Riding out into the ruined forest to where the Silvans had fallen was, indeed, grim.
Somehow, and nobody dared ask how, the dragon's corpse had gone from outside the gates, only the stained and crushed grass of the clearing suggesting where it had lain. Privately, Glorfindel suspected Oromë's host of organising the removal of the body; presumably, their hounds needed to eat something.
Oromë rode with Thranduil and Healer Nestoril, followed by Triwathon at the head of the honour guard. Glorfindel rode close, but didn't intrude; this was formal duty for the Commander. With them rode several Maiar, including Melaglir whose eyes rested often on Captain Celeguel. She, in turn, glanced at him, and any other day, Glorfindel would have been entertained by timing of the looks, so that neither met the other's eye.
Not today, however.
'Ride with me, Commander,' Thranduil said, and Triwathon gave command of the troop to Celeguel and urged his horse to the side of the king's elk. 'You have not been out since the battle?'
'No, my king, I stayed with our survivors while our Maiar friends kept our boundaries safe.'
'In fact, Triwathon, you did exactly as you should. I meant merely that this is as new to you as to us.'
'Sire, I... it is dreadful, and terrible, and I know that our trees will spring again, that the heart of our forest is dauntless,' Triwathon said. 'But even for elves, the years to its restoration will not pass swiftly in our hearts. Not after this; it is too grievous.'
Grievous, indeed.
Melaglir moved his horse through the company until he was at Oromë's side, glancing at him in a look that asked a question. The Vala nodded, lifted his hand, and the Maia moved off.
'My dear Melaglir will show us where. We are close, King Thranduil, to the start of it. Or the end, depending on your point of view.'
'So near?' Thranduil asked. 'Triwathon, I thought the settlements were further out than this, than you were happy with, as I remember from all your letters...?'
'Indeed, sire, half a mile, which is nothing, in times of ease, but this is very near...'
'Some of them got quite a long way before they were stopped,' Oromë said.
The Maia had halted off to the side of the trail, near a patch of disturbed ground.
'Here fell Seron,' he said. 'Her end was brief fear, and then nothing, but a moment of pain and after, release. I know, lest you wonder, because as I read the ground, it is as if I have seen our Lord Námo come for her. I will have seen him come for them all, lord king, when I reach the places.'
Thranduil dismounted and came to stand near the tortured earth.
'Seron, your loss angers and pains us. We honour your service, your sacrifice.'
Glorfindel wondered idly what sacrifice Seron had made, other than dying, what her service might have been. Had she a family, left to mourn? Or did all fall on the same day, separately, to be reunited in the Halls of Mandos?
The ritual was repeated all the way to the ruined settlement, out into the woods beyond, and each time Melaglir named the fallen and spoke what he knew, remembered, sensed of their ending, each time Thranduil offered his respects.
When they were done, Thranduil inclined his head to Triwathon.
'Have your company gather some of the earth from each place and bring it back in token of each. Make sure they do not get confused. These tokens will be placed in suitable containers and placed with their gemstones.'
'As you wish, my king.'
Another hard task. Triwathon stayed to see it done, Glorfindel keeping him company. At the third site, the commander touched Glorfindel's arm.
'Rhoscthel here met her end, the sister of Rusdir, the mother of Maludor and Calemirdor. If Rusdir asks, he might not want me to come with him, so...'
'Yes, I see.'
'Of course, Celeguel used to be his captain, she might want to help. She says Melaglir thinks they'll arrive later today, although how he can know...'
'I think it's like how he found everyone; he hears things that are going to happen, or that have happened. Maia. Who knows what they know?'
True enough, two hours before the dinner call, a hail from the sentries and the party from Imladris with their Maia escort rode up to the gates.
Not Triwathon's duty to greet them, not really, but with so few of the King's Office remaining, he and Faerveren went out.
The horses were approaching rapidly, but slowed before they reached the clearing.
'Who has come?' Faerveren asked. 'I see Master Feren... and there is Lord Arveldir...'
'With Erestor. Rusdir and Elrohir ride behind them.'
The horses reined in and Triwathon bowed, hurried forward.
'Welcome, mellyn-nin, come, let the servants attend your horses...'
'Is it true?' Rusdir grasped his shoulders, stared into his face. 'I keep hoping, a mistake...?'
'Calemirdor and Maludor are safe and were barely bruised; they are as well as can be expected, being cared for with other elflings... I am sorry, your sister...'
'But you have not found her, surely that means there is hope?'
Triwathon shook his head.
'I am sorry, but it is certain. We saw where she fell.'
Elrohir stepped up, put his hand on Rusdir's arm.
'Come, we knew there was no hope, not really. Commander Triwathon...'
'Lord Captain Elrohir.' Triwathon nodded. 'We are grateful that you came.'
He inclined his head and stepped away. Feren and Arveldir were talking with Faerveren, Erestor looking on.
'May I see him?' Arveldir asked.
No name was needed. Triwathon nodded. 'Of course. Follow me, my lord.'
He would have come anyway. He had come every day, sometimes more than once; it was awful, leaving Parvon there, amongst all this death, and so he had made sure his friend had not been always alone.
But it was different, bringing others here. He had to try to be detached.
Only Erestor followed him and Arveldir in, staying close to his spouse as Triwathon went through it all again, but this time with more guilt, more sorrow, for Arveldir had trained Parvon, had seen his infatuation with Triwathon settle into love, had known Triwathon could not return the depth of Parvon's feelings.
'If... if you wish to take his hand, Arveldir, you need to be the other side, I am sorry,' he said, seeing Arveldir reach out. 'On this side he was badly... badly hurt...'
'Oh, Parvon...'
'He would not let me face the dragon alone. He never let me face anything alone, not if he could help it. And without him... he made it possible for me to kill the beast...'
Arveldir did indeed take the dead ellon's hand. He bowed his head, unashamed of the tears that tumbled out of him. Erestor stood at his side in respectful silence.
'Is that true, Triwathon?' Arveldir asked presently. 'Or is it a retelling, for the sake of those left? Because... not to me. Whatever the facts, you owe them to me, however stark.'
Triwathon exhaled heavily. In a way, it would be a relief. He had not lied, not as such, but perhaps he had told the tale in such a way as to make it seem Parvon's part in it greater... he tried to forget his rank and speak just as an ellon to another ellon.
'He wouldn't let me go alone. You know he was a good shot. He insisted... and I didn't insist back, didn't say, I'm in charge, go back to your desk. Because I knew it was a two-person job, and there wasn't anyone else... His was first blood, it... did you know, it was a two-headed beast, did Feren say? Well. He damaged the maw of one head, his next arrow took out its eye... I poked its nose and we laughed, briefly. While it was distracted I leapt for the other head... I felt it begin to flame, I shouted a warning, but I was facing away, and could not see Parvon. I killed one half of the beast, then the second head, and it flailed and threw me as it died... Parvon was not in pain, at the end, Lord Oromë took it from him, and we were able to talk for a little. I was with him when Lord Námo came for his fëa. And I am so sorry, Arveldir, I keep thinking, how could I have prevented this?'
Arveldir shook his head.
'You could not, Triwathon. We were never meant to die, but sometimes Námo calls us home... He... I never regretted not having a child of my own, you know. Parvon was almost as a son to me. I know, he loved you, you could not return his affection... but you valued him. I know you did, you honoured and respected and valued his service. In his next life, he will not remember the pain of the love he had for you.'
'I'll remember it, though,' Triwathon said. 'I will not forget how he helped me.'
A sorrowing silence drew around them. After a moment, Erestor stirred.
'What happened to Rhoscthel?' he asked.
'I was not there to see, but the tale is she, and others in the settlements, were driven out by flame. Then the dragon... it was hungry... we do not know whom was devoured, who burned...'
Arveldir nodded. 'That is how it is, with dragons, sometimes.'
'My lords, I will leave you. Arveldir, there will be others here you knew; their names are written with their gemstones... you should know, also, our king is in residence. He arrived yesterday, and has given us all new heart.'
'Thank you, Commander; I will be glad to see him once more. It will be quite like old times. Some of them, at least.'
While Triwathon had escorted Arveldir and Erestor to the Silent Room, Faerveren had led Feren off to the Palace Office, Glorfindel staying with Elrohir and Rusdir, waiting for Celeguel.
When Rusdir's former captain came up, she drew him a little distance away to talk. Presently, Glorfindel saw her put her arms round the grieving Silvan in a soothing hug.
'You sailed,' Elrohir said softly to Glorfindel. 'At least, you left with the others, saying you were going to sail. We waved you off. Melpomaen cried, a bit. And now here you are.'
'Here I am,' Glorfindel said, spreading his hands. 'Lord Oromë kindly invited me along on this little jaunt...'
'Little jaunt?' Elrohir stared. 'My honour-sister is dead, and poor Rus over there...'
'I know. Sorry. They lost more than a score, all told. It was terrible for them, but it could have been worse. I... well, you remember the business with the three dragons? Open plains, clear shots, almost everyone warriors and still they took what, five lives? Only one dragon here, but two-headed, plus an orc attack. And talain full of non-combatants, cut off from the garrison... You're right, poor Rus.'
'And poor Arveldir, I suppose... Feren told us about Parvon... Still, that leaves the field clear for you with Triwathon...'
Glorfindel gaped. When he closed his mouth, his lips were set in a hard line.
'I always liked you, Elrohir,' he said. 'Don't give me a reason to stop.'
'Sorry; I meant...'
The Balrog-slayer reached out to clasp his arm.
'Sorry myself. It's... you hate seeing Rusdir unhappy, I can't stand watching Triwathon crying over a dead advisor who had the good taste to fall in love with him and the bad manners not to get over it...'
Celeguel came across, leading Rusdir.
'I'm going to take Rusdir into the forest to see where... if you want to come with us, you're welcome.'
Glorfindel gave a short nod.
'Do we want the horses?'
'It's not far; our friends have been riding all day, perhaps the walk will be best.'
The woods were no better seen on foot than from horseback; Glorfindel walked at the back of the group and kept a watchful eye over them. Not that there was any need with the Maia on guard around the perimeter, but it was habit, and it kept his mind a little distracted from the horror surrounding him; he could hear, from Rusdir's exclamations, that the devastation of the forest was a bitter blow to the Silvan. Celeguel consoling, bracing him, saying the sort of thing he'd heard every Silvan say, including Triwathon, since the breaking of the siege.
'I know, it is terrible. But the heart of the forest is strong, and while Eryn Lasgalen has Silvans to nurture her, she will recover. It will not be swift, but it will happen; soon the days will lengthen once again. Echuir is not so far away, and then the herald flowers will break through.'
It was something to hope for, perhaps, but it seemed far away as they stood near the marker and Rusdir bent to stroke the damp earth. Glorfindel wanted to say, she isn't here, Námo took her fëa, and what is left of her hröa is broken and spread for the winds to take, but he doubted it would help.
'When you are ready, we can go back to the New Palace and you can meet with your nephews,' Celeguel said. 'They will be pleased to see you, I am sure.'
Yes, that was a much better thing to say.
Glorfindel followed the little group back to the New Palace and left them outside the room where Rusdir's nephews were being cared for.
'If you need me, send word,' he said, but he knew they wouldn't.
Dinner in the hall placed him at the same table as Triwathon, although not beside him. Instead, the Commander was next to Arveldir, and Glorfindel found himself not near enough even for conversation, not without raising his voice, and the mood of the hall was too quiet for that.
Perforce he contented himself with looking, but that was worse; Triwathon's eyes had the rigid look to them that suggested weeping not too far off in his past...
Ai, it was impossible! He loved Triwathon, had sailed back for him and yet he had to keep at arm's reach, only alone with his beloved friend for short periods of time, not stay overnight... even that first evening, all they had done was talk and cling to each other for a few hours, there had been no more than a kiss between them...
Not that Glorfindel minded, not really. Love was love, and yes, it brought desire. But he could ignore that, he could manage... it was seeing Triwathon in such pain that burned him...
After dinner, when he had hoped for at least a few minutes with Triwathon, he saw his friend invited to speak privately with the king. Arveldir was summoned, too, and Glorfindel found Erestor at his side, smiling a sad smile.
'If you are not busy, Glorfindel, I find I would be glad of your company. I am not needed, at present.'
'I know how that feels,' Glorfindel said. 'Come with me. There's a bottle of wine in my quarters, too much for one person, but perfect to share.'
Once there, Erestor took a seat, looking prim and formal as he accepted a goblet of dark red wine.
'It's not the good Dorwinion,' Glorfindel said. 'I don't know, I think they make it from blackberries... why is that amusing?'
'Oh, forgive me!' Erestor had begun to shake with sudden laughter. 'It brought back a memory of long ago, my first visit to the Greenwood, and Thranduil would tease Arveldir about blackberries since I had a fondness for them...' He lifted an eyebrow. 'In much the same way you had a fondness for honey beer. I think your secret was kept for longer, however...'
'Ah, there's been none of that lately,' Glorfindel said, 'if that's what you're asking...'
'I am Erestor, erstwhile advisor to Elrond. If I wish to know something, I never need to ask. Sometimes, it's a courtesy, however. But in fact, we are all puzzled to learn you are here. Delighted, of course, for there were few of us who did not wonder at your going...'
'It's almost as long a story as the journey has been.' Glorfindel sighed, sipped, relaxed a little. 'And I haven't told Triwathon all of it yet, so you'll have to put up with the short version...'
'Of course, my friend.'
'I thought I was ready to move on, to go back to... But it turns out I wasn't. I got all the way there, Erestor, actually there, I saw the sands and... and I turned back to the ship. I was lucky, Oromë had this visit planned and he'd been waiting his chance... he let me tag along... Knowing Triwathon was in danger, all he'd built... we rode over the mountains far north of Imladris, it was swifter for the Host, they said... I thought we'd got here too late, the dragon had just been killed, one orc-host vanquished... but there was another troop of orc waiting to attack, apparently... well, Oromë has all the details. The first thing I saw was Triwathon on the ground and a dead dragon next to him... I thought I'd got here just in time to see him die, it was... beyond terrifying...'
'Then you found Parvon was dead...'
'Dying, when we arrived. Triwathon was mostly just bruised, picked himself up, was with him at the end. It broke his heart, I think.' He sighed. 'I don't know what I expected... not to fall into Triwathon's arms straight away, whatever the circumstances, I'm not that stupid. But... and he's glad I'm here, I know he is... except Parvon's death... well. If the fellow were still alive, it'd be different, I could take him on, as it were... and it'd still be a mess, difficult, there'd still be dead elves but Triwathon wouldn't be so devastated... it isn't fair!'
'Not fair?' Erestor said with his small smile. 'Are you accusing Parvon of... cheating...?'
'No, I...' Glorfindel frowned. 'Well, I suppose I am... yes, that's just about how I feel, he's stolen an unfair advantage.'
'By being dead?'
'It's foolish of me, I know...'
'Apart from the fact that I am certain he did not die on purpose, Parvon was an honourable individual; he would no more dream of cheating for personal ends than you would of cutting your hair! Besides which, as you noted, he is dead. He gains nothing... you have spoken of how it is in Námo's halls, Glorfindel, you have said; love does not always travel with you beyond death. It is not like you and Ecthelion, there are no vows between them...'
'Don't, please, don't bring him into it...!'
'Glorfindel...?'
The Balrog-slayer gulped at his wine.
'I have to tell Triwathon first,' he said.
'Are you sure certain? Because I am always ready to listen...'
'You've been a good friend to me,' Glorfindel said, refilling his goblet and downing its contents. 'Beyond what I deserved, beyond shared experiences but... no, this I can't do, Erestor.'
Erestor's keen gaze swept over him and the dark eyes softened with compassion.
'Something about this is hurting you, it is obvious. Talk to him, Glorfindel. For your own sake. Talk to him soon.'
