Glorfindel wanted vows.

'Because that worked so well for you last time, didn't it?' Triwathon pointed out, grinning.

His iphant laughed. Several weeks had passed since the Night of the Names, and Glorfindel had talked through all his jumbled feelings about Ecthelion's perfidy so many times, Triwathon had listened with so much love and wise advice, that it no longer smarted to think of how he'd been cast aside without consideration.

Well, not much.

'It's different, Triwathon,' he said. 'I love you – you love me – we are together. I want to share that with everyone.'

'Everyone already knows,' Triwathon said. 'They've known since the day after the Night of the Names – when we walked in to breakfast together and you wouldn't let go of my hand.'

'They're happy for us. For you, I don't think they care about me, especially...'

'That's not true.'

'As much, then. And why should they? I'm just an iphant, a relic of times long gone...'

'Yes, but you're my relic. Come, hurry up and dress; we'll be late for breakfast again. And why you have to wait until we're in a hurry to be somewhere else to raise a serious topic of conversation...'

'Because it would be so much quicker and easier if you just said 'yes'. Really, think about it, if you'd said, that's a nice thought, Laurefindil dear, all right, let's, we'd already be sat down with our food in front of us.'

Triwathon laughed and set his coat around his shoulders.

'Go on, Triwathon, penneth, darling, sweetheart? Say yes?'

Well, it wasn't as if he was ever going to feel like this for anyone else, was it? And Glorfindel had been so happy these last few weeks, had made him so happy, in spite of all the sadness...

'All right. Yes.'

'That's wonderful! Thank you, my most beautiful fëa'd friend!'

'...hold on, a moment. Short vows. No, don't pout, beloved, listen to me, it doesn't mean I don't love you utterly and completely and with all that I am; it's more that... I can't quite believe it, that you're free, not really. And I'm not the sailing type. So, short vows, while we're in Middle Earth. I'm not going to say anything about until death parting us, either, it would just be like asking Námo to the party... But...' Triwathon broke off with a sigh, smoothing the edge of Glorfindel's jerkin flat against his chest. 'But Ecthelion is always going to be there, on the other side of the Sundering Seas, yes, with his pretty new friend, and I still can't believe how he could...'

'Never mind Ecthelion.'

'Come on, never mind anything. I've a lot to do today, we'll talk more about this later. Breakfast.'

There was, indeed, a lot to do. Thranduil had stayed on at the New Palace after the Night of the Names but now was ready to depart. With him were going many of the former inhabitants of the talain villages to resettle in the forest around the Old Palace, along with an honour guard made up of about half Triwathon's garrison.

Glorfindel went with his beloved to bid farewell to those of the guard who were leaving, keeping in the background as Triwathon spoke to each of his warriors in turn with thanks and good wishes and the hope of future reunions. He saw the old guilt rising again behind the lovely hazel eyes, the shame of not being able to keep the New Palace safe, and prepared himself for an evening of bolstering Triwathon's confidence. Really, that was why he'd mentioned vows today, to give Triwathon something else to think about, something happier, perhaps, but it didn't seem to have worked.

Amathel left the cluster of warriors to come over to him.

'Take care of the Commander, Lord Balrog-slayer.'

'I will, Amathel Knife-Lady. And you take care of the king, won't you?'

She grinned. 'Of course. By rights it should be Captain Celeguel leading the honour guard, but she volunteered to stay here.'

Glorfindel nodded. Of course Celeguel was staying put; the Host of Oromë was still at large in the forest around the New Palace, the Vala a frequent visitor to the dining hall and Melaglir always at his side...

Thiriston and Canadion, too, were staying in the New Palace for a while longer.

'When we said we wanted to work with Triwathon, we meant it,' Canadion said. 'Ithilien is not for us. And, besides, there are still elflings here who need us. Well, they need Thiriston. He makes them feel safe.'

Glorfindel nodded. Sometimes that was all anyone needed, to feel safe.

Everyone turned out to wave the king farewell. The remaining garrison warriors sang the honour guard off with a chorus of 'Heroes Marching Out', and afterwards, everyone felt just a little bit flat and sad, especially as the order had been given to close off one of the habitation wings of the New Palace; there was simply nobody left to live in it.

'I expect we will all gather closer to the heart of the palace as time goes on,' Feren remarked to Glorfindel in the dining hall that night. 'We will feel lonely, I think, as more and more leave.'

The Balrog-slayer sighed.

'Yes, it was like that at Rivendell. One by one the houses in the valley fell empty, the corridors echoed louder with each departure, the lights went out... but that's the way of things, I am afraid; this is the Fourth Age, and so many are sailing...'

'Silvans do not sail,' Feren said with a sniff. 'We have no need of anything except what we have here. Not for us the long weariness that drives so many to the ships; our forest is vibrant and alive, and we need nothing more than its song.'

'Ah, well, Oromë would tell you he has woods and forests in the west that need Silvans in their trees... I honour you, Feren, but... don't be putting off anyone else who wants to sail with him, will you?'

'Of course not. Besides, Triwathon cannot possibly manage without me!'

'Not yet. But the New Palace will be empty soon enough... and then what will you do, Feren?'

'I will return to serve the king, of course, so that Arveldir can go back to his life with Erestor.'

But an odd thing happened in the weeks that followed the king's departure. Newcomers began arriving, one or two, here and there, all with the same story; they had heard, in the Old Palace, that Lord Oromë had come to take them home, and that here was where the journey would begin. One deputation brought a letter from the king for Triwathon.

'...for it seems good to us, that as Lord Oromë has said he will take any on his ship who want a place there, that they go first to you, for Lord Glorfindel is eminently situated to speak of sailing to Valinor, and if some change their minds, then you, I know, will offer them sanctuary. And they will depart at Midsummer from the New Palace, and we will come to see them on their way and speak with you then of our gratitude for your service and plans for your future.

Thranduil, Elvenking.'

'We will go then, too,' Elrohir said when the gist of the letter was made public. 'Not to sail – no, it's too soon for that, for us. But to take the little ones home to Imladris.'

'They think they would like it,' Rusdir said. 'Sadly, they are not comfortable with so many trees, not after the fire. There are woods around Imladris, when they are ready to meet trees again. The Host have said they will ride that way to the sea, and we may go with them since it will make the journey swifter.'

'That will be better for the little ones,' Triwathon said.

'And I am going too, Commander,' Celeguel said, beaming. 'Melaglir and I... well...'

'I'm very happy for you,' Triwathon said.

'Midsummer's Eve is traditional for weddings,' Celeguel went on. 'We hope to marry before we leave, so that our friends here can share in our celebrations.'

That evening, Glorfindel smiled at Triwathon in the privacy of their rooms.

'Did you hear Celeguel?' he said. 'Midsummer's Eve is traditional for avowals... unless you think you can be ready for New Year?'

Triwathon smiled back, shaking his head.

'I cannot possibly take vows at New Year – it is but a week away, and there is far too much to do...'

'And how long will it take to exchange a few words? Oh, I know, Canadion talks about weeks of wedding preparations, but from what I can gather, most of the time is needed to make bunting... and you don't strike me as a bunting sort of a person?'

Triwathon buried his face in Glorfindel's shoulder, burrowing in as he did when he was really distressed about something.

'Now, don't be upset,' Glorfindel told him, cuddling him in. 'It's only that I love you, if you want to wait... I thought you looked sad, and it might cheer you to say no to me again. You know it always cheers you up to win an argument with me about taking vows...'

'It isn't that, my Laurefindil, it is... it is too soon, if we were not here, perhaps, but... not yet.'

'What does that mean, if we were not here?' he asked.

A sigh and Triwathon sat up to shake his head.

'They are still here, the... the ones we laid to rest. Parvon. I can't... not while... not...'

'I see,' Glorfindel said, not seeing at all. 'My dear one, forgive me, I... when you're ready, then, tell me. Even if it's after Midsummer. Besides, it gives us time to sort out some bunting. Now, come to bed; I've been working on a special Glorfindel cuddle, it's a bit like a Triwathon cuddle, but with more nuzzling...'

New Year was a quiet celebration in the New Palace, the sense of loss finally giving way to the hope of renewal, but as Triwathon looked around him at the evening feast, he realised that other than the visitors from Imladris, he and Glorfindel, Thiriston and Canadion and Feren were the only ones there who would be see another New Year celebrated this side of the Sundering Seas; all the others present were planning on taking ship with Oromë.

It had been far easier than he had thought, that new arrivals would slot into the places previously filled by existing staff, freeing them to return to new duties at the Old Palace. True, the guard was reduced, as many more warriors wished to stay than to sail, but with Oromë and his Host still riding the bounds, there was no reason to worry.

Everyone was excited, looking ahead, looking forward, only Triwathon sometimes struggling to catch the mood of optimism, Glorfindel constantly alert to support his betrothed.

For Triwathon had gone as far as that, at least.

Up at dawn, New Year's morning, he had shaken Glorfindel awake.

'It is no good, you, who are the impatient one, you are keeping me waiting! I want you to have this, today, now, and know I love you.'

Glorfindel had blinked back his inner eyelids to grumble awake... until he saw Triwathon smiling until he glowed, holding something out to him, a long woven strip of leather interspersed with what looked like polished dragon scales of a hue so dark as to be almost black. But here and there an iridescent sheen brought them to life with a vibrant flash of blue.

'Thank you, my beautiful one, I... what?'

'You have only just awoken so I will explain. Let me help.' Triwathon took back the gift, tied it around Glorfindel's neck so that the scales hung at his throat. 'It is a traditional betrothal token from a Silvan warrior – in this case, me – to his intended, which is you. It means we will be married, if you still want to, at Midsummer, when this can be worn as an armband, the sign of marriage amongst warriors.'

'Triwathon...!' Glorfindel threw his arms around his young lover, burying his face in his neck. 'Of course I still want to, thank you, this is just what I needed to step into the New Year happy! But... I've nothing for you...'

'I thought of that; I know you would have, had you known. Do you remember...?'

Triwathon unfolded his other hand. In it was a small pebble, striated with bright blue minerals, smoothed from a stream at some point in its past.

'Of course I do; I brought it back for you, the first Yule we were together. And you kept it, all this time...'

'Yes, it has been my greatest treasure. I thought, if you wanted, you could make it into a braid for me; there is a hole in it already – unless you would rather something else, but I thought, that was when I told you I loved you for the first time, and it seems fitting.'

'Knowing you, you'll even have a spare strip of leather about you, won't you?'

Triwathon laughed. 'Oh, no, I will leave this with you to sort out as you will. Right now, I am wanted at the garrison, beloved iphant. I will see you at late breakfast.'

Now, as the feast drew to an end and everyone began to think of leaving to gather at the gates and sing the New Year songs, there was a stirring beside Triwathon as Glorfindel grinned suddenly at him and got to his feet.

'Everyone!' he said, drawing all eyes. 'Some of you have noticed I'm wearing a new necklace today; a betrothal gift from my Triwathon. I... of course, didn't have anything ready, but I do now and, well... Triwathon, I want to give you this here, in front of our friends...'

He paused to draw out a small bundle from his pocket, to shake out the strands: bowstring, leather, and a braid of golden hair all woven together supporting a bright blue stone which he tied carefully around Triwathon's throat, holding back his hair gently.

'Celeguel, sorry, we're sharing your wedding day, too – Midsummer – if you don't mind...'

Celeguel shook her head, grinning.

'Congratulations, Commander! And Glorfindel – it's about time!'

The time between New Year and Midsummer began to speed. Those who were sailing packed such things as they needed – and they were Silvans, really, they needed very little – and cleaned and ordered the rooms they would be leaving empty. The New Palace began to feel empty, hollow, even though it was filled with bright and hopeful voices.

'Like Rivendell,' Glorfindel said to Triwathon. 'When we rode away. Although at the time, it seemed to me, I was staying behind as well as leaving...'

'Well, I am glad you are here now, with me, even if you did have to sail across the Sundering Seas to realise where you belong.'

'With you, of course. But what will we do, after they all sail?'

'We will be together. What else will matter?'

The night before Midsummer's Eve there was a party, a gathering to say farewell, a mingling of Maiar and Silvan alike. Triwathon stayed for a while, but slipped away soon after midnight.

Since their formal betrothal, Triwathon and Glorfindel had gone everywhere together, so seeing his beloved ease out of the hall without a word was a little worrying...

Out from the New Palace he went, into the forest. At this time of year, the darkness was never absolute, and the trunks of the trees glimmered as Glorfindel ran amongst them, trying to catch up.

'Triwathon! Wait for me!' he called out, stopping to look around. 'Where are you?'

'Here, iphant-nin, hir-nin. I suppose I should have known you would follow.'

The Commander stepped out from between the trees.

'Where are you going, love?'

A sigh, tinged with sadness as Triwathon took his hand.

'It's just... I thought it might upset you to know what I was going to do. You can come with me, if you like, it's not... not private. I'm going to visit Parvon's earth cave.'

'All right.' Glorfindel kept hold of Triwathon's fingers as he set off through the forest once more. 'Why?'

'I need to see... to be sure he's gone...'

Glorfindel frowned to himself. What was Triwathon going to do, crawl inside the earth-cave and look for bones? It seemed disrespectful, unlike his beloved sweetheart, but if it was something he needed to do...

In the end, it wasn't anything like that bad. Triwathon laid his hand on the trunk of the tree, his forehead touching its bark.

'There is new life here, Laurefindil, a spirit of joy and gladness. The song of the tree is strong and brave. I... Yes, Parvon is gone. All the gifts he left here have been accepted by the forest, he is reborn in its new leaves while his fëa is with Námo.' He embraced the tree, released it, and ran to take Glorfindel in his arms. 'Let's go home. We're getting married tomorrow.'

Thranduil arrived with a small retinue and honour guard in time for the day meal and Triwathon found himself called into the royal presence later in the afternoon.

'We are grateful that you stayed to see all done, Commander; it cannot have been easy for you.'

'My king, it's an honour to serve. I am only sorry that I failed...'

'Nonsense; if you had failed, we would have told you. But what will you do now, Triwathon?'

'I am not sure, my king. Tomorrow, I am taking vows with Glorfindel. After that... we have not given it much thought, except we will not sail.'

'I admit I am pleased to hear it, Commander; I find I have need of a new Over-captain at the Old Palace, and I would like you to take the post, with Thiriston and Canadion as captains under you. There will be work for Glorfindel too, if he wishes; it strikes me as time we had someone in overall charge of warrior training; it would give him a chance to show off a little.'

'Sire... it would be my honour...'

'Good. But do speak to your betrothed first, make sure he is happy with the thought. I understand you are sharing the evening with Celeguel and her Maia friend?'

'In fact, it is she who is sharing with Glorfindel and I... Lord Oromë himself is acting as Witness for us all.'

'And will there be bunting, dare I ask?'

Triwathon smiled as he shook his head.

'No, my king. Much to Captain Canadion's disgust – he swears it cannot be a proper wedding without such decorations – but none of us getting married wish for it, Celeguel included.'

'Between ourselves, Commander... I am very pleased to hear it!'

It was a simple ceremony, Oromë presiding, and if the Vala winked when both couples spoke the words, 'in sight of the Valar...' then the resulting laughter didn't make anyone forget their vows.

When it was turn for Triwathon to speak, he lifted his hand to ask a question.

'Is it too late to change my mind?'

'What...?' Glorfindel demanded, his face crashing into distress.

'No, I mean – take forever vows, not short ones. I... I was being silly, dear iphant. Always and forever, Glorfindel, wherever the world takes us, this side of the sea or beyond it and Ecthelion missed his chance.'

'That sounds much more like it!' Oromë said. 'Well, Glorfindel? Did you actually hear what your sweetheart said?'

'I... Yes, Triwathon, don't ever do that to me again... yes, always and forever, wherever the world takes us, and may Ecthelion and his little blond have the joy of each other, who is this Ecthelion person anyway...?'

Oromë laughed.

'Give me your tokens, then. There.' He tied the blue stone on its band around Triwathon's wrist, fastened Glorfindel's dragon-scale necklace on the Balrog-slayer's arm. 'Triwathon, Glorfindel, your vows are Witnessed, your promised made, always and forever, fëa and hröa, in sight of the Valar, and me, and the bright stars... And so, Celeguel and Melaglir, Triwathon and Glorfindel, live in light and love.'

At the last, he lifted and uncovered a lantern and all around those gathered uncovered lanterns of their own so that light shone out. At the back of the crowd, Thranduil lifted his one lantern high, and inclined his head to the newly married couples.

Glorfindel surrendered to Triwathon's hungry mouth in their first married kiss. When eventually his beautiful fëa'd friend – his husband, his forever-love – released him, he smiled his delight.

'Thank you, my dear one,' he said. 'But whatever made you change your mind?'

'I had thought it unfair to bind you to me so utterly. But then I realised – I am never going to love anyone else, and if the Valar can just negate a person's vows without the consent of both parties, then what does it matter if I claim you for my own as much as I can? And I am yours, now, and you are mine. But come, we must talk to people, sing some of the Midsummer songs. And Arveldir sent a crate of honey beer with the escort... we can help ourselves to a couple of bottles, and then... and then we have the rest of forever to love each other in.'

'Oh, I do like the sound of that 'and then'...'