'No, I do not know where the Commander is,' Erestor said, waving a hand at the Silvan villager who had approached to ask. 'Nor Parvon, nor anyone who knows the running of this place; fighting dragons, I expect. I have just returned myself, I am not here at the healer's rooms just to pass the time of day, I...' He shook his head and pointed to where Maereth was presently picking fragments of scorched leggings from a black and red wound that ran most of the length from thigh to ankle on his left leg and which was causing him considerable discomfort. His right leg, far less badly burned, had already been dressed. 'I think the best place to look will be in the King's Office, surely? If the healers will let me up, I will come there presently myself.'

Maereth hid a smile.

'If I had space, I would insist you cannot leave until tomorrow,' she said. 'But, alas, I think I will need every bed and pallet…'

'You are coping exceptionally well, Healer Maereth, and I am most grateful for your skills,' Erestor said. 'I would not be so sharp-tongued if I knew more of what was happening outside…'

'Oh, I am learning about outside with every elf they bring in,' the Healer replied as she gently applied a patch of healing caul silk to Erestor's burns and the pain began to subside. 'I have just discovered, for example, that visiting dignitaries do not find it beneath themselves to endanger themselves for our elflings. And that is quite enough information for me, it gives me hope…' She moved on to apply bindings over the top of the caul silk, nodding to herself as she noted the exact moment when the analgesic properties inherent in the dressing took full effect. 'Amathel is being treated for her broken arm and your elfling – that is, the elfling you brought in with you has no serious physical injuries. There, you are patched up and if I did have a place to lay you down, I would. As it is, I suggest you go to your room and lie down for a while. You can visit the King's Office later.'

'My thanks, Healer. I am not sure I can get there without interruption, but I will try to rest, perhaps.'

Maereth found a staff Erestor could use as a support and watched him leave with a sigh that threatened to become tears. For all she had spoken bravely, her spirits were considerably oppressed with the weight of work and, worse, the knowledge that just beyond the entrance to the healing rooms where she had set up her emergency station was a large chamber, generally used for storage but which had been hastily reorganised to make room for the dead. Already four bodies had been brought in and laid respectfully on the floor, a lantern set as company for them.

'Healer Mae?' Her assistant approached with a beaker. 'It is two hours since you took a moment; drink, breathe. You know how you are always telling us one cannot draw water from an empty well; replenish yourself.'

'Thank you, Othwen. Yes; I could do with a little time. How are things?'

Accepting the cup, she sipped slowly at the cool water, resting against the edge of her dressings table while Othwen made her report.

'We are almost caught up; there are three minor injuries to dress but I am currently waiting for the pain relief to take hold. It seemed a good time to bring you a drink.'

'My thanks, yes.' Maereth made herself smile. 'Now, I will come and help with those dressings, if you like.'

'That would be…'

A tap at the doorway and one of the guard there, covered in soot and grime. He looked very young.

'Healers? I have some charges for you,' he said, and ushered in a party of six or so battered Silvans.

'And what of you, penneth?' Mae asked.

'Oh, I am fine while there is work to be done.'

Maereth nodded.

'As are we,' she said to Othwen before turning back to the new arrivals. 'Now, who is hurt, where and how…?'

Erestor was almost at the Palace Office when his strength faltered and he staggered, almost falling but managing to steady himself on the wall. The fact of the matter was, of course, he did not have a chamber assigned to him yet and so the only thing he could think of was to install himself in the Palace Office where there would, at least, be seating and where someone might be able to find a room for him, if they were not too busy with the chaos of forest fires and dragon attacks...

But even as he started to move again, he was hailed by the familiar, light voices of the Galadhrim.

'Master Erestor, can you help us?'

'Yes, Erestor, please, Lord Arveldir sent us…'

Halting and leaning on the wall once more, Erestor's dismay turned to relief.

'You have come from Arveldir? Is he well?'

'Yes, that is, as well as any. He said we were to return with the means of bringing...' The Galadhrim belatedly remembered his instructions not to say what he wanted the equipment for, 'of carrying someone… back to the palace.'

'A stretcher, then. If you go along this passage, pass two turns left, take the next right, that will bring you to the healing rooms; they will have something for you. Who is injured?'

'Not injured, but… but dead. Arveldir said not to tell anyone about Glorfindel, though…'

'What?'

'Well, he… he killed the last of the dragons first, but we couldn't save him,' the other Galadhrim said, casting daggers-drawn eyes at his companion. 'We have been sent to bring him home, in honour. And someone will need to come back with us, to show the way.'

'I see. Very well, then. One of you go to the healing rooms, the other come with me. I am going to the administrative offices, someone there will find you an escort, I expect. I would come myself but, alas, I am halt…'

'You are more than simply halt, Master Erestor, you are very badly injured!' the Galadhrim who had let slip the name of Glorfindel exclaimed. 'Why are you not with the healers?'

'They have done what they can for me; others need them more. Well, you can at least give me your arm?'

'Of course, of course…'

'And what else can you tell me? Who was there with… with Glorfindel?'

'The ones known as Triwathon and Parvon. Lord Arveldir. And us.' The elf put his shoulder under Erestor's, helping him along. 'I am sorry, I did not mean to let slip about him… you must have known him well?'

'For a very long time, certainly.' Erestor felt a cold wash of sorrow swirl through him. To think he would not talk to Glorfindel again, not this side of the Sundering Seas… it was somehow impossible to believe. He had to bite back a query as to how certain it was, this impossible death… 'He could have sailed with Elrond; oh, he should have sailed…'

'I am sorry. He seemed… fun.'

Yes. Perhaps that was what Erestor would miss most, Glorfindel's keen sense of humour. Despite all the trauma of his past, Fin still managed, at times, to find the ridiculous and make everyone smile – including Erestor… he was a worse joker than the twins ever were, really.

'He was, indeed. He knew the value of laughter as healing.'

The Galadhrim sighed. 'I do not know if ever I shall laugh again. It was so… so awful…'

'Yes. But you are still alive, and I am still alive, and here is the Palace Office. Help me in, I think they will not mind if I sit in that chair, there…'

The one scribe in the room rose in haste and came forward.

'Master Erestor! Someone said that elves from Imladris were on their way, but I had not thought to see you amongst them! I do not know if you remember me, I am Merenor's grandson, Canadion's nephew, Faerveren…'

'Yes, of course I remember you. Well met, Faerveren. I hope you will be able to help my friend here; he needs someone to take him, and his friend, into the forest to bring home one who cannot walk…'

'It looks as if you should not be walking yourself! Is Lord Arveldir with you?'

'In the forest, I understand, not injured.'

'Good, that is good! Did anyone else come with you?'

'Amathel and an elfling whose name I did not ask.'

'I meant rather, how many rooms you might need? Your party, that is. When they get here.'

Erestor shook his head.

'At present, do not worry about that. My friend here, and his friend, need their escort in haste.'

'Yes, of course, I am sorry, you should not have to suffer a junior assistant…'

'Faerveren, do not apologise… it is hardly your fault that the King's Office is denuded today of its regular assistants… but…'

'Yes, an escort…' Faerveren hastily scribbled something down on a slip of paper. 'Take this to the guardroom, continue up the corridor and the garrison quarter is on the left. Someone there will help you. When you get to the forest, make sure if you see Lord Arveldir that you tell him Master Erestor is with me, safe and well. Now, Master Erestor, would you like to come into the inner office? You will be able to rest quietly there…'

Erestor nodded. A little quiet sounded rather pleasant after all that had happened.

Although it was not what he wanted, Arveldir set off for the clearing where Glorfindel lay dead. Now the danger was over, Silvan signal calls were sounding through forest, some from close by, others far distant amongst the trees and Arveldir paused on his way to send out his own identifier, not really expecting to be acknowledged or sought, but to add himself, his survival, to the sounds of the forest.

But from close by, a strong and known identifier came back to him along with the signal for 'meet'. Since he recognised the call, he returned an affirmative and within a few moments both Thiriston and his spouse came out of the undergrowth. Thiriston had a small elfling in his arms, another clung to his back, and Canadion held the hands of two more. Rivulets and streaks in the sooted faces of both warriors suggested emotions were very near the surface. With them was an ellon who clung to a stick for support and hobbled with one foot awkwardly lifted, whose shoulder was roughly bound and seeping blood. His eyes were haunted.

'Well met, Lord Arveldir,' Canadion said lightly, trying to smile. 'We heard the talke that you and some of your friends were coming to save us! What news?'

'We are safe now,' Arveldir said firmly, hoping to reassure. 'All the dragons are dead. Yes, fires still burn, but the danger is gone, for the most part.'

Thiriston nodded.

'Got some elflings here lost track of their nanas and adas,' he said. 'And this is Arastor, an elder from Elm. We thought the New Palace was the place to head for. What's the bad news? You don't wear the face of an ellon who's celebrating victory…'

'Ah.' Arveldir had no wish to mention death in front of the elflings, nor could he bear to say the awful words 'I remember Glorfindel,' but these two warriors were old friends of the seneschal and the news needed to be told. 'My old friend the Balrog-Slayer is now a dragon-Slayer, too. But he has… he has gone to meet with his Ecthelion… by the swiftest way possible…'

'But… not… not? Oh.' Canadion said. 'How sad.'

'Not for him,' Thiriston said. 'But for everyone else. Would have liked to see him again, you know. To talk.'

'Does Triwathon know?' Canadion asked.

'Yes; he was there, at the end. As was I, as was Parvon.'

'It is… it is probably good that nobody needs to break the news to the Commander, we all know how he... such friends as they were… Well.'

Arveldir nodded. Well.

'And you are taking these little ones to the New Palace, you said?' he asked.

'We are indeed; we were part of the rescue company with Commander Triwathon's guard, and heard signals in the forest where we found Elder Arastor here. As we were helping him, Captain Celeguel found us. She had these little ones with her and we offered to bring them on. Then we found another lost one, on our way. But two of them cannot walk far, as you can see by my husband's carrying them.'

'Let me not keep you, then. I would advise you head a little north of here, for your eyes' sake…'

Canadion nodded.

'Be well, Arveldir. We will look for you in the palace later. Unless you would be able to carry little Harnion here, who has a sore leg, but is being very brave, it would be very kind of you but we know you may be needed…'

Arveldir considered. To stay would be to have to return to Triwathon and Parvon and… and Glorfindel, to go would take him to shelter and possibly to Erestor. It was hardly a choice… Even so, he shook his head.

'The news needs to spread and there may be others in the forest in need of…'

'Harnion really needs a carry,' Canadion said. 'For then I could bear Alphel on my back and we would get on much quicker. And you can pick the best trail. Once in the palace, you can give more effective assistance, perhaps send out help from there?'

Arveldir crouched down to bring himself to eye level with the elflings.

'Harnion, is it not? You may not know me, but I used to work in the King's Office. So I would like to help you, if you will let me. May I carry you? Good.'

Faerveren did his best to make Erestor comfortable; he found cushions and padded a chair, put more cushions on a stool for him to rest his injured legs, found him a glass of strong spirits to sip at.

'Emergency supplies,' he said. 'One of the first things Lord Arveldir told me, always make sure there is an emergency bottle of spirits somewhere in one of the desks. I prefer wine, so they trust me with it.' He smiled. 'Master Feren has been known to claim that in the Palace Office, everything is an emergency. You sit there and rest, and if I leave open the door, as soon as I have news, you will hear it too.'

'And perhaps I can offer general advice, if it is needed,' Erestor replied. 'I do not want to be simply a bundle in the corner…'

'Yet you are injured, you need to rest,' Faerveren said. 'But I am grateful, for your company and for your presence; I do not feel qualified to be on my own here under such circumstances…'

'Ai, I know that feeling…!' Erestor lifted his glass. 'After the Battle of the Last Alliance, I went from being a very junior underscribe in a vast retinue of officials, to one of three left standing who had the remotest idea what was needed… those were, as they say, good times for getting on in one's career. If one didn't notice how many dead elves lay between one and advancement.'

'I can imagine that would be a very sobering way to achieve promotion,' Faerveren said. 'Well, as I say, I will leave the door open, so if you need anything it will be easy for you to call.'

'I am grateful.'

Erestor sighed and rested back on the chair. It really was not very comfortable, but somehow, that didn't matter; Faerveren had tried to make it better, and the young scribe's kindness and friendly manner was balm to his chaotic mind. He thought about Glorfindel, of how terribly his loss would be felt in Imladris, of poor Melpomaen, whose surreptitious affair with the seneschal had not gone unnoticed… he thought of carrying the news thence, and found himself hoping at least Arveldir would be by his side when that happened.

He may have drifted, he may even have slipped into reverie, but he was suddenly hearing voices in the office; a strong, determined tone and when he looked, just visible from the angle of the door, the outline of an ellon with a despatches bag looped over his shoulder.

'Ah, Master Faerveren, alone at last! Now can I tell you how lovely your eyes are, how much I long to show you my special games?'

'No, I am afraid you cannot, Master Girithon, for I do not have time for any games, special or otherwise. I thank you for the intended compliment, but it is not for me. We were concerned, you are late.'

'Delayed just as I was leaving the Old Palace, would you believe? And it was so late when I got to the villages, and they said the alarms had sounded elsewhere in the forest, so I thought I'd better hole up for the night. And then I was rousted out by one of the guard! Still, got some real news in here today, by Eru, don't I just…?'

Girithon sat his haunch on Faerveren's desk, leaning towards him. The young scribe pushed his chair away just a little and Erestor wondered if he ought to make his presence known… but it seemed that although displeased, Faerveren was not unduly threatened by the invasion of his space.

'Then give me the missives and I will be able to…'

'Dragons!' Girithon lifted his hands dramatically. 'An entire nest, no less! The Dwarves in Ered Mithrin – you know they'd spread that far? They were expanding outwards and then noticed their flocks were being attacked.'

'Dwarves keep sheep?' Faerveren interjected faintly. 'In the mountains?'

'No; goats. Well, they…'

'Goats are kept in herds, not flocks.'

'Whatever. These Dwarves flushed a nest of dragons; thirteen in total, they said! They killed three dragonets and drove the rest off; what do you make of that, then, nice bit of nonsense, isn't it? They wanted our king's help with the rest…'

'So they left ten dragons alive? Ten?'

'So they claim. But you know dwarves…'

'I will have those missives, if you please. And I will want you take a message to Narunir or his second in the garrison at once.' He scribbled a hasty note. 'Then come back here for…'

'Steady, there! Slow down, what is up with you, little one? Do…?'

'My title,' Faerveren said stiffly, 'is Master Faerveren. Did not you notice anything when you arrived? Did you hear nothing?'

'Well, I couldn't see the reason for an armed escort, it was a bit off-putting to be fair, but nobody was talking… and you all look a bit flustered, but it's getting towards Yule, must be a lot…'

'There are dragons in the forest, Girithon; the outlying villages have been under attack and now you come in with this tale and call it nonsense?'

'Really? Dragons, really? It's true, then?' Girithon shrugged. 'Glad I'm under cover here after all. And don't worry; I'll make sure you're safe, Master Penneth Faerveren…'

'From the tales I hear, nobody is safe with you!' Faerveren said. 'You can move off my desk, give me those missives and then tell someone in Narunir's command that Commander Triwathon has been fighting ten dragons and to send as many warriors as he can spare to support him. Then come back here. Hasten, go!'

Girithon shook his head, but obeyed.

'All right! No need to be so uptight… I have a solution for that, by the way…'

'I do not want your solutions, I want my instructions following. Thank you.'

Faerveren took the offered message pouch and paid no more attention to the messenger elf who shrugged and headed for the corridor.

'I will be back,' he said from the doorway.

'Yes, do so, for there will be messages to take to the Old Palace immediately…'

Erestor knew the moment Girithon was really gone from the way the scribe sighed and dropped his head in his hands.

'Are you well, Faerveren?' he called through.

'Master Erestor, I am sorry if that exchange disturbed you.' The scribe came out from behind his desk to stand in the doorway. 'Girithon is one of the messengers; he seems unable to confine his remarks to matters of business, however…'

'Forgive me, but he sounded to be making quite specific advances which were unwelcome?'

'Unwelcome, indeed! I have no time for his sort… I do not mean,' Faerveren went on quickly, for Erestor's eyes had hardened. 'I do not mean those who make atypical connections – but that Girithon's tastes are… unconventional within that. I would find them distressing, distasteful. So I do all I can to discourage him, and to not let my own preferences be widely known.'

'Ah, I see. Your confidence honours me. And he is coming back?'

'If he does not, I shall have him on a report for neglecting orders; he is already suspected of deliberately delaying on the road…'

'Would you help me up, Faerveren? If I would not be in your way, I can settle equally easily in a corner of the main office with you. That way, you will not be alone – Girithon will see you are not alone – when he returns.'

'You would do so?' Faerveren's face lightened. 'I am very grateful! For though I am not as handsome as the other ellyn of my family, still I seem to attract attention…'

'Your father is Melion, is he not?' Erestor asked as Faerveren supported him from the side office. 'You mentioned your uncle Canadion, and your Daerada Merenor… You have a look of him, you know. About the eyes. But then, it is always about the eyes with the Merenorion. And his grandchildren too, it seems.' He smiled as Faerveren helped him to a seat and fetched the cushions to pad around him. 'My thanks; that is very comfortable.'

'You heard, of course? The Dwarves have sprung these dragons on us! But the number is known, at least.'

'The Dwarves may not have realised, perhaps, that there are elves living in this part of Eryn Lasgalen,' Erestor said as he arranged himself in the chair. 'I doubt that the Elvenking lets them know all his business.'

'No, indeed! Our two peoples understand each other so badly, even now, that it is simplest often to say less rather than more. If you will excuse me, I must attend to these messages in full.'

'Of course, Faerveren.'

Erestor settled back in his seat, another glass of emergency spirits at his side. Arveldir was safe, and that was the important thing. Now all he had to do was wait for him.