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‘What noisy thing was that?’ said Ancalimë.

‘A boy,’ said Zamîn, ‘if you know what that is. But how should you? They’re breakers and eaters, mostly. That one is ever eating – but not to no purpose. A fine lad his father will find when he comes back; but if that is not soon, he’ll scarce know him. I might say that of others.’

‘Has the boy then a father too?’ asked Ancalimë.

‘To be sure,’ said Zamîn. ‘Ulbar, one of the shepherds of the great lord away south: the Sheep-lord we call him, a kinsman of the King.’

‘Then why is the boy’s father not at home?’

‘Why, hérinkë,’ said Zamîn, ‘because he heard of those Venturers, and took up with them, and went away with your father, the Lord Aldarion: but the Valar know whither, or why.’

That evening Ancalimë said suddenly to her mother: ‘Is my father also called the Lord Aldarion?’

‘He was,’ said Erendis. ‘But why do you ask?’ Her voice was quiet and cool, but she wondered and was troubled; for no word concerning Aldarion had passed between them before.

Ancalimë did not answer the question. ‘When will he come back?’ she said.

‘Do not ask me!’ said Erendis. ‘I do not know. Never, perhaps. But do not trouble yourself; for you have a mother, and she will not run away, while you love her.’

Ancalimë did not speak of her father again.

The days passed bringing in another year, and then another; in that spring Ancalimë was nine years old. Lambs were born and grew; shearing came and passed; a hot summer burned the grass. Autumn turned to rain. Then out of the East upon a cloudy wind Hirilondë came back over the grey seas, bearing Aldarion to Rómenna; and word was sent to Emerië, but Erendis did not speak of it. There were none to greet Aldarion upon the quays. He rode through the rain to Armenelos; and he found his house shut. He was dismayed, but he would ask news of no man; first he would seek the King, for he thought he had much to say to him.

He found his welcome no warmer than he looked for; and Meneldur spoke to him as King to a captain whose conduct is in question. ‘You have been long away,’ he said coldly. ‘It is more than three years now since the date that you set for your return.’

‘Alas!’ said Aldarion. ‘Even I have become weary of the sea, and for long my heart has yearned westward. But I have been detained against my heart: there is much to do. And all things go backward in my absence.’

‘I do not doubt it,’ said Meneldur. ‘You will find it true here also in your right land, I fear.’

‘That I hope to redress,’ said Aldarion. ‘But the world is changing again. Outside nigh on a thousand years have passed since the Lords of the West sent their power against Angband; and those days are forgotten, or wrapped in dim legend among Men of Middle-earth. They are troubled again, and fear haunts them. I desire greatly to consult with you, to give account of my deeds, and my thought concerning what should be done.’

‘You shall do so,’ said Meneldur. ‘Indeed I expect no less. But there are other matters which I judge more urgent. “Let a King first rule well his own house ere he correct others”, it is said. It is true of all men. I will now give you counsel, son of Meneldur. You have also a life of your own. Half of yourself you have ever neglected. To you I say now: Go home!’

Aldarion stood suddenly still, and his face was stern. ‘If you know, tell me,’ he said. ‘Where is my home?’

‘Where your wife is,’ said Meneldur. ‘You have broken your word to her, whether by necessity or no. She dwells now in Emerië, in her own house, far from the sea. Thither you must go at once.’

‘Had any word been left for me, whither to go, I would have gone directly from the haven,’ said Aldarion. ‘But at least I need not now ask tidings of strangers.’ He turned then to go, but paused, saying: ‘Captain Aldarion has forgotten somewhat that belongs to his other half, which in his waywardness he also thinks urgent. He has a letter that he was charged to deliver to the King in Armenelos.’ Presenting it to