Glorfindel didn't want to leave Triwathon's side, not for a second. He was worried about him, and wanted nothing more than to hold him close and keep him safe, so the only thing for it was to walk away from him and talk sternly to himself about the need to behave with some propriety in Elrond's hall.

He found the little cluster of Silvan guards and waited to be acknowledged before speaking.

'Your pardon,' he said. 'But my friend Triwathon would like a moment's speech with Captain Celeguel, if she is not busy?'

'For the Commander, I am never too busy,' she said with a smile. 'Where is he?'

'Come, let me take you across.'

But Glorfindel had had time to take no more than one step with Celeguel at his side when he was hailed.

'Glorfindel! A moment of your time, if you please!'

The Balrog-slayer hid a sigh and bowed to Celeguel.

'Triwathon is over in the far alcove with Elladan, one of Lord Elrond's sons who, I understand, is very interested in getting to know you.'

'I thank you for the warning, my lord.'

'Glorfindel!'

'I'd better go.'

'Over here,' Elrond said. 'I do not want the entire hall to hear what I have to say.'

'Oh? Is something amiss? An attack?'

'No, it's not danger... it is you.'

'Me?'

'Yes. When Erestor told me he had invited Triwathon and Arveldir here for Yule, and that he thought it would help your nerves to spend time with your old friend, I was more than happy to welcome them… you know I do not, in general, approve of same-gender relationships, but for your peace of mind I was willing to overlook the matter, assuming you would, at least, remember to behave with propriety in my hall… instead of which, you… robes and circlets, what were you thinking?'

'I was thinking, you said formal wear, Erestor provided Triwathon with the robe… I thought you'd like to see the finery out on show, you're always telling me I don't dress up enough…'

'And then all through supper, you were flirting and mauling the poor fellow; it is to be hoped he did not feel uncomfortable with such a lack of decorum…'

'It's hardly likely, Elrond, and, anyway…'

Glorfindel broke off. If Elrond was intent on delivering a lecture, there was not a lot that would deflect him, and besides, mention of Erestor's food-play with Arveldir would only get them into trouble, too…

'And then you embraced him as you got up from the table…'

'He was in pain, he needed support!' Glorfindel found his patience running out, but he tried to be calm, to explain. 'Elladan was there, too, he helped steady him…'

'This hall may be reduced, Glorfindel, but it still has its dignity, it needs its dignity and I warn you, I will not have you behaving like some love-struck fool…'

It was too much, but Elrond didn't notice the change in his seneschal, didn't notice his fists clench at his sides, his shoulders brace and stiffen. Instead, he simply carried on with his diatribe.

'I could hardly bear to look at you at times tonight; you should know I do not like to see…'

Glorfindel took a step back and a deep breath.

'Then don't look, Elrond!' he shouted. 'Eru knows you've been not-looking at everyone else tonight! Why pick on me?'

With that he turned on his heel and stalked out of the Hall of Fire, head held high, shaking and trembling with fury and fighting back the tears. How typical, how like Elrond, to give with one hand and then snatch everything away with both, just when you thought things were going really well, at last, to leave you broken and make you feel you ought to be ashamed of being yourself...

He slammed his hands against the double doors and headed out into the night.

From the alcove, Triwathon and his companions watched as the conversation between Glorfindel and Elrond escalated, as Elrond grew sterner of face and Glorfindel's gestures grew bigger, his body language defiant, his voice louder.

'Oh, that does not look good!' Elrohir said, picking up the repeated word 'dignity' from his father.

They all flinched at Glorfindel's shout, but Erestor nodded.

'Well said, mellon-nin,' he murmured. 'Triwathon, this is my fault… I was, perhaps, a little forward in my behaviour at the dinner table and, since Elrond knows it is no good trying to make me change my manners, he has obviously decided to vent his spleen on Glorfindel…'

'I must go to him.'

'He will probably be in the stables with his horse. I will show you the way… presently,' Erestor said. 'It seems my lord is on his way over to see how much of that exchange we heard… and agreed with… bear in mind, he likes to pretend all here are friends, and not lovers…'

'Mellyn-nin, ion-nin…' Elrond's smile looked a little forced, but he approached with dignity and stature and smiled down at the table. 'You will excuse Lord Glorfindel, I hope, Commander Triwathon; he suffered much during the First Age and he is still, I think, haunted by the events that led to the loss of his life…'

'There is no need to apologise for Glorfindel, my lord,' Triwathon said. 'He and I have talked about his past.'

'Yes, a terrible thing… even so, I really do not know what is wrong with him…'

'We have just come through a long period of strife culminating in a terrible war, Lord Elrond,' Triwathon said. 'And so you had need of the Balrog-slayer…'

'Yes, indeed, Glorfindel's strength and might of arms has been invaluable…'

'And you have needed the Balrog-slayer for so long, for so many decades, that he has lost sight of himself. He is so much more than that, my lord, he was the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, a favourite of the king, he was loved and valued for things other than his warcraft. That is all that is wrong with him.'

Pain jittered through Triwathon's side as he made to get to his feet. He gasped. Erestor reached out to support him, the guard Rusdir coming to his side to steady him.

'The Commander's injury still troubles him, Lord Elrond,' he said.

Elrond ducked his head, realising at last that at least one of the accusations he'd levelled at his seneschal had been mistaken.

'If you will excuse me,' Triwathon said as politely as he could manage, 'I will seek Glorfindel and remind him of all that he is. Thank you, my lord, for the honour of a place at your table. I am most grateful.'

'If you are in pain,' Elrond said, 'I will be glad to attend your hurts, Commander.'

'Thank you, it is nothing that Lord Glorfindel cannot help me with; I would not wish to trouble you, my lord, when you have your hall to attend to.'

Triwathon bowed his head briefly and then turned to Erestor, who nodded and set off at his side.

'It is not far, Commander…this way…'

He picked up a storm lantern from a table near the back of the house and led Triwathon out and down the steps, Rusdir supporting him on the other side.

'I admire your courage, Triwathon, addressing Elrond in such a manner,' Erestor began. 'But the fact is, you are such a pleasantly-spoken fellow, he will find it impossible to take offence at anything you say as long as you say it so gently… have you thought about going into politics?'

Triwathon laughed.

'No, indeed – I prefer to recognise my enemies from the first.'

'And so, across the courtyard you will find the stable block. Asfaloth – Glorfindel's horse – is in the third stall from the end. He will be there.'

'Can you manage, Commander?' Rusdir asked.

'I am grateful, I will be fine. In truth, the pain has gone, but if Elrond is watching, I would not have him know that…'

'A shame you will not go into politics,' Erestor said, handing him the lantern. 'You would be a natural.'

Triwathon found his way to the stable block easily enough, and the rough, deep gasping of Glorfindel's sobs drew him to the correct stall. He lifted the latch.

Instantly, silence, other than the soft huffling of the horse.

'It is only me,' Triwathon said, slipping inside the stall and hanging the lantern from a hook on the wall. 'I have come to admire your horse.'

Glorfindel was leaning against Asfaloth's neck, his golden hair mingling with the white hairs of the horse's mane. He stiffened at Triwathon's voice and took a huge and ragged breath.

'He is a very fine horse,' Triwathon said, putting a gentle hand on Glorfindel's shoulder, encouraging him to turn. 'But if you need a shoulder to lean on, I am here now.'

He put his arms around Glorfindel as he found himself enfolded in a shuddery embrace, rubbing his hands over the broad, shaking shoulders.

'Tomorrow, Honey Beer, we will gather the guard and leave. We will spend the evening under the stars, observing the Night of the Names, and then we will ride for Eryn Lasgalen, will that help?'

Glorfindel said nothing; he just buried his face more deeply in Triwathon's hair.

'My king will be glad to welcome you; there is a new company forming for warrior couples, we could put our names forward… Shall we? It is peace time, after all, there will be little actual fighting. You deserve a happier home than this, my dear Laurefindil… Or the Grey Havens; I assume you know the way… I will ride you to a ship, if that's what you need, if I cannot help you…'

'No!'

Now Glorfindel pulled away to glare at Triwathon.

'No, I can't, I'm not done here yet, and you… you…' He shook his head, realisation dawning. 'You would give me up?'

'With very bad grace.' Triwathon pushed Glorfindel's hair back off his face, wiped the tears from his cheeks. 'But if all I can do for you is put you back in the hands of your forever love to let him care for you, then it is what I will do.'

'No…' Glorfindel whispered. 'No, it is just… Elrond. I get a little… impatient with him, sometimes.'

'I am not surprised, if he treats you with so little respect. You, his loyal seneschal…'

'His Balrog-slayer.'

'No, that you are not.' Triwathon locked his gaze on Glorfindel's eyes, now teared and reddened, but still, so very blue, and made his voice strong. 'You are Turgon's Balrog-slayer, Laurefindil, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. You are one of the great Elven Lords of old, a friend of the Valar, you have seen the legendary Light of the West. You are the beloved consort of the Lord of the Fountains, you are he who has died and come back to live and walk amongst us, and you are kind and gentle to strangers and your eyes are – even now – much too blue.'

Glorfindel sniffed and cleared his throat.

'Far too wise for me, you are,' he said. 'No, I won't be sailing for a good while yet. Elrond is talking of going soon – within a handful of years – so if I can just wait him out…'

'What happened in the hall?' Triwathon asked. 'All I heard was you telling him not to look…'

'He said he didn't like to see me… um… flirting with you. Yet he sees Erestor practically seducing Arveldir with his dinner, and Elrohir cuddling up to your escort guard… and because I stop you falling over…'

Triwathon laced his hands together around Glorfindel's neck, beneath the golden hair.

'Erestor said something about how Elrond won't complain about him, and so he took it out on you, instead.'

'Yes, that sounds about right.' Glorfindel tipped his head back, leaning against Triwathon's hands, and sighed. 'Sorry, beautiful, I wanted tonight to be pleasant for you and instead I shout at Elrond and abandon you while I come out here… which is stupid, because I am wasting time and why should I feel sorry for myself anyway? You are here.'

'Yes, I am. And, if you feel able, will you come to my room and look at my injury?'

'I… but Elrond…'

'Elrond saw I was in pain, and offered his services. I declined. Why would I want him prodding me when I can have your gentle hands on my skin?'

'We'd better get back to the house, then. Are you in any pain now?'

'No, I'm fine.'

'Pity. Could have carried you up the stairs.'

'Oh, that would never do… your left arm around my waist, and my arm around your shoulders, and that way you are simply helping.' 'What, like this?' Glorfindel slid a supporting arm around Triwathon. 'Ready?'

'Ready, yes.'

Triwathon's room was on the floor above Glorfindel's, and looked across the valley towards the Misty Mountains, now hidden behind thick curtains. A fire burned in the grate and a storm lantern and taper stood on the hearth, ready for lighting.

It was a large chamber, furnished for sleeping, sitting and working and Glorfindel helped his friend across to the bed.

'Sit you there, I'll get your lamps lit for you… I'm surprised at Elrond, putting you in here. You'll get the morning sun. It does look magnificent, rising over the mountains and, granted, morning isn't that early this time of year…'

Triwathon smiled as he watched his Honey Beer setting the room to rights. Soon, lamps and lanterns lit, the room glowed as golden as Glorfindel's hair.

'There. Now I have light to work by. Let me properly look at this injury… and why did you not say something when I had you naked earlier?'

'Because I wanted you to look at me as a lover, not as a wounded ellon.'

Triwathon began to undress so that he could bare his side; Glorfindel helped.

'I had better set this circlet aside, too. Thank you for the use of it, hir-nin, you honoured me.'

'Triwathon, it was a pleasure to see you wear it.'

He set the circlet down on a table and placed his own next to it before helping pull Triwathon's boots off and slide down his leggings, bringing the lantern close to the site of the injury.

'Do you mind if I open the curtains? There's a nice, fat moon out there and I find it helps me concentrate…'

'Not at all.'

Once the curtains were thrown wide to admit the spilled milk of moonlight into the chamber, Glorfindel poured water into a basin and washed his hands before coming back and kneeling by the bedside. Triwathon gasped as cool hands covered his skin.

'Sorry, beautiful, the water was cold… relax, now, let me work…'

Triwathon closed his eyes and allowed himself to melt into the mattress, following the touch of Glorfindel's gentle fingers glancing around the hole in his side left by the spear.

'Your ribs broke, your diaphragm ripped, your lung was punctured. How you weren't killed…'

'I needed to live so that I could see you again,' Triwathon murmured. 'Lord Námo would have taken me, if I'd wanted.'

'I'm sure he would. He always chose his companions wisely… Oh, Triwathon! When I greeted you, I hugged you too tightly, right on the site of your wound and you didn't say…'

'I didn't care. I just wanted to feel your arms around me.'

'Hush, now. I'm just going to tell your body how to be stronger…'

Glorfindel began to hum softly under his breath, a low and sonorous sound, the words in it hidden and muted. He laid his hands on Triwathon's side and felt the heat grow beneath his palms, spread out into the skin and muscle beneath, reached deeper in to resonate in bone and sinew, to soothe away the pain and leave a gentle warmth behind. His song ended, he lifted his head to see Triwathon looking at him with tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

'How does that feel, penneth?'

'I feel much better, thank you.' Triwathon caressed the golden head, stroked the beautiful hair. 'And so do you.'

Glorfindel laughed, rising to sit on the side of the bed.

'Yes, yes, I really do… perhaps it's as you say, I'd forgotten I could do that… I've allowed Elrond to choose those bits of my nature that he needs and I've stifled the rest of myself for too long…' Gently he gathered Triwathon in his arms and hugged him, careful to avoid his ribs. 'Thank you, my dear, beautiful love. You show me how to be complete again. May I stay with you tonight?'

'I would like that.' Triwathon disentangled himself gently. 'Now, before we get too wrapped up in each other, I have something for you… and you are wearing far too many clothes, hir-nin Honey Beer…'

Glorfindel pulled the curtains closed and began to undress, his eyes rapt on Triwathon as his young lover opened the chest at the foot of the bed and took out a neat package.

'It is given with love,' Triwathon said, handing Glorfindel the gift and returning to sit cross-legged on the bed. 'It helped me through the pain, to work on this while I was recovering…'

'Then, thank you.' Glorfindel began to open the wrappings. 'Thank you for thinking of me, when you were in pain. Thank you for… Oh, Triwathon…!'

Inside the package were two towels, their exact shade difficult to make out in the lamplight, but that they were blue, most definitely blue, and with yellow flowers embroidered on the border, was undoubtedly the case.

'I had to ask someone else to dye the fabric,' Triwathon said. 'So the shade may not be right.'

'But it is, it is right, even if it was pink, it would be right…' Glorfindel began to laugh, and he joined Triwathon on the bed to hug him while he laughed, and if there were a few tears as well, they were good tears, cleansing and revitalising. 'I cannot thank you enough.'

'Just enjoy them, use them, think of me while you do. And now the roads are safer, it should be easier to send you more.'

'Or for me to collect them from you.'

'Or for me to deliver them.'

Glorfindel stroked the fabric and made to move the towels to one side. As he did so, a small, flat bottle fell out.

'Ah, yes,' Triwathon added. 'Surprise.'

'Oil from the yellowest flowers you could find… or from the seeds of them, yes?'

'Yes. Again, I had to have help with this but… nobody knew what I wanted it for. Nobody knows why.'

'Triwathon, I… I didn't know you would be here, I have nothing for you…'

Triwathon smiled and opened his arms.

'Yes, you have,' he said.