Several hours later the three travellers were escorted into the presence of King Olwë. 

Haleth, who was always apprehensive in the presence of authority, would have lagged far behind the others if Inglor, who was more than aware of her discomfort, had not been holding her hand.

‘What about the ship, Inglor?’ she whispered.

‘It is at the dock.  You could see it from the window,’ he said.

‘I meant the one I borrowed the night I learned…when…’ she trailed off, unable to finish. ‘I don’t think I’m going to be very popular here.’

The King, who Inglor had assured her seldom dwelt on ceremony, was in his garden awaiting them. 

Despite Inglor’s assurances, Haleth was uncomfortable.  They headed towards a door that led to the outside and she twisted her hand in an attempt to break Inglor’s grip. 

Inglor’s expression did not change at all as he tightened his grasp and shifted to prevent her from escaping. 

Although she knew it was useless, Haleth struggled against him nonetheless.  The silent battle continued until they were out in the garden and she noticed the small group of elves seated around a round table. 

All three had silver hair, which was unusual enough in and of itself, but one was quite familiar.  

‘There’s Lord Círdan!’ Haleth whispered excitedly to Inglor.

‘Yes,’ agreed Inglor in a way that told Haleth he did not understand her excitement.

His puzzlement annoyed Haleth, who, until she had set eyes upon the Shipwright, had not realized how much she had longed for some familiar figure from her life in Middle-earth. 

‘Should we tell him about the ship in his old workshop?’ she said wickedly.

‘No,’ said Inglor with unaccustomed heat.

‘Very well,’ she said with a shrug.  ‘I would have thought…’

‘Hush! The King speaks.’

A tall, silver haired man rose to his feet.  A silver circlet bound his hair, a single pearl was set upon his brow.

He spoke in a sonorous voice in Telerin.  The language was close enough to Sindarin that Haleth felt she should understand it.  She thought she could almost understand a few words, but the two tongues had drifted apart for millennia; since long before the Trees had ceased to shine.  After several minutes of intense listening, she sadly had to admit that she could not comprehend a word of it and would have to content herself with gleaning what meaning she could from body language and facial expressions; not that those subtle signals, which seemed to convey so much to the elves, would offer her much information.

She was pleasantly surprised when Inglor began to translate the Telerin into Quenya.

‘I, Olwë, King of the Teleri and Siliviel our Queen bid welcome to you, Idril Celebrindal; your unexpected return after so many years will be a boon to your family.  We will immediately dispatch messengers to Tirion to bear the good news to them.

‘And welcome to you, Haleth of the Secondborn.  Never before has one of your people set foot in our city,’ Inglor finished, switching to Sindarin so she would understand better.

Haleth nodded politely to the King, who was watching her with an intensity that made her nervous. He had to be thinking about the ship she had borrowed. At least the Numenoreans had concentrated their efforts upon Tirion rather than Alqualondë.

‘Please convey my thanks to the King,’ said Idril.  ‘And please ask him if he would be so kind as to loan unto us a ship and several crewmen so that we may rescue my husband and Voronwë.’

Inglor hesitated in delivering the request. 

Haleth’s eyes darted between him and Idril.  Inglor’s face was the mask of mild concern.  It was an expression she recognized.  He had a perfectly good reason to not pass along the request, but knew that his refusal, much less the reason for it, would not be well received. 

Idril seemed to know what the expression meant without the benefit of years of experience in Inglor interpretation.  The shadow of a frown darkened her features. 

‘I understand your urgency, Lady Idril, but diplomacy might be better served if we are somewhat more circumspect,’ Inglor finally said, still in Sindarin.

Haleth barely heard the exchange.  Both Olwë and his wife, the queen, were examining her with frank curiosity.  Heat rose in her cheeks and she quickly turned her attention to Círdan instead. 

The bearded elf Lord was keenly watching the exchange between Idril and Inglor.  He could, of course, understand every word.

‘Greetings, Lord Círdan,’ said Haleth with deliberate loudness. 

All conversation abruptly stopped and everyone stared at her.  Haleth’s face grew as hot as Aulë’s forge.  She had just proven herself to have exceedingly bad manners and had likely confirmed all of the King and Queen’s doubts in the civility of her people. 

Círdan, who had no illusions about Haleth’s manners, did not seem in the least taken aback by her shouting. 

‘Greetings, Haleth,’ he said in Sindarin, infusing the name with a certain amount of surprise; she had never used it with him.  ‘It is good to see you again although I must admit to no little surprise.’

Haleth reached for the silver ring on her index finger only to discover it was no longer there.  She looked to Inglor for help, but he was either too aghast as her display of bad manners or too embarrassed at the reminder that Círdan could understand Sindarin to be of any assistance.

She examined her toes to avoid making eye contact with any of the others while the silence expanded to an explosive size.

‘What an interesting pathway; it appears to be made of shells,’ she babbled.  ‘The Telerin artisans must be talented indeed to take such delicate materials and transform them so they can bear the weight of a full grown individual and remain intact.

‘Not that any of you are large,’ she continued.  ‘And all of the Firstborn tread with exceptional lightness.  But that is not so of the Secondborn, yet they bear my weight without injury.’

The silence took on a thunderous quality.

‘Arafinwë, the King of the Noldor crafted that pathway with his own hands,’ said King Olwë.

Haleth winced.  If Arafinwë had been king, the path must have been made after the Kinslaying.  Biting her lip, she looked wistfully at the waters of the harbour.  If it had not been for Idril blocking her path, she would have charged between King Olwë and the others to dive into the harbour and swim away. 

Such actions would hardly help Idril’s cause, so Haleth stood her ground and wished for a crack to appear in the earth and swallow her whole.

The Telerin Queen, who had not uttered a word, finally spoke in gracious tones. 

‘The King appreciates your interest in his palace and thanks you for it.  Please forgive us if we seem somewhat abrupt.  We have never met one of the Secondborn and we are very curious.  Please, sit with us, you and your friend and our kinsman.  There is much we would ask you,’ Inglor translated.

‘Nothing would please me more,’ Haleth said, fixing a sad, forced smile to her face.

Queen Siliviel patted the empty chair beside her and spoke.

‘Please be seated.  And your companions, too,’ Inglor translated.

Several hours passed.  The discussion was, perforce, somewhat disjointed as either Inglor or Círdan had to translate. 

‘Do all of your people have two tone hair?’ said Círdan, translating for Siliviel. 

‘No,’ said Haleth honestly.  ‘Only those who are somewhere between youth and old age.’

This statement, when duly translated, caused confusion.

Finally Círdan addressed her in Sindarin.  ‘I have attempted to explain but my understanding is not entirely clear.  What is old age?’

‘It is the state of mortals who live more than a few decades.  What is it you elves call it?  The weariness that sets upon us and ultimately leads to our deaths,’ answered Haleth.

When Círdan had finished translating her reply, the King immediately asked another question which Inglor answered without bothering to translate. 

Haleth could guess the nature of the question.  She sensed the strange, hollow place where her Gift had once resided.  To her surprise, the emptiness had become smaller.  She might share in the fate of the Elves but she had retained her mortal capacity to acclimate to new situations.  Or perhaps the prospect of being married to Inglor made thoughts of eternity easier to bear.

The conversation slowly ground to an end when Idril, who had been silent the entire time, could contain herself no longer.

‘Your Majesty, you are kind and generous,’ she said, trusting to either Inglor or Círdan to pass the message on for her.  ‘I thank you for welcoming my friends and I to your home and I thank you for the hospitality you have shown us.  Please do not think me too forward, but there is a boon I would request.’

Olwë looked expectantly to Inglor.  When he refused to translate, he turned to Círdan instead. 

With a small, apologetic smile in Inglor’s general direction, Círdan relayed the message to the King.

‘What would you have of me, daughter of Turukano?’ Círdan translated.

‘I would have a ship, only to use for a little time, and a crew, such sailors as would go willingly on a voyage of mercy.’

Círdan began to translate, but Olwë held up a hand to stop him.

‘I beg the indulgence of our guests and of you, my Queen, but this is a subject Lady Idril and I must discuss in privacy.  If you would be so kind?’ he said in perfect Quenya.

Murmurring their acquiescence, the others retreated from the garden, leaving Idril alone with Olwë.

Inglor, who was familiar with the palace, led Haleth back to their rooms.

‘You must have known Olwë could speak Quenya.  Why did you not tell me?’ she demanded in a loud whisper after then had said good-bye to the Queen and Lord Círdan. 

‘I believed you would have known,’ said Inglor. 

Haleth gaped at him.

‘How could I have known?’ she demanded icily.

‘How could a King have dealings with another people and not speak their language?’ Inglor shrugged. 

‘My King had dealings with many different peoples.  He saw no need to learn their languages!’ said Haleth.

‘I beg your pardon, Haleth, but if your King did not, his ambassadors surely did.  What sort of ruler would allow his enemies to plot and plan in his presence, which would surely happen if they spoke a language which he did not?’

‘I thought Elves were above those things,’ said Haleth after a moment of stunned silence.

‘We are, for the most part,’ said Inglor.  ‘But there is always the chance.  Sadly, King Olwë learned long ago that friends can unexpectedly become enemies.’

‘Oh,’ said Haleth.  It was all she could think of to say.

They had each been given a suite of rooms for their use.  Haleth was somewhat surprised to discover her rooms were of the same size and furnished in a manner similar to the others.  She expressed her amazement to Inglor.

‘Why should you not bear the same honour as either Idril or myself?’ he asked, surprised by her surprise.

‘Because you are…’ she paused, realizing yet again that she still did not know Inglor’s exact relationship to Arafinwë, Eärwen or Olwë.

‘Because I’m a thief and obviously of lower rank than you,’ she said.

He examined her with an air of mild bewilderment that she had learned to interpret as stunned silence. 

‘Why would you say that?’ he asked.

‘Inglor! I took one of their ships!  I know how these people feel about their ships.  Besides, look at the way I am dressed!’  She gestured at herself and then remembered she was wearing one of the simple, flowing gowns of the Eldar. 

‘You look lovely,’ he said.

A blush raced up Haleth’s face.  ‘Well, maybe, but usually I’m the farthest thing from.  On Middle-earth, I’d have been given a room in the attic, assuming I was let in the house at all.’

‘No one ever insisted you sleep in the attic in Middle-earth,’ said Inglor.

‘Not while I travelled with you, Inglor.  You look respectable.  Everyone trusts you the instant they see you. I rode along on the goodwill you made,’ she said.

He sat back and looked at her over his steepled fingers. ‘You may discover the situation to be somewhat different now,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Haleth, stunned. 

Before Inglor could reply, and Haleth could tell from his expression that he had no intention of answering, Idril burst into the room.

She began to speak, took one look at Inglor, thought better of it and paced the room instead.

Haleth and Inglor exchanged glances; Haleth’s was questioning, Inglor’s was serene.

Idril stormed about the room.  She reminded Haleth of a large, angry bear trapped in a cage that was too small. 

Believing a question from Inglor would be better received that a comment from her, Haleth kept silent.  She watched Idril tear around, her features twisted into a deep, angry frown, and waited for Inglor to speak.

It finally dawned on Halleth that Inglor was not going to say a word.

‘Fine,’ thought Haleth who could no longer stand the charged silence.  ‘Since I seem to be the Asker of Stupid Questions, I’ll ask.’

‘I take it the conversation with the King did not have the hoped for result,’ she said.

Idril paused in mid-step and glared at her. 

‘Yes, I imagine you could say that,’ said Idril with brittle calmness.

‘He refused your request?’ asked Haleth.

‘Of course not,’ said Idril, throwing herself into a chair.  ‘King Olwë is too hospitable to refuse outright.  Instead he devised many reasons why it would be impossible to grant us the loan of a either a ship or a crew.’

‘Were the reasons valid?’ asked Haleth.

‘Valid enough that I could not challenge them without seeming a churl,’ replied Idril.  Her knuckles were turning white where they grasped the arm of the chair. 

‘The Teleri are loath to help one of the Noldor.  Even one whose father helped to stop the Kinslaying.  Noble deeds, it seems, are easily forgotten while the infamous ones remain ever fresh in memory.’

Haleth sighed.  The same was certainly true of her own people.  It should come as no surprise to learn the Firstborn were no different. All the same, she was still disappointed.  In her limited experience with them she had believed they were above such things.  Inglor certainly was.  Inglor, she was beginning to learn, was an exception.

‘I shall speak to the King on your behalf,’ said Inglor.

‘No,’ said Idril firmly, shaking her head.  ‘I will not beg the rightness and justice of my cause.  If King Olwë will not grant a reasonable request, let the shame be upon him.’

‘But you will not be…’ began Inglor in the calm, earnest voice of reason that always drove Haleth to distraction.

‘I said no!’ cried Idril, pounding her fist onto the arm of the chair for emphasis.

The three fell into an uncomfortable silence.

‘We could continue to Tirion,’ Inglor finally said. 

‘That would take too much time,’ said Idril.

Haleth unwisely opened her mouth to protest.  ‘Tuor and Voronwë have been asleep on that beach for several thousand years.  Is a week or two going to make that much of a difference?’

She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth for Idril glared at her with enough intensity to make a balrog flinch.

‘Then we’ll restock our own ship and sail back to the island ourselves,’ said Haleth.

‘That ship is too small,’ said Idril.

‘For someone with no ideas of her own, you certainly excel at pointing out the flaws in everyone else’s,’ snapped Haleth.

‘This bickering is of no use.’ Inglor leapt out of his chair and placed himself between the two women.  ‘We are all weary.  Let us rest the remainder of the night.  The morning may reveal another path.’

‘Fine,’ said Haleth.  ‘Good night.’

She stomped into her own rooms and lay down.  Sleep proved impossible as Telerin beds proved to be almost as lacking in padding as Telerin chairs.  Although she had slept quite soundly in far less comfortable places, Haleth found it impossible to drift away. 

Long before the dawn had begun to lighten the eastern sky, Haleth rose up from her bed to look out of the window. 

The room she had been given was on the second floor.  Below could be seen the docks and ships of the Telerin royal family and beyond them the piers and boats of Olwë’s people.  Many were moored for the night but just as many still plied the waters of the harbour for night did not hold the same peril in the Blessed Realm as it did in Middle-earth. 

Haleth watched the boats play upon the water, their sails silver in the starlight.  Most of the ships were small pleasure craft that would comfortably carry one or two people.  With little or no space for storage, they would be of no use in a prolonged sea voyage. 

She switched her attention to the docks.  There were several ships there that would be large enough to accommodate five people and their supplies. 

Without stopping to consider the wisdom of her actions, she crawled out of the window and shinnied down the wall, intent on a walk.

The sun was just beginning to rise before she returned to her room, climbing an ancient ivy that spread its branches beneath her window. 

She looked at the rumpled blanket on the bed, wondering if she should try to sleep for an hour or so, then straightened the covering and went directly for the door.  There was little chance of her resting until she had told the others what she had found.

Both Inglor and Idril were in the common room.  Haleth could not be certain either of them had slept although she doubted it.  Elves required far less rest than she did.

‘Good morning,’ she said brightly. 

‘Yes,’ said Idril, her tone rather stiff.  ‘Haleth, please allow me to apologize.’

‘For what?’ asked Haleth, who was too busy with her own plot to remember the disagreement of the previous evening. 

‘For our falling out last night,’ said Idril.  ‘You were quite correct.  I should have been offering my own ideas rather than finding fault with yours and Inglor’s.’

‘Well, here’s another one for you to find fault with,’ said Haleth, who was too excited to be side tracked.  ‘There are several ships large enough to carry five people on the docks and at least two of them have been stocked with sufficient provisions for our purposes.’

‘Haleth,’ said Inglor slowly.  ‘I hope you are not suggesting we appropriate a ship without permission.’

‘Borrowing.  We would just be borrowing it.  We will return it in perfect condition and, I am certain Idril and her family could make it more than worth the while of the owners, who obviously aren’t using it anyways.’

‘If they are not using it, why is it fully stocked?’ asked Inglor.

‘Precisely!  Who would leave a fully stocked ship at the dock in such a manner?  The owner, poor thing, has likely lost some of his senses.  We would really be doing him a favour by borrowing his ship and using it for a good cause.  It will keep the supplies from going to waste.’

‘Haleth, we are of the Royal House of the Noldor,’ said Inglor gravely.  ‘We cannot sail away with a ship – especially not a Telerin ship – that does not belong to us and was not freely loaned to us! It would cause a terrible diplomatic incident.’

‘Then blame it on me. Say it was my idea and blame it on a misunderstanding arising from Secondborn customs,’ said Haleth, who had considered this and was rather proud of her solution.

Idril looked as though she was ready to accept this idea.  Inglor was another matter entirely.

‘Haleth,’ he said.  ‘It took centuries for King Arafinwë to regain the trust of the Teleri.  I cannot condone stealing…’

‘Borrowing!’ Haleth shouted over his objection.

‘Stealing one of their ships!’ Inglor concluded. 

‘Perhaps I can save you this decision by offering my own ship and the services of my crew?’

The three of them whirled about to find Lord Círdan had entered the room unannounced. 

‘Unless you are intent upon borrowing one,’ he said with amusement.

‘No, Lord Círdan. Your gracious offer is most welcome,’ said Inglor with obvious relief.

‘You have my thanks, Lord Círdan,’ said Idril, bowing her head.

To Haleth’s surprise, the Shipwright turned to her as if asking her opinion.

‘Could you and your crew remain below so it looks as though we’re borrowing it?’