Haleth dodged out of the way of one of Círdan’s sailors as he adjusted the Gwaerandir’s rectangular sail. This sail wasn't like the plain square of cloth on the vessel that had taken her and Inglor to Valinor. This sail was beautifully decorated with the Shipwright's device.

Well obviously it was. Círdan had had several millennia to furnish this ship. It was no surprise that every bit of it was perfect, the wood washed and polished to a golden tone. The sail was a work of art. Even the ropes gleamed in the sun.

It was amazing what one could do when one had the time, the ability and the will.

She sidled out of another sailor’s way. He did not comment as he passed the rope around her and tied it off, his hands a blur of motion.

Haleth watched him in awe. The Falathrim were amazing sailors. They worked the ship as though they had been born to it. It was a pleasure to watch them trim the sail this way and that without ever exchanging a word; they did not even bother to curse at Haleth for being underfoot.

She wondered if they were too polite to tell her to move or if they were so accustomed to moving around obstacles that it was unworthy of comment.  She also wondered how long she would have to stay in their road before they told her to go away.

As tempted as she was to find out, it would be rude. So she made her way to the stern of the ship where Círdan himself was manning the large oar that steered the craft.

They nodded in silent greeting to each other.

Haleth wondered how Círdan knew which way to steer the ship. He had undoubtedly spoken to Inglor about the location of the island, but how he could tell where he was without a map or the stars baffled Haleth.

'I imagine it should take us another three days to reach our destination,' he said, answering her unspoken question.

'Oh?' said Haleth without thinking. 'That seems rather quick.'

'The Gwaerandir is somewhat faster than the ship you sailed in,' said Círdan with a hint of a smile. 'And we have the advantage of knowing where we are going.'

'We knew where we were going,' said Haleth stoutly.

Círdan gave her a sidelong look.

'We were exploring,' she huffed.

‘Indeed,’ said Círdan. ‘I have found that is always takes longer to get to a place when one goes there for the first time.’

‘True enough,’ said Haleth with a shrug. There seemed no point in being annoyed with the serene Círdan. It was his ship, after all. He could toss her overboard if she gave him too much trouble.

‘It is an odd thing, though,’ he continued and then, in typical Elvish fashion, stopped just before he got to the interesting part, his features arranging themselves into a mild frown.

‘What is an odd thing?’ asked Haleth, wondering what could generate such a huge reaction from the Shipwright.

‘When we were in Middle-earth, my people and I, we sailed.’

'Yes,’ said Haleth, her shoulders slumping in disappointment. Of course the Falathrim sailed. They were known for it. The Falathrim sailed, the Sylvan Elves lived in the forest and sang annoying songs and the Noldor made things and caused trouble. There was no big revelation after all.

‘We knew every bit of coastline,’ he continued, ‘Even the coastline after…’ , his gaze drifted to the southeast.

Haleth’s eyes turned in the same direction as though they were drawn by a loadstone. The distant haze was a little darker in the area where Númenor had been. She chewed her lip as the expected tide of homesickness washed over her.

Círdan continued to stare into the distance, then he turned back to Haleth.

‘After the Straight Road was hidden to mortals we explored all the new coastlines, even to the Gates of Dawn.’

‘I thought the Gates of Dawn were always there,’ said Haleth.

‘My people were sailors as well,’ she said gruffly, avoiding his gaze. The dark smudge grew suspiciously blurry.  It must be raining.

They stood in silence, gazing to the southeast.

‘And as sailors, you explored,’ said Círdan.

Haleth nodded wordlessly.

‘Yet in all of the time they have had, no one in the Blessed Realm has bothered to explore the Enchanted Islands,’ he said.

There was an edge of anger in his voice. Haleth looked at him in surprise. His expression was as calm as ever but his knuckles were white upon the steering oar.

Haleth swallowed hard and tried to make herself small. Inglor was frightening when irritated, but she could understand the reason for his anger; she was usually the cause of it. Círdan, by Elvish standards, was livid. It was a wonder the steering oar didn’t snap in his hands. What had she said this time?

‘I imagine the threat of sleeping forever kept people away,’ said Haleth. Her voice sounded high and thin in her own ears.

Círdan looked at her as though he had forgotten she was there.

‘I apologize,’ he said, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘You have shamed me. You have shamed us all.’

‘Me?’ spluttered Haleth, pointing at herself. ‘Whatever I did…I apologize…I did not mean…’

‘Hush, child. Of course you meant no harm. We were so busy enjoying the peace of the Blessed Realm that we forgot.’

‘Forgot?’ squeaked Haleth, unable to stop herself.

'Did you think Earendil and Tuor were the only two who ever sailed Westward to beg help from the Valar?’ he asked sadly.

‘I know at least one other person stupid enough to have tried,’ she thought.

‘I sent messengers into the West before the Straight Road was open. It was a hopeless mission, but we were desperate.’ Círdan gazed into the distance. Haleth guessed he was not seeing the ocean before him but mariners and friends he had not seen in over an Age. ‘Morgoth’s hordes were advancing on every front. Eglarest and Brithombar had both fallen. The sons of Fëanor had ravaged the Havens at the mouth of the Sirion. What hope did we have against the Enemy when we had turned upon one another?

‘I sent them, knowing that they were going to their deaths. And they went.’

Haleth thought of the choking smoke from the unholy altars of Armenolos and the pall of fear that perpetually hung over her grandfather’s home in Númenor. And she thought of her friends, fighting against the tide of darkness, knowing it was futile.

‘They would have gone in any case, Lord Círdan, even if you had not told them. Never doubt that.’

Círdan drew a deep breath.

‘Do you believe that makes it any easier?’

Haleth paused to consider, watching the distant, dark suggestion of her ruined home. For the first time she wondered if this was how her grandfather had felt when he had found her in the hold of his ship so many years ago. 

‘No,’ she finally said, her voice thick. ‘But it was still their choice.’

‘Yes, as it was my choice to send them. And as it is now my responsibility to find them all and bring them all back home,’ he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Home. The word echoed in the emptiness in Haleth’s heart. The Elves were lucky; at least they had a home to go to. She furiously blinked away the tears that were burning at the corners of her eyes. The world swam before her. A white dot bobbed up and down in the sea between the Gwaerandir and the shadow of her home.

She swatted the tears away, muttering a curse at the wind.

The white dot remained.

She leaned over the railing as far as safely possible, straining to see into the distance.

‘Lord Círdan, can you sail any faster?’ she asked.

‘Not until the wind shifts,’ he said. ‘Why?’

‘Because I believe we’re being followed.’