Haleth adjusted her sleeves and stared at the door, willing Ecthelion to arrive.  The quiet house was dim in the early morning light while outside the window, the first rays of the sun gleamed upon the treetops.   

‘Silmariën, is that you?’  Anairë’s sounded mildly surprised as she entered the dining room.  Her tone was usually so even that Haleth knew she must be shocked. 

‘Yes, it’s me,’ she said, without tearing her eyes away from the door.

‘Would you care to break your fast?’ asked Anairë, recovering her composure.

Haleth hesitated.  She supposed she should eat, but the prospect of being beyond the encircling walls of Anairë’s garden had her stomach in knots.  ‘I lack an appetite,’ she said, her tongue tripping over the unfamiliar phrase.

‘Are you well?’ Anairë enquired.  The question was deceptively mild. Haleth turned to examine her ancestress.  Anairë, she knew, had learned something of the sicknesses that afflicted the Secondborn and it made her overly protective.  Swallowing a sip of water the wrong way had been enough to have her sent to bed and covered in a mountain of blankets.   If she thought Haleth was ailing, Anairë would never allow her to leave. 

‘I’m fine!’ Haleth cried, leaping to her feet.  ‘I think I’ve found my appetite after all.’

Anairë examined her closely.  The expression triggered an ancient memory of Haleth’s own mother’s skeptical face when she had insisted that she was not hurt or ill.  The vision was so vivid that, for an instant, Haleth was transported hundreds of leagues to the east and years into the past.  The walls of Anairë’s home became those of her own family abode.  Her mother’s features imposed themselves on Anairë’s face. 

The vision faded and Haleth sat down hard, clasping her hands to hide the trembling.

‘Silmariën?’

‘Fine.  I’m fine,’ Haleth said distantly.  ‘It was an old memory, nothing more,’ she added forcing a smile to her lips.

Anairë sat down beside her and took her hands.  ‘Those still trouble you?’ she asked gently.

‘I imagine they shall for some time,’ said Haleth as her heart fell to her toes.  There was no way Anairë would allow her to leave the house now.

‘You have too much time to brood,’ the elf woman said, patting Haleth’s ice-cold hands.  ‘An outing should help to remedy the situation.’

A large grin blossomed on Haleth’s face. 

‘But first you must eat,’ Anairë insisted.

Haleth’s response was drowned out by a firm knock upon the door.  Haleth burst from her seat and raced to open it. 

Ecthelion stood framed in the morning light.  ‘Good morrow,’ he said.

‘Hello!  Shall we be going?’ asked Haleth.

Ecthelion looked to Anairë for guidance.

‘Very well, Ecthelion, enjoy your day.  Please make certain she eats something,’ said Anairë, her voice laced with amusement.  ‘Until this evening, Silmariën.’

‘Until this evening, Lady Anairë,’ said Haleth, dropping a hasty curtsey.

  ~*~

Ecthelion strode up the white road that wound through the pass of Calacirya.  The wind tussled his dark hair and set his cloak fluttering like a heroic banner. 

Haleth, puffing alongside him, cut a far less impressive figure.  It was a familiar situation for Inglor had always eclipsed her in physical presence, but now even the landscape contrived to make her feel shabby.  The grass that grew upon the hillsides was lush and deep, emerald green.  Wildflowers spangled the turf, the delicate blossoms nodding gracefully in the wind that blew off the ocean.  Their sweet perfume filled the morning air. 

‘Are you weary?’ Ecthelion asked solicitously.

‘No,’ said Haleth shortly.  It was a bald-faced lie but Ecthelion had more tact than Inglor for he did not ask if all mortals wheezed like a leaky bellows.

‘Would you care to pause and break your fast?’ he asked.

‘Are you hungry?’ asked Haleth, who was regretting all of the meals she had partaken of since her arrival in Tirion.

‘No.  I have broken my fast,’ he replied.

‘I shall wait until we reach the seashore,’ she said, picking up her pace and resolutely ignoring her rumbling stomach.  She turned her attention to her surroundings to distract herself.  The heights of the Pelori rose above green hills.  Clouds tore themselves to tatters upon the jagged peaks.  It seemed that more than the cloud was moving.  The entire side of the mountain was sliding towards them, threatening to entomb them for all of eternity.  There was no escape; nowhere to run.

‘Silmariën? Are you well?’ 

Haleth returned to the present to find herself crouched by the side of the road, her arms thrown above her head.  Ecthelion was bending over her, a concerned look upon his handsome face.  She glanced at the mountains and was surprised to discover they had not moved. 

‘Yes, I am well and please call me Haleth,’ she said with a feeble smile.

‘Perhaps we should return to Tirion.’

‘No!’ cried Haleth.  The prospect of returning to the confines of Anairë’s garden horrified her. ‘Please.  I would like to continue.’

He looked extremely unconvinced.  ‘I gave Lady Anairë my word to keep you safe.’

‘And so you have!  No harm has come to me.’

‘You do not seem to be physically damaged, but you are not well,’ he said, crossing his arms.  Haleth drew breath to speak but he raised his hand to forestall her protest. ‘I know your people.  I spent enough time in Tuor’s company to recognize the signs of distress.  You are no longer cowering but your countenance is pale. Something has troubled you.’

‘Memories,’ Haleth blurted.

The pronouncement brought Ecthelion up short.  ‘Memories?’ he echoed. 

‘Memories.  Bad ones.  Don’t you have any evil recollections?’ she snapped.

His eyes widened.  ‘Yes,’ he said gravely. 

Haleth would have struck herself in consternation except that it would further convince Ecthelion that she should be returned to Tirion.  She grasped his arm and pulled him in the direction of the ocean. ‘Would you tell me of Tuor?’

‘I did give my word,’ he said, allowing himself to be guided towards the ocean.  ‘One day the both of us were patrolling the Encircling Mountains when Tuor found something of interest.’

‘What did he find?’ asked Haleth eagerly.

‘A cave.  Only I do not believe he expected to find it.’

Haleth gave Ecthelion a sidelong glance and discovered him watching her with a merry gleam in his eye. 

‘Why do you say that he didn’t expect it?’ she asked because he plainly wanted her to.

‘My first hint was all of the muffled shouting.  My second was that all I could see of him was the one leg sticking out of the ground.’

Haleth burst out laughing but quickly slapped her hands over her mouth to cover her mirth.

‘Why do you stifle your laughter?’ Ecthelion asked. 

‘Tuor was a hero.  It’s disrespectful for me to laugh at him,’ she said.

He fixed her with an incredulous look.  ‘I cannot understand how that would be.  Tuor certainly laughed at himself,’ he said, shaking his head and chuckling.

‘What did you find in the cave?’ she asked, at ease once more.

‘Rocks, mainly.  Those and a curious, black and white animal that resembled a cat. It had the most interesting aroma.’

Haleth laughed again.  This time she made no effort to stop.

Ecthelion entertained her with stories for the rest of the walk.  Her sides were aching by the time they reached the ocean.  The Bay of Eldamar shone, its blue waters spangled by the sun.  An expanse of pure, white sand separated the ocean from the land.   The beach sparkled as much as the sea, but in many different colours. 

‘Beautiful, is it not?’ asked Ecthelion, taking a deep breath of air.

‘It is,’ agreed Haleth.  ‘It is the only place I have seen where the sand sparkles with so many colours.’

‘It is not the sand that sparkles,’ laughed Ecthelion, rummaging through his pack to pull out a blanket.  ‘There are gemstones on the beach.’

‘Gems?’ squeaked Haleth, too surprised to help him lay out the blanket.

‘My people gave them to the Teleri long ago to do as they would with them.  They found it pleasing to scatter the jewels upon the shore.’  He paused to admire the view.  ‘It is beautiful, is it not?’

‘Yes,’ said Haleth, too flabbergasted to say more.  She had heard the stories of precious gems being scattered along the shore of the Bay of Eldamar.  She had assumed they were just that; stories. 

‘But after so many years, surely most of them have been washed out to sea,’ she said.

‘They have been washed out to sea.’

‘Then…do your people give more gems to replenish those that are lost?’ she asked, her eyes widening as she imagined a huge warehouse full of rubies, sapphires and emeralds.  Making jewels was something she might enjoy.

‘No,’ he laughed.  ‘There are those who seek the gems in the water and return them to their proper place.’

‘Oh,’ she said, crestfallen.  ‘So they find them and throw them back on the sand.’

‘No.  They find them and put them back in their proper place.’

Haleth examined the glittering beach.  There was a certain calculation in the way the gems were strewn.  ‘You can’t mean that each particular gem has it’s own particular place,’ she began.

‘That is exactly the way of it,’ he said. 

‘Oh,’ she said, stunned.  Aman, however beautiful, seemed more of a display than a place where people actually lived.  Small wonder the elves moved with such languid grace; they did not wish to displace or break anything.

‘You should break your fast,’ he said. 

‘Oh.  Yes. Thank-you,’ she said, blushing.  She was so taken with the beach and its gems that she had forgotten she was hungry.  Several pieces of dried meat, fruit and cheese had been arranged on the blanket.  Haleth stared at it.  She hadn’t seen the like since Lady Anairë had taken her under her wing. 

‘Is it not to your liking?’ Ecthelion asked. 

‘It’s very much to my liking.  It’s similar to the meals I ate while traveling in Middle-earth,’ she said, smiling.  ‘Except much better I’m sure,’ she added quickly.

‘Good!  I had hoped to provide something familiar.’

‘It is very familiar Ing…I mean Lord Ecthelion.  And it’s all the better because I didn’t have to gather or cook any of it first.  Thank-you!’ 

She bit into a piece of cheese.  Grains of sand crunched between her teeth. 

‘I am afraid the sand has gotten onto it,’ he said apologetically.

‘It adds flavour,’ she said.

Ecthelion stared at her, an apple poised at his mouth.  Haleth was terrified that she had insulted him, but before she could apologize he roared with laughter.

‘Now I am certain you are Tuor’s kin.  He would always say the same thing, no matter how burnt the food might be.’

‘Tuor burnt the food?’ Haleth asked quickly.  This was another thing that hadn’t been mentioned in the old stories. 

‘Not usually,’ said Ecthelion with a smile.  ‘There was, however, one occasion when he was rather badly distracted.’

Haleth leaned forward, her chin on her hand, to listen.  Ecthelion related several accounts of patrols gone wrong and humorous incidents among the Lords of Gondolin, laughing heartily.

‘Have mercy!  My stomach is aching!’ cried Haleth when he launched into what was sure to be a ridiculous anecdote involving Glorfindel, Rog and a lady’s misplaced slipper.

‘Forgive me.  It has been a very long time since I have had an appreciative audience for these tales.  I had forgotten the encouraging effect of laughter.’

‘Maybe you shouldn’t tell me all of your funny stories at once?’ she suggested, holding her sides.   

‘True.  Humorous stories garner their greatest effect the first time they are told.  Still, it has been a very long time since I’ve heard anyone laugh so freely,’ he said wistfully.

Haleth was brought up short.  Was she doomed to lose her sense of humour as the centuries passed?  What of her other feelings?  Would time slowly grind her down, the way the water washes away a rock, until she became indifferent to everything around her?  The very idea repelled her.

Ecthelion produced a flute from his pack and played a merry tune while Haleth removed her boots, hiked up her skirts and waded into the bay.  The soft caress of the water was cool in the heat of the day.     

‘You are restless,’ Ecthelion observed from the beach.

Of course she was restless.  It was the first time in a long time that she had been allowed to roam freely.  It would be ungrateful to voice her thoughts, so she gave an elaborate shrug and asked,  ‘Was Tuor restless?’

‘We were all restless then,’ he said with a melancholy smile.

Haleth stared into the water.  The white sand gleamed through the ripples.  The elves of Tirion, who moved with slow grace, seemed the farthest thing from restless.

‘Do you find that difficult to believe?’ he asked.  Even with the distance between them she could see the twinkle in his eye.

She pursed her lips and shrugged.  Something colourful shimmered on the white, sandy sea bottom.  Without thinking she thrust her arm into the water.  Her hand closed around something smooth, hard and the size of a hen’s egg. 

‘Look at what I found!’ she cried, pulling the blood red gemstone from the water and holding it aloft in triumph.

‘Well done, but now your sleeve is wet.’ He sounded amused.  Haleth recalled that her sleeve had been soaking the first time they met.  

She shot him a look that expressed her profound lack of regret.  ‘It will dry before we reach Tirion,’ she said as she splashed to the shore. 

‘Look at it. It’s enormous,’ she breathed, holding the ruby up to the sun to better examine it.  It was flawless and easily twice as large as the biggest of its like in Middle-earth. 

‘It is fine if you have a taste for coloured gems.  I have always preferred the pure clarity of diamonds,’ he said, glancing at the ruby. 

‘Good,’ said Haleth absently.  She turned the ruby this way and that, mesmerized by the way the light played within its heart.

‘That stone may have been made by Fëanor himself.’  Ecthelion’s voice was so neutral that Haleth could not tell if this impressed or repelled him.

She sighed and lowered the gem.

‘Where does it go?’ she asked, offering it to him.

‘I beg your pardon?’ he asked.

‘You said all of these gems have their particular places.  Where does this one go?’

‘I know not, but those who care for the gems will find it and put it in its proper position.’   He took the gem, briefly examined the fire burning at its heart, then placed it upon the sand. 

Haleth sat down upon the blanket and stared at the waves.  The afternoon no longer seemed so free.

‘Tuor found it difficult to live among the Firstborn, too,’ Ecthelion said sympathetically.

Haleth opened her mouth to protest then closed it again.  ‘So you’ve said. I imagine Gondolin must have been quite a change after living in the wilderness for so long.’

‘That certainly contributed to his difficulty, but it was not the sole reason for it,’ he said, shaking his head.

Haleth shifted uncomfortably.  She had no wish to confide in Ecthelion, no matter how many funny stories he told. 

‘Initially, Lord Turgon strongly disapproved of Idril’s attraction to Tuor.  Did you know that?’

‘I…no.  The stories don’t mention it.’  An emerald and a beryl glittered on the sand.  Haleth traced circles around them with her fingers. 

‘The stories do not tell everything,’ he said.

‘So I have learned,’ she chuckled. 

A fleeting smile crossed Ecthelion’s face.  ‘You must understand, Lord Turgon loved Lady Idril to distraction; I am certain he only sought to spare her the grief that would inevitably come…’ he trailed off.

‘When Tuor died and left the Circles of the World,’ Haleth finished for him. 

‘Just so, yes,’ he said.

They lapsed into silence, the only sound the whispers of the waves upon the white shore.

‘It is not so bad as all that,’ Haleth mumbled, smoothing the sand with the palm of her hand. ‘Grief, even overwhelming grief, fades with time.’

‘For the Secondborn, perhaps; it may be tied to the nature of your Gift,’ Ecthelion said in a quiet voice. ‘It is not so for the Firstborn. We expect our family and friends to endure for all time. And when they do not…’  He smiled ruefully.  ‘I will not say that our grief is greater than yours but it is more enduring, simply because we are more enduring. If you loved someone, would you chose that path for them?’

‘No, but I cannot chose anyone’s path,’ she said.  ‘Not even my own,’ she thought with bitterness.

‘And that is what Lord Turgon came to understand of Idril and her love for Tuor.  He wanted to protect his daughter, but in the end he allowed her to go her own way.

‘Eärendil was brought forth by their union. And without Eärendil, the Great Enemy surely would have prevailed,’ he said distantly.  ‘Forgive me.  This part of the story does not touch me so nearly.’

‘I suppose not,’ said Haleth.  Ecthelion would have been in the Halls of Mandos by the time Eärendil made his famous voyage to beg help of the Powers.  The events were only a tale to him.

‘Yet Eärendil was not the first one to sail,’ Ecthelion murmured, his gaze locked upon the ocean.

‘He was not the last one, either. He was the only one who was successful,’ said Haleth.  The old bitterness at the Valar’s refusal to help was not as strong as it had been.

Ecthelion looked directly at her.  For a moment Haleth thought he would speak of her first, ill-fated visit to Aman.

‘It is said that both Tuor and Idril also sailed West.’ 

It was so different from what Haleth had been expecting him to say that all she could do was gape at him.

‘I’ve…heard those stories too,’ she finally said. ‘They never arrived?’

‘No.  They have never.’  Ecthelion stared across the water. ‘The way was closed.  It was far more treacherous then, before the end of the Elder Days, than it is now.  The mists of the Shadowy Seas shrouded the stars and the sun.  It is said that even a lodestone was of little use in those treacherous waters.  And if some lucky sailor chanced to make it through that barrier he encountered the Enchanted Isles.’

‘I know,’ said Haleth. ‘I take it no trace of them was ever found?’

‘No. None,’ he said.

‘Did you see Idril in Mandos?’ Haleth asked on a sudden inspiration.

‘No.  There are no social gatherings in Mandos’ Halls,’ he said, his voice distant. 

‘I didn’t expect there would be parties, but did you ever, at all, in all of your time there, see Idril Celebrindal or notice her presence?  If she died sailing to the West, she should have been in the Halls.’

Ecthelion scrubbed his hands through his hair. ‘Do you not believe I have asked myself the same question?’ he said. ‘Or, if I knew, that I would not tell you? No.  I have no recollection of Idril in the Halls of Mandos but then, I have little recollection of anyone else there, either.’

‘Could we ask Námo?  Or perhaps one of his aides?’

‘They would not deign to tell us,’ he said with a crooked smile.

‘Lady Anairë was quite pleased when you arrived,’ he said, changing the subject.

‘Inglor mentioned as much, but I must be a very poor trade for Idril.’

‘That is not the way of things,’ he said, shaking his head.  ‘No one can trade one person with another.’ 

The melancholy in his voice made Haleth wonder whom he would have traded, if he could.  It would be rude to ask, so she said nothing.  The waves whispered upon the sand.  The sun was sinking into the west and the shadows cast by the Pelori stretched far out to sea.

Haleth climbed to her feet.  Ecthelion might be content to sit and watch the waves, but she had to move. 

Walking was difficult as her boots sunk into the soft sand. It took an extra effort to not tread upon the jewels.  They were beautiful, but now that she knew it was contrived, it seemed a stale, static beauty.  Tirion was much the same.  The streets shone with diamond dust and the buildings gleamed like living things in the moonlight, but many of the homes were devoid of life and the streets were half deserted.  How long would it take for those lost in the Elder Days to return to their homes, as Ecthelion had done?  And how would they behave when they did?  Was that strange sense of long-held grief what had driven Inglor to Middle-earth? 

Guilt stabbed at her when she thought of Inglor.  She had been purposely avoiding him, still angry at the choice he had made for her.  What had possessed him to do such a thing?  There was little point in dwelling on it as there was no way to undo it now.  All the same, she still wanted to shout at him for behaving the way he had.  She had agreed to accompany Ecthelion to annoy Inglor as much as to escape Tirion. 

The golden light of the sun streamed through the cleft of the Calacirya, turning the sea and the sand to gold flecked with gemstones. 

Haleth was seized by a desire to climb.  There had been a tower on her grandfather’s estate.  She had climbed to the top with him one day.  He had given her a spyglass and shown her where to look and she had seen the white towers of Avallonë.  Aman lacked horizons.  If she climbed high enough, would she be able to see beyond the white towers of Tol Eressëa in the clear air of Valinor?  Without a horizon would she see all the way back to Middle-earth? 

There was a ledge on the rock face that marked the western edge of the beach.  A light trail was worn into the side of the ridge, but she would have to walk back the way she had come to reach the beginning of it.  She squinted upwards.  The stone offered many hand and footholds and the sun would set before she could walk around and follow the path. 

Hiking her skirts into her belt, Haleth climbed the rock face.  It went well until she was just below the ledge, then the stone beneath her right hand crumbled.  She was reaching for another handhold when a strong hand fastened about her wrist and Ecthelion pulled her up the rest of the way.

‘Thank-you,’ she mumbled, rubbing her abused wrist.

‘There is Tol Eressëa,’ he said, pointing to the expanse of green amid the blue of the sea.  ‘And there,’ he said, sweeping his arm to the north and then to the south, ‘are the Enchanted Isles.’

Haleth followed the arc of his motion.  If she squinted she could see fragments of grey and green scattered in the ocean.  But what was that beyond Tol Eressëa, that dark speck right at the edge of her vision?  Her heart pounded in her chest.  Could that be, after all these years?  She leaned forward, eager to get a better view. 

‘Lord Ecthelion, do you see…?’  She lost her balance, pitching forward.  The beach seemed a very long way down.  Hopefully the sand would cushion some of the blow when she landed. The way her luck went, she would have several gemstones embedded in her flesh.

A strong hand caught her by the belt and pulled her from the brink of disaster.

‘You should be more careful,’ said Ecthelion sternly. 

‘Lord Ecthelion, do you see it?’ Haleth asked.

‘I see a woman who is amazingly calm about falling off a cliff,’ he said dryly.

‘Yes, yes, thank-you for saving me,’ Haleth said, waving her hand in dismissal.  ‘But look there, past Tol Eressëa.  Can you not see it?’

Keeping a firm grip on her belt, Ecthelion stared into the east while Haleth quivered with anticipation.   

‘I see a great mountain rising out of the sea,’ he finally said.

‘The Meneltarma!’ Haleth cried. 

‘Don’t you see?’ she asked to his questioning expression.  ‘The Meneltarma was the most sacred place upon the island of Númenor.  I thought it was drowned forever, but if you can see it…’ 

All of her strength drained away.  She would have sat down hard if Ecthelion had not kept a tight grasp on her belt.

‘Home,’ she whispered.  After all this time of believing, no, knowing it was gone beyond recall, there was Númenor, or at least a part of it, above the waves.  In that moment she would have gladly traded all of her immortal life to set foot upon that familiar shore one, last time. 

‘Yes,’ said Ecthelion, alarmed by her pale, shocked expression.  ‘I do believe I should bring you home now.’