For Haleth, the days passed in much the same haze as they had before Idril had awakened.  The only change was that Idril replaced her in helping to sail the ship while Haleth languished for want of water.  Inglor had help rowing the boat whenever the wind died away.

The dawns continued to bring a thick blanket of fog and while it was never enough to truly alleviate Haleth’s thirst, at least it was sufficient to keep her from dying.  She spent most of her days propped up against the side of the boat, listlessly watching the others and eavesdropping on their conversation.  At least she assumed it was eavesdropping.  At first they had made the attempt to include her in their discussions but Haleth found it almost impossible to make any meaningful contribution. 

Inglor set up a small, tent-like contraption with a cloak and an unused oar as protection from the afternoon sun.  It was under this that Haleth spent most of her days. 

It was a hot afternoon.  The wind had died and Inglor was rowing the boat when Idril began a discussion with him.

‘From whence does Haleth come?’ she asked.  “She is not from the Havens unless she arrived as a refugee some time after we sailed for I know her not.  Nor do I know from which of the Houses of Men she has sprung.’

‘Haleth is from a place that no longer exists,’ said Inglor.

‘What place is that?’ asked Idril after a time spent pondering this revelation.  Even in her weakened state Haleth could appreciate the confusion Inglor had just caused. 

‘It would probably be best if you waited until Haleth is again capable of answering those questions herself,’ said Inglor. 

‘How did you happen upon her?’ asked Idril after a long lull in the conversation.

‘She was drowning in a lake.  I rescued her,’ said Inglor.

‘That would seem rather clumsy even for one of the Secondborn,’ said Idril.  ‘Did she meet some mischief that sent her tumbling into the water?’

‘No,’ said Inglor.  ‘She was searching for something.’

‘Does she often search for things underwater?’ asked Idril lightly.

‘She searches wherever she thinks she might find a thing of interest,’ Inglor replied.

‘I have been wondering, Inglor of the House of Arafinwë.  If so many years have passed since Tuor and I sailed to beg the aid of the Valar against the might of the Enemy, how is it that no one has searched for us until now?  Did no one know of the tale of Idril and Tuor and how they had sailed into the West to seek aid?

Haleth held her breath and waited for Inglor’s reply, wishing that she could see his face.  She had wondered about this but had never dared to ask.  Haleth had the impression there was very little Idril would not dare.

‘Pardon me, my lady but it was widely known you had sailed.  It was also widely known that you never reached your intended destination.  The assumption was that you – you and your lord husband and Voronwë – had all perished at sea in ages past.’

There was another very long pause in the conversation while Haleth resolutely resisted the temptation to crawl from beneath the tent to look upon Idril’s face.  If they were aware that she was awake, Haleth was quite certain the topic of conversation would immediately change.

‘Tell me, Inglor of the House of Arafinwë, if this was the case it seems as though your companion and you discovered us only by a happy accident while you were searching for another thing,’ said Idril stiffly.

‘No.’ The answer came quickly and with Inglor’s quiet vehemence.  ‘We came in search of you.’

‘And why would a son of the House of Arafinwë, after seven thousand years had passed, suddenly decide to search for his supposedly dead relatives?’

‘Did she say seven thousand?’ Haleth thought.  ‘No.  It must have been several thousand.’

There was another long pause in the conversation.  Haleth, through long familiarity with Inglor’s habits, was not surprised.  He had ignored many of her questions as well.  Still, she had the impression it would be far more difficult to put off the formidable Idril. As an immortal Firstborn, Idril’s attention span was much longer. It occurred to Haleth that she was now immortal herself; she could afford to patiently wait for the end of Inglor’s long silences.  Their conversations would be different from this time forth – assuming she survived this adventure.   

The day grew warm and still Inglor gave no answer.  Haleth struggled against the sleepiness that always claimed her in the afternoon, determined to remain awake in case Idril pressed Inglor for an answer.

‘I must confess it was neither me nor any of the Firstborn who thought to seek for you.  It was Haleth.’

Haleth held her breath, anticipating some indication of disbelief from Idril. She was rather surprised when none came.  Instead Idril asked, ‘What matter of woman seeks for people who were supposedly drowned?’

‘One who excels at finding whatever she sets out in search of,’ Inglor replied lightly.

‘It may rain later this day,’ said Inglor.

‘It may,’ Idril agreed.  ‘We shall have to contrive a way to catch the sweet water.’

‘I believe I would enjoy a respite,’ he said.

‘I shall take up the oars,’ said Idril.

Several minutes later, Inglor crawled beneath the makeshift canopy and lay down beside Haleth.  She rolled over so that her head rested upon his shoulder before surrendering to slumber.

The white, jagged teeth of the Pelori loomed before them.  Haleth sat listlessly in the bow and watched the mountains grow larger as Inglor and Idril discussed where to land. 

Their first concern was to secure fresh water.  The mountains were adorned with many high cascades, the water melting from the ever-lasting snows on the high peaks.  Streams poured across the narrow strip of land Araman to flow into the sea. 

‘When last I was here this land was empty,’ said Idril, gazing at the verdant foothills.

‘Much has changed in the ages since the death of the Trees,’ said Inglor.  ‘The light of Anor touches both sides of the Pelori.’

‘Yet the light is not the same,’ said Idril.

‘No, it is not,’ Inglor agreed. 

‘What of Tirion?  How has it faired in this Age of the Sun?’ asked Idril.

‘Tirion fairs as it always has, although many of the houses remain empty.’

‘Have so few returned to Valinor?’ asked Idril. 

‘Many of our people who returned from Middle-earth now reside on Tol Eressëa,’ said Inglor. 

‘They have not returned to Tirion?’ asked Idril.

‘Not all of them, no,’ said Inglor, shifting uncomfortably.

‘The pardon of the Valar is difficult to earn,’ said Idril.  She sounded vexed. ‘And what of those who fell defending Middle-earth from the Enemy.  How many of them have returned from Mandos’ Halls?’ 

Inglor did not reply for a long time.  Haleth amused herself by watching the gulls swoop and dive over the water.

‘Some have,’ he eventually said.  ‘But very few: Findaranto, Glorfindel and Ecthelion are among them.’

‘Your esteemed father, Lord Turukano is not,’ said Haleth, turning around to join the conversation.  The elves were examining her with blank expressions, seemingly astonished at her bluntness.   Their attitude annoyed her.  She was sick to death of their circumspect conversations.  They were in dire need of a lesson in straight-forwardness.

‘Your father, uncles and grandfather are, to my knowledge, still in Mandos.  Your grandmother on your father’s side is not and she misses you very, very much and longs to see you again, though I dare say she was not be expecting you to be here or she would have searched for you herself.  As you know your son is a star.  His son dwells on Tol Eressëa. Your descendants walk in Middle-earth and have done many deeds, both grievous and wonderful…’

‘Haleth is numbered among them,’ Inglor interrupted.  It brought Haleth up short.  She glared at him in silent accusation.

Idril, already overwhelmed by the tide of information, stared at Haleth in shock.

‘You are my descendant?’ she whispered.

‘Yes,’ said Haleth, shifting uncomfortably and silently cursing Inglor for making the revelation. Idril was obviously scandalized to discover her blood flowed in such a scruffy individual. ‘But there are many, many generations…’

‘Good,’ said Idril.

‘I—beg your pardon?’ asked Haleth who had been expecting a polite, subdued expression of profound disappointment.

‘I said good,’ Idril repeated, eyes flashing.  ‘You are willing to act instead of endlessly speaking while accomplishing nothing at all.’

Haleth looked from Idril to Inglor in confusion.  He refused to make eye contact, but she guessed by the way he enthusiastically worked the oars that he was quite amused by the entire exchange.  If it had not been so much work to move, she would have clambered over Idril and swatted him.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked in a very transparent attempt to change the subject.

‘We are going to land in Araman and take on fresh water,’ said Inglor.

‘Yes, yes,’ said Haleth. There was no need for a reminder. Thirst had been her constant companion for days.  ‘Where are we going afterwards?’

‘Unless another settlement has been built, Alqualondë is now closest.  We shall land there,’ said Idril.

Inglor looked doubtful.  ‘It would be best if we sailed to Eldamar and asked the help of our own people in Tirion.  My father has...’

‘That would take too much time,’ said Idril adamantly.  ‘We land in Alqualondë.  Of the three Kindreds, the Teleri are the best sailors; or they were in the days of my father.  Is that no longer true?’

‘It’s true,’ croaked Haleth when Inglor refused to answer.

‘Then we make for Alqualondë,’ said Idril.

‘I am not entirely certain our plea for aid would be happily received,’ said Inglor with great reluctance. 

The atmosphere in the ship cooled perceptibly. 

‘My father helped put a stop to the massacre,’ growled Idril.  ‘He risked life and limb to save those people.’

‘I do not doubt the valour of Lord Turukano,’ said Inglor softly.  ‘But the old wounds have not healed.’

‘It is of no consequence,’ said Idril with a sweep of her hand.  ‘My husband is of the Secondborn and Voronwë is of their own kin.  They have no reason to refuse us aid.’

Haleth had severe reservations but Idril was so determined that she dared not give them voice.  So it seemed with Inglor, who continued to row towards the eastern coast of Valinor without further comment, his lips set in a thin, worried line.

‘We’re stopping for water first,’ said Haleth sullenly.

Idril laughed aloud while Inglor smiled at her indignation.  Their reaction annoyed her. From fog and rain they had barely managed to collect enough water for the three of them to survive, let alone wash.  Haleth had been parched for so long that she had almost learned to disregard the discomfort of thirst, but she could not ignore the weakness.

‘It’s the first time in weeks that we’re close to a source of fresh water that won’t set me to sleep for centuries,’ she mumbled.  The moment of fury had passed, taking its burst of energy along with it. Overcome by vertigo, she sank down, her head lolling.

There was a long silence from the back of the ship.  Haleth squeezed her eyes tightly shut and waited for the comment she knew would be coming.

‘There was the rain we collected,’ Inglor reminded her with gentle reproof.

‘And the fog,’ Idril chimed in.

‘I want to drink my fill without having to worry when the next drop will come.  I want to drink until my stomach hurts.  I want to take a bath.’ The last sentence was delivered with particular vehemence.

This was met by an even longer silence.

‘I believe I see the mouth of a stream where it enters the sea.  Let us go there first.’

The next few hours seemed longer than the entire voyage as Haleth watched the coast of Araman grow larger and closer but at a snail’s pace.  The scents of the land, its flowers and trees, drifted to her on stray zephyrs. She barely noticed the plants and the wildlife for all of her attention was fixed upon a stream that met the ocean in a sea of reeds. 

At last the ship sailed into the reeds, Inglor pulling on the oars against the stream’s current.  Haleth, too impatient to wait any longer, leaned over the side of the boat. Cupping her hands together, she scooped the water up to her parched lips.

‘Wait!’ called Idril as Haleth spat the brackish water out of her mouth.

‘The water is still salty,’ said Idril.

With a great heave Haleth pulled herself back into the boat and glared at Idril who, ethereally beautiful, returned her gaze with utter calmness.  Haleth wondered if stating the obvious was a trait of all elves in general or of the descendants of Finwë in particular.

She would have more than enough time to learn.  The reminder of her predicament hit her like a physical blow.  It had been easy to forget her lost mortality when there had been a looming threat of dying but now that it seems she would survive the centuries stretched before her in all of the beautiful comfort and peace that drove her to utter distraction.

Unable to hide her emotions, she sighed aloud and slumped into the boat.

‘Fear not, the water will soon be sweet,’ said Inglor who was rowing against the current. 

Haleth forced a weak smile to her face.  Trust Inglor to completely misinterpret her thoughts.

The ship cleared the reeds and entered the proper stream.  The waterway cut a path through a thick, verdant forest. 

‘The water should be sweet now,’ said Inglor as he steered the ship towards the low bank. 

Haleth bent over the side, scooped up a handful of water and brought it to her lips.  It was the purest, wettest, most wonderful drink she had ever tasted and she drank the rest greedily, scooping more and more into her hands and downing it with loud slurps.

‘Be careful.  It is not advisable to drink too deep or too quickly after such privation,’ Idril said as Haleth leaned out of the boat and scooped up water as quickly as she could.

Haleth hesitated for a moment, her hand poised half way to her lips, then rolled over the gunwale and into the stream.  The icy cold water closed over her head.  For the first instant, she had never felt anything so wonderful in her entire life.  Then it became quite cold.

She resurfaced, puffing and blowing, to the dismayed exclamations of her companions protesting the unexpected shower.

‘Could you not have waited another instant?’ Idril demanded.

‘No,’ said Haleth. Grinning like a maniac, she flailed her hand towards the ship, sending up a terrific geyser that was rewarded by wails of protest.

‘Your clothes are wet!’ cried Inglor. 

‘They needed to be washed in any case,’ shouted Haleth.  It was quite true.  She had lived in the same, salt-encrusted shirt and trousers for days. 

‘You did not empty your pockets first,’ he called.

That would certainly explain why her shirt weighed her down so much.

It was too cold to remain in the water. Haleth paddled for the shore.  The water sloshed out of her boots as she trudged on to dry land, shivering and rubbing her hands to restore some warmth to them.

Idril stepped serenely off the boat and glided into the woods.

‘Where is she going?’ Haleth asked Inglor.

‘Upstream to fill the water skins,’ he replied.  Leaping into the water, he pulled the boat towards the shore.  Haleth, hoping the exertion would be warming, joined him but it was beyond her strength.   She collapsed over the edge of the boat, suddenly unable to stand properly.  Her feet ached with the cold. Realizing she would only be making things more difficult for Inglor, she straightened up only to lose her balance and tumble backwards.  

Inglor caught her before she could land in the water.

‘Rest easy,’ he said as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to shore.

Haleth stiffened in protest, then lay her head against his shoulder.

‘I lack the resilience of the Eldar,’ she whispered.

‘It is of no importance,’ he said.

‘Isn’t it?’ she asked bitterly.

Inglor set her tenderly on the moss and sat beside her.

‘Should it be?’ he asked.

‘Inglor, your people are strong and beautiful and so very skilled at anything they turn their hands to.  I would be cheating you if I insisted upon holding you to your prom…’  She stopped in horror.  The silver betrothal ring which had been such a mystery and then caused so much consternation was gone.

‘Oh no,’ she whispered, blanching.  ‘The ring!  It must have fallen off when I was in the water!’  She stared at her hands in dismay.  ‘My fingers must have shrunk from lack of water. I’ve got to find it,’ she said, struggling to her feet.

‘There is no need, Haleth,’ said Inglor.  He pressed on her shoulders to keep her from diving into the ice-cold stream.

‘But…’ protested Haleth and then fell silent. Her heart fell to the toes of her shabby boots. She had offered Inglor his freedom; it should come as no surprise that he chose to take her at her word.  Still, she would have wept openly if only she had enough moisture to spare for tears.

‘I intend to make a proper set of gold rings as soon as we return to Tirion,’ said Inglor, oblivious to her internal turmoil. 

‘Set?’ asked Haleth without much interest.

‘One for each of us,’ he said.  ‘Elven men wear a golden ring to commemorate their wedding although it is more by custom than necessity.  One elf can look into the eyes of another and know if he is married.’

Haleth’s weakened body went limp with relief. 

‘Inglor?’ she said before he could launch into a detailed history of the laws and customs of the Eldar.

‘Yes?’ he asked innocently.

‘Nothing,’ she said as she put her arm around him and laid her head upon his shoulder.

It was a pity that Haleth did not see the expression of quiet joy upon Inglor’s face as he held her.

They might have remained locked in that position until the end of time except for Idril’s return.

‘The ship! It’s floating downstream!’

The white ship, caught in the current, was indeed drifting downstream by itself.

Idril threw the water skins to the ground and raced into the water, Inglor directly on her heels.

Haleth did her best, and horribly failed, to stifle her laughter at the sight of two elegant elves splashing through water up to their knees while chasing the wayward vessel.