'Almost there,' Calithilon said. 'Home in time for Yuletide, Glorfindel, if not the actual Yulefest Eve feast itself.'

'Good.' Glorfindel tried not to sound terse, but, even under the dense canopy of Mirkwood's thickest trees, the chill rain had found the gap between his cloak and his neck with determined precision. At least it wasn't snowing. 'I've had enough feasts in my lives to last me forever. There are other things I want.'

'What will you seek first?'

Calithilon asked the age-old homebound warrior's question, seeking to raise their mood. For all was well, really, and they should ride in proud and with high-held heads.

'For me, a soak in the bath,' Erthor, the other guard replied. 'You?'

'My sweetheart's smile. Even though I'm certain to get a scold for coming back so late! Glorfindel, what of you?'

'Oh, many things would be good… but first, very first, the sight of a certain beautiful ellon's smile, Triwathon the flame-haired, that will content me.'

'And so, baths, scolds, and smiles. Let us straighten our backs, then, and ride forward to these much-deserved comforts!'

Calithilon was trying, Glorfindel had to admit, so he made himself sit taller in the saddle and tried to contribute.

'What's that song Bregon's lot are always singing? Let's give the forest some voices, shall we?'

At this time of evening, well into the winter dark, the gate guards closed the door and stood duty from inside the palace. As far as they knew, everyone who was due back from patrol had already arrived, so the sound of a slightly ragged rendering of 'Heroes Coming Home' from outside was a little startling.

'Ai, Valar! Who can it be?' the first asked.

'I am sure that is Erthor! They are back, back from their errand! Send word, let the king know, quickly!' the second said, unbarring the gate as his companion ran off to alert the palace as the little troop came into sight and crossed the bridge.

'Leave everything to us,' Calithilon said, taking the reins of Glorfindel's horse. 'Erthor and I will take your horse round, get yourself indoors, my lord; the feast may not have ended yet.'

So… as soon as they had come in sight of the palace gates, he was Lord Glorfindel once more. Ah, well. For a while, it had been good to just ride with fellow warriors, but palace protocols… Erthor and Calithilon might earn themselves a rebuke if any heard them calling him just by name now.

'My thanks,' Glorfindel said, swinging down from the saddle but not relinquishing his reins. 'But I'll come round with you. I don't feel much like feasting. But will you see these reports and letters get to the king, or at least to his advisor tonight?'

'Of course, my lord.'

'I'm grateful. Want to just get my saddlebags and ask after my friend Triwathon…'

But once they got to the barracks, no-one seemed to know where the warrior might be.

'He was off duty a while ago,' someone told him.

'I saw him leave the feasting halls earlier,' another said. 'Perhaps to the baths, or to his quarters.'

'Oh, I know the way,' Glorfindel said. 'My thanks; I'm in need of a bath myself anyway.'

He bid goodnight and set off back into the palace.

It was rather gloomy, he thought. Someone had made an attempt to decorate for Yulefest; there were occasional swags of evergreens over the arches to the corridors, dotted with bright berries, but they were few, and the corridors felt cold and damp. He couldn't help remembering the splendour of the House of the Golden Flower, decorated for all the feasts of the season, or even the more restrained (although still festive) halls of Imladris in their elegant acknowledgement to the turn of the solstice.

When he got to his destination, though, the shared bathing rooms were empty. Even so, Glorfindel stayed away from the end where ellyn looking for company tended to congregate, just in case; the only ellon he wanted to see tonight was Triwathon. Still, the water was hot and refreshing, and he felt better for washing away the mire of the journey.

Warm again, Glorfindel dressed in clean clothes from his saddlebags and headed off through the corridors; there was nothing for it but to knock on Triwathon's door.

He took a moment to straighten his tunic, flick his hair back, lick his lips before he knocked.

No answer.

No answer, but when he tentatively tried the handle, the door opened like an invitation.

'Triwathon?'

Glorfindel brought the corridor lamp in with him and stared, not sure what he was seeing.

Or wasn't seeing.

It certainly wasn't decorated for Yulefest.

The room was empty; well, not empty as such; the bed was there, covers rolled up, pillows on top… it was just unoccupied.

What had happened? Where was Triwathon? Not… not dead?

Panic seized him for a moment until he realised, he'd been asking, have you seen Triwathon, and the name was used freely back to him, and, besides, they had suggested where to look…

He was just… not here.

Disappointment and exhaustion caught up with Glorfindel suddenly and he dropped down onto the bed in near-despair. Where was Triwathon? He'd brought something home for him for Yule, nothing much, just something he'd found along the way he thought might be appreciated. And now it was Yuletide Night, and there was no Triwathon and no warmth and he had so been looking forward to that famous Triwathon cuddle, the long limbs wrapping round him, it was all he wanted for Yule, a cuddle from Triwathon…

Well, maybe he'd come back soon?

Glorfindel unrolled the covers and curled up, holding one of the pillows close against his chest. If he inhaled deeply, he was sure there was just a trace of Triwathon left there... and he was still inhaling sadly when reverie swooped down to bless him with sleep.