Triwathon hurried from the hall, his longer stride making it easy for him to catch up with Parvon in the corridor.

'Parvon! Wait! What was that…?'

Parvon froze. This was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid, at least until he'd sorted out the jumble of emotions warring in him. Still, he made himself turn and incline his head, made himself try to be professional.

'Oh, Commander, yes. You wanted a word, I believe?'

'How can you just…? Yes, I did, I did want a word… I wanted to talk to you about an invitation from Arveldir…'

'It was most thoughtful and kind of him, and I am sure he is just the person to tell you of your friend's latter years in Imlad…'

'I was going to refuse!' Triwathon's voice was hurt, shaking, as if he were the injured party, as if all Parvon's pain was invisible.

'But you have not. And yet you said you had been seeking me all day to discuss the invitation. We both know it is courteous to decline an invitation immediately if one does not intend accepting, so this suggested to me that you wanted to accept…'

'No. Well, I… but no. Arveldir is a good friend, and I value him highly, and… but I don't want to know of the latter years, not if my friend had… but…'

'You are undecided, you see, torn between what you see as duty, and Arveldir's invitation, which you have think I interpreted more as a request.' Parvon swallowed; it was hard, so hard, to keep his voice calm, to answer as if this was just a matter of palace business, and Triwathon, standing there looking almost heartbroken wasn't helping matters… 'All I have done is make it easy for you; there is no reason now that you cannot spend the evening with Arveldir and Erestor; I am sure it will make the observances more fulfilling for all concerned.'

'But, Parvon, I… and… I wanted your advice, how to refuse… we always…'

'Yes, I know. But now you don't have to refuse. Besides, my personal losses are distant; yours are fresh and painful. It is no comparison; I barely knew the Seneschal of Imladris, my own remembrances would seem paltry by comparison, and I would not wish to appear to be belittling your loss by not offering anything like so much at the observances.'

Triwathon waved this aside, in no mood to be reasonable, not sure why he was so outraged. He picked on the first thing that occurred to him.

'But I had no choice!'

'On the contrary; Arveldir sent you a note just so that did not have to look him in the eye and decide there and then what you wanted to do. He deliberately gave you time to make up your mind; you had all day to decline, if you wanted to. But you did not.'

'How did you know?'

'What?'

'About the invitation being in a note? How could you know that? Did you plan this together? Did you ask Arveldir to help, are you tired of sharing the observances with me, is that why you did it? Or is it just… him, my dead friend? Are you jealous of the love we had, not even fëa-mates and it was so much, do you think it will be too hard for you? I could understand that, but why didn't you say to me first instead of involving Arveldir?'

'I…' Parvon took a step back at this onslaught of insinuations, aghast. 'Almost I do not know where to start with all these… these accusations! Yes, I knew of the invitation – Arveldir sent for me this afternoon to tell me he wouldn't be dining in the hall. While I was there, he also mentioned he had sent you a message suggesting you share the Night with him and Erestor. He really seemed to believe it a good thought. You surely don't think I would stoop so low as to involve a respected advisor in such scheming as you suggest? Or that I would not honour you with the courtesy to tell you to your face if I were tired of your sorrow, or afraid to share your worst grief? Is that what you think of me, do you think so little of me?'

'But to just throw it out to the hall like that…'

'So that if word got round, people would not protest, as if it were anyone's business except our own. Now, would you like me to let Arveldir know what time you'll be free to join him, or do you think you can manage that yourself?'

'I… no, don't trouble. You've obviously got a lot to do, with the new setting for the Observances to arrange.'

Parvon made himself smile, a ghost of his usual expression.

'When do any of us not have a lot to do? Thank you, Commander. Goodnight. I'll see you at the morning procession for the last of the lost, no doubt.'

'No doubt. That's all, then.'

Triwathon sighed and watched Parvon walk away down the corridor. He was tempted to call after him, apologise, to suggest a drink, a shared bottle of wine in his rooms, or Parvon's, but there was something, a distance to his friend that suggested he'd only be refused… straight away, no doubt, out of courtesy…

Parvon, turning a corner, reeled as he felt the enormity of being alone in the suddenly huge and empty corridor. He sighed. It was true, there was much to arrange, and to do so knowing Triwathon was unhappy and perhaps even annoyed with him did not make the prospect particularly enticing.

But still. There was a palace complex to run, to keep together at a difficult time, and he could not afford the luxury of dwelling on his own feelings. As Triwathon had said, it would have been painful for him to hear how much Glorfindel had been loved, and would be missed, but it was not jealousy, nothing like it; for the sake of being useful to Triwathon, he would have put up with much more, but Arveldir's well-meaning invitation had really taken it out of his hands… and while he had hoped that making his announcement in the hall would give him a sense of control, now he simply felt more at a loss than ever; Triwathon was not even appreciative of his efforts and his accusation that Parvon had even asked Arveldir to intervene stung and smarted…

Reaching his rooms he looked towards the washing cascade, but shook his head. He had already wasted far too much water trying to wash his emotions away and it hadn't helped. Nor, he told himself, would drinking, but even so he poured himself a goblet of wine and sat by his banked fire, trying to stop the shaking inside, trying to be objective and positive about this disaster of a day.

An hour later he was still there, nursing the same goblet of wine, the embers of the fire dull grey with only faint hints of life, his thoughts circling with no way out showing, when he heard a noise outside in the corridor. Expecting a knock, and deciding to ignore it when it came, he was surprised when instead a note was slipped underneath.

Rising to see, he recognised Faerveren's writing, and opened the door to look out; Faerveren was there, about to back away, but on seeing his master he bowed politely.

'I did not intend to disturb you, my apologies, sir.'

'Come in, Faerveren. You are not who I expected to see, so be welcome.' He picked up the folded missive. 'Perhaps you can tell me what this is about?'

'It would be easier, I think.' Faerveren took the seat Parvon gestured him towards, shook his head when offered wine. 'After you left, sir, there were questions from the hall, of course. Then Commander Triwathon returned and asked me whether or not I would be involved with the new observances. I said I had offered to help – here he interrupted me and said, why was he not surprised? Which, I must admit, was unexpected… is the commander quite well, sir?'

The question drew a rueful smile.

'He is heartbroken and trying not to notice,' Parvon replied. 'Lord Glorfindel's death is still too close for him. Moreover, the invitation from Lord Arveldir was, perhaps, not as welcome as I had assumed it would be. So now he feels, I think, that I have made up his mind for him, perhaps in collusion with Arveldir, and Triwathon sees in that a rejection, an implication I no longer wish to share the Night of the Names with him…'

'But that is not the case, of course,' Faerveren said. 'It was obvious how perturbed you had been by this change of plan. May I say, your response was quite brilliant, sir? There is a need for just such a tone of remembrance as you suggest, it will take the strain off Healer Mae and her assistant who would perhaps otherwise be swamped with people needing to share with someone. This way, there is somewhere else for them to go. Of course, I will gladly assist…'

'My thanks, Faerveren. Yes, I will need help, I think. So. After the ceremony for the last of our dead tomorrow morning, you must take the rest of the day for yourself. Spend time doing what you like to do, and then report to the Palace Office once the formal observances in the main hall are underway.'

'Thank you, sir; I really won't need all that time, but… perhaps a few hours away is a good idea.'