrond.   

Haleth suddenly understood that Celebrían had been referring to her.  She was bitterly disappointed to find herself in the hall.  She forced herself to reply. ‘Yes, Master Elrond.  I am sorry but as you say, the times were not ideal.  I fear any stories I have would hardly be as edifying as those of the First Born.’

‘Surely it was not all dark.’  This came from Ecthelion who sat down beside her. ‘There must have been something.’

‘He’s as helpful as Inglor,’ Haleth thought sourly as she combed through her flawed memory. 

‘Well, there was the time,’ she began and then stopped. She and her colleagues had pilfered a lady’s jewels by accident and then had to return them. That had been amusing enough, but she did not feel comfortable telling the tale.  Everyone knew she was a thief; it would be in bad taste to admit it so bluntly.

‘There was another occasion…’ her voice trailed off.  The incident in question had involved a case of mistaken identity and a brothel.  It was hardly appropriate for the current noble company.

It was no use.  Every escapade she could remember involved deceit, indecency, violence or a combination of all three.

‘I am sorry, Lady Celebrían.  I must beg your pardon but I cannot recall any of them properly enough to tell.’

‘It is I who must apologize,’ said Lady Celebrían.  ‘Perhaps another time.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Haleth with a crooked smile.

The awkward silence returned.

‘Men are not alone,’ Master Elrond intoned. ‘The First Born have had their share of darkness and evil times.  We would all do well to remember that.’  He signaled to a minstrel who bowed and began to sing a slow ballad. 

With a shock, Haleth recognized the tale of the Darkening of the Trees.  She stared at her hands and twisted the silver ring.

‘I never cared for this song, either,’ Ecthelion whispered.

Haleth nodded, at a loss for words. 

The music continued.  Haleth’s eyes grew heavy.  She refused to play the cliché and be the snoring mortal among the Elves.  Pinching her cheeks, she leaned forward on her elbows, making herself uncomfortable enough to keep awake. 

Sleep pulled her inexorably downwards.  She looked into the fire, hoping its brilliance would keep her awake.

The dancing flames resolved themselves into tiny pictures.  There was a crowd of angry Elves.  A tall, mesmerizing individual at their centre. It had to be Fëanáro; Haleth recognized him from the tapestry she had seen in Arafinwë’s palace.  As she watched, the figure pulled out a sword and pointed it to the heavens.  This must be The Oath that was the ruin of the House of Fëanáro’s. It was chilling to watch, even from the distance of millennia.  Seven fire-bright figures leapt to Fëanáro’s side, their swords raised in salute.

Haleth flinched.   It was as if she was witnessing Ar-Pharazôn make his fateful decision to bring Sauron to Númenor. She wanted to call out to them to stop but the figures could not hear her. 

Or could they?  One of the seven turned in the direction of her silent shout.  He strode towards her, the naked blade still in his hand. 

What madness was this?  She had fallen asleep and dreamt.  But no matter how she ordered herself to awaken or at least move she was frozen in place.     

It was searching for her; she knew with a sick certainty even though it was impossible.  The incident took place thousands of years before she was born. This being of fire couldn’t know her.  It must be trying to find someone else. Except that it was heading directly for her.  She had to run, but she was frozen in place. The figure of flame stepped out of the fire, reaching for her.

With a supreme force of will, Haleth threw herself backwards, away from its grasp.

‘Little idiot!’  The words seared through her mind.

The flaming hands reached for her again.

‘Don’t touch me!’ she shrieked.

And awakened to find Ecthelion looking down on her with concern.  A tide of embarrassment washed over her.  Not only had she fallen asleep, she had screamed like a frightened child.  Everyone in the hall was watching her in wordless shock.

‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered.  ‘It was an evil dream.  Nothing more.  Please forgive me but I think I should seek my rest now.’

She scrambled to her feet and fled the hall for the relative safety of her room.  It took many hours for her to sleep.  In her dreams she fled from a figure of flames who haunted her every step.