Anor was shining brilliantly when the small ship sailed into the harbour at Alqualondë, its sail billowing in the breeze.

If any of them had been hoping for a triumphant return, they were sadly disappointed.  The elves of Alqualondë barely spared any of them a glance, except for Haleth whom then regarded from their fishing boats and pleasure crafts with polite, indirect curiosity. 

Haleth stiffened under their scrutiny. 

‘What troubles you?’ Inglor asked quietly.  He was seated at the back of the ship, working the tiller. 

‘Nothing,’ said Haleth, biting the word off.

‘Haleth, I have known you long enough to know that is not the case,’ he said.

‘Are you accusing me of lying?’ she asked with deceptive lightness.

‘I am saying that I know when you are uncomfortable and you are uncomfortable now,’ Inglor insisted.

‘So you are accusing me of lying, then,’ said Haleth tartly.  She swung around, the better to glare at him.

‘There are occasions when I have known you to stretch the truth,’ said Inglor calmly.

Haleth’s mouth dropped open.  ‘And this, I take it, is one of them?’ she demanded icily.

‘Peace, Haleth.  I can see you are unhappy but as far as I know there is no reason to direct your unhappiness at me,’ he said.

Haleth’s jaw closed with an audible snap.

‘Everyone is looking at me,’ she whispered through her teeth.

‘That is natural.  They are curious.  Most have never seen a Secondborn,’ he said with an understated yet eloquent shrug.

‘I feel rather conspicuous,’ she grumbled.

‘It is an awkward experience,’ he said sympathetically.  ‘One grows to accept it, in time.’

Haleth remembered the way women had flocked to Inglor.  She cringed inwardly. Inglor had been routinely mobbed and had never complained while here she was, upset by a few people looking at her. The heat of a blush crept upwards from her neck to the roots of her hair.  This garnered even more polite interest.  By the time they reached the dock their ship had a discrete escort of pleasure crafts and fishing boats. 

‘You would attract less attention in Tirion as the Elves are familiar with you now; or in Avallonë, where many of people are Falathrim and accustomed to mortals,’ he said. 

‘So I’d attract less attention anywhere but here. Thank-you. I feel much better now,’ she growled.

A small crowd was assembled on the dock.  They cheerfully helped tie the ship to the pier, all chattering together while throwing curious glances in Haleth’s direction.

‘Why don’t they look at Idril? Or at you? You’re both far better looking than me,’ she asked Inglor, speaking in her own tongue to not insult their hosts. 

‘They see the likes of Idril and I every day. You, on the other hand, are a novelty, with your exotic appearance,’ said Inglor. 

Haleth glanced down herself in surprise. With her stained, baggy shirt and patched trousers, she hardly looked exotic, at least not by her standards.  But looking at the clean, flowing clothing of the elves, she could understand Inglor’s point.  If she wished to regain some of her anonymity, she would need a new wardrobe.

‘And some of those gathered here are Falathrim who likely speak your language,’ he added helpfully.

Haleth chewed on her lower lip as the heat on her face heralded another blush.  She resolved to wait until the others had left the boat and attracted the crowd’s attention before she moved again.

‘Is King Olwë in residence today?’ Inglor asked as he lightly leapt from the ship to the pier.

‘Yes,’ came the reply.

‘Indeed?’ said Idril, stepping elegantly onto the dock.  ‘If he is available, may we have a word with him?’

‘Whom should I say wishes to speak to him?’ asked the elf who had helped them to land. 

‘Idril Celebrindal, daughter of Turukáno, son of Nolofinwë,’ she said.

A dropping pin would have sounded like a thunderclap in the ensuing silence.  All of the attention that had been politely focused on Haleth abruptly shifted to a very regal Idril. 

Haleth sighed in relief.

‘Please, follow me,’ the elf said quickly. 

The crowd parted before them like the tide splitting around a large rock.  The guide led the way with Idril directly on his heels, Inglor and Haleth a little ways behind and an ever-growing crowd of Elves behind them. 

As they walked through the white streets of Alqualondë, Haleth could not help but catch the tone of the stray comments of those who followed.  Mixed with the amazement was another, less positive tone.  She glanced at Inglor, wondering if he had caught the unpleasant undercurrent as well.  If he had, he was wise enough to show no sign of it, but he caught her hand and squeezed it as if giving her warning to keep her peace until they could speak privately.

They came to an elegant palace on the waterside. Unlike the imposing towers of Tirion, King Olwë’s palace was a modest three stories. The smooth walls held the warm, iridescence of mother of pearl and were decorated with a series of sea motifs; fish, shells and ships. It reminded Haleth of Lord Círdan’s abandoned workshop in Mithlond.

They were led into the main entranceway where the guide stopped to speak to a tall, silver-haired individual who seemed unimpressed by the gathering. Calemir was King Olwë’s steward.  Normally the position was not overly taxing; the Teleri were by and large a peaceful people, for the most part given to solving their few disputes amongst themselves.  There was little call for the people to ask to see their King.

So when he heard of the crowd approaching the palace, he had been more than a little surprised.  He was even more surprised when his sister’s daughter’s son, Gilorn, had burst into the palace and breathlessly asked to see the King.

‘King Olwë is ever in his subjects’ service.  The King is dining with his family and guests at the present. I shall be happy to convey any and all requests as soon as he has finished.  Pray, whom, should I say requests an audience?’ said Calemir, pitching his voice to convey just the right level of authority; stern enough to command obedience but gentle enough to not be abrasive. 

‘Pray, tell the King of the Teleri that Idril Celebrindal, daughter of Turukáno, has come to Alqualondë. She is in distress and that she most humbly seeks the aid of the King and his Household,’ said Idril.

Calemir stared at the blonde woman in wonder.  When he had first set eyes upon her, he had assumed she was one of the Vanyar; but the Vanyar were invariably humble in their dealings with the other Kindreds while this individual, despite her rumpled appearance and polite words, was quite proud.  Now that he looked closer, he could see the unmistakable signs of the Royal House of the Noldor about her. 

A mist of painful memory rose before his eyes.  His brother and father had died in the Kinslayings.  Calemir had been wounded; but though the physical injury had healed long ago, he could never entirely trust the Noldor.  Neither, he knew, could the rest of his people after so cruel a betrayal.

He was tempted to dismiss the request out of hand.  A quick glance at the shocked faces of the assembled people told him there would be no outcry if he did.  The action would bring reprisals from Tirion, but those could be dealt with through diplomacy.

His gaze flicked over the crowd until it settled upon Inglor.  Calemir groaned inwardly. There was no way he could refuse aid to a descendent of Eärwen, even one with a knack for finding trouble. His King would be most displeased for his loved his daughter to distraction.

‘Greetings, Lord Inglor,’ said Calemir, inclining his head politely.

‘Greetings, Lord Calemir.’ Inglor returned the salutation. 

An interesting creature stood by Inglor’s side.  It was an outlandishly dressed female with uneven, shoulder-length, two-coloured hair.  Calemir could not help but stare for in all the long years of his life he had never seen such an odd looking individual.  Her hair was mostly the colour of sand, save at the corners of her temples where it was grey.  Her skin did not seem to fit properly, particularly around the corners of her eyes where it was distinctly wrinkled.  

‘I see,’ said Calemir.  The odd creature was examining her surroundings with an intensity that made him nervous, though he could not understand why.  He was seized by the irrational impulse to hide anything of value. 

‘I shall inform the King that Lord Inglor, Lady Idril and…?’ he trailed off, looking significantly at Haleth.

‘Haleth,’ said Inglor.

‘Haleth? What a strange name,’ thought Calemir.

‘Lord Inglor, Lady Idril and Lady Haleth,’ said Calemir. ‘Please follow me.’

Leaving the crowd behind, he led the unlikely trio to a well-furnished, private chamber.  A large window looked over the harbour.

‘I shall send someone in with refreshments presently,’ said Calemir.  ‘If there is anything else you require, you have only to ask.’

‘You have my thanks, Lord Calemir,’ said Inglor smoothly. 

Calemir smiled as he closed the door behind him and went to inform the King of his unexpected guests. 

Olwë, King of the Teleri, along with his wife and an honoured guest were in the palace’s private garden by the seaside.  Fragrant bushes offered privacy on the sides, but the small green space opened to the water.  The vista was filled with the white sailed crafts darting about the harbour.

The King’s first reaction upon seeing Calemir standing discretely near the back of the garden was annoyance.  Surely the steward could take care of the routine matters of running the palace.  He caught Calemir’s eye and frowned in displeasure. 

Only when the steward refused the tacit dismissal and remained standing, albeit at a discrete distance so as not to interfere with the conversation, did Olwë relent.

Excusing himself from his wife and guest he approached the steward.

‘Yes?’ he asked calmly.

‘I beg your pardon,’ said Calemir, his voice filled with genuine apology, ‘But there are several visitors newly come to the palace who crave an audience.’

The King of the Teleri regarded his steward with a long, cool gaze until the man began to look uncomfortable.

‘Who are these guests?’ he finally asked.

‘The first is your kinsman Inglor,’ said Calemir.  ‘The others are Idril Celebrindal, the daughter of Turukáno and a woman by the name of Haleth.’

Olwë sighed.  He remembered Turukáno.  Nolofinwë’s son had stood by his side to stop the slaughter all those years ago.  He had an obligation to at least offer hospitality to his daughter.  As little love as he had for the Noldor, he would honour this obligation.

‘From whence came the Exile?’ Olwë wondered aloud.

‘Alas, I do not know,’ said Calemir.

‘And the third one, what did you say her name was?’

‘Haleth?’ said Calemir.

‘Haleth.  Yes.’  The name was familiar to Olwë.  He had recently received a letter from his daughter, Eärwen, describing Inglor’s entanglement with the Aftercomer.  In fact, she must have been the one who had stolen one of his peoples’ ships.  It did nothing to recommend her to him.

‘She is one of the Secondborn,’ said Olwë. ‘Have you seen them before, Calemir?’

‘Several times, long ago, but only the men and only from a distance,’ said Calemir.

‘Indeed,’ said Olwë thoughtfully. ‘See to their needs. Make them comfortable.  When they are ready, bring them to me.’

‘It’s a nice room,’ said Haleth. 

Nice was an understatement.  The room was lavish with a high, vaulted ceiling decorated in paintings depicting the making of the Swan ships.  Tapestries in hues of blue, green and white hung upon the walls.  The furniture was relatively plain; two wooden chairs, a bench and a table.  There were no cushions on the chairs.  Haleth assumed elvish backsides were less prone to numbness than those of the mortal variety.

Both Inglor and Idril had seated themselves in the chairs.  They looked out of the window, watching the boats skim about the harbour.  Both had an air of calm patience that drove Haleth to distraction.

She had always assumed that being immortal meant one would be patient.  Now that she had become that way herself she had grown less able to wait. She prowled restlessly up and down the room, examining the tapestries for an instant before allowing herself to be distracted by the activity in the harbour, her mind racing the entire time.

The Teleri, she knew, were not at all happy to have a Noldorin Exile in their city requesting help.  Inglor had probably realized this when he had suggested they go to Tirion or to Avallonë instead.  If not for the lack of water, he might have stood firm against Idril’s insistence to travel to Alqualondë. 

Haleth’s hand automatically moved to twist the silver ring on her index finger but her fingers encountered nothing but flesh.  Her heart sank at the reminder of the loss of the ring. Inglor had insisted he was not upset by it but Haleth doubted his sincerity. 

Standing near the back of the room, she examined his profile silhouetted against the brightness of the window. He was perfection.  If Idril were not present she would…

The door opened, interrupting her contemplation.

A woman bearing a tray of food entered.  Examining Haleth with frank curiosity, she placed the tray upon the table and delivered a phrase in Telerin.

‘What did she say?’ asked Haleth before Inglor could reply.

‘She asked if we are in need of anything.  I was about to tell her that we are not,’ he said.

‘Could you please ask her if I could borrow some clothing?’ said Haleth.

Inglor regarded her, an open, unspoken question on his face.

‘I’m not really dressed to meet a king,’ Haleth explained, gesturing at her worn clothing. ‘I wouldn’t want to be disrespectful.’ 

‘King Olwë will hardly mind, especially when he learns of the privations you have faced,’ said Inglor, puzzled.

‘I never said he would, but I would feel happier,’ she said firmly.

The faintest shadow of a smile crossed Inglor’s face before he passed on the request to the Telerin woman.