'A kinslaying on your holdings, my lords?' Lalbes exclaimed. 'Lord Ulmo would be furious! I will send my Bruiven out to chase them further down the beach!'

'Besides, it might upset the goats,' Glorfindel said. Being himself really curious to see whether Triwathon was going to make things right with Parvon (for there had been something in the Silvan's resigned air that made Fin think he might have had a lot to put up with from Triwathon over the years and this could be the final insult), he smiled at the housekeeper. 'No, you go back to your Bruiven, I'll sort it out.'

'I am coming with you, my joy,' Ecthelion said. 'I am fine now.'

'Really?' Glorfindel looked his husband over. Always with skin like silken milk, Thel was even paler than usual in the wake of his faint, and Fin found it alarming, to say the least. But at least Ecthelion's long, elegant fingers were cool, no longer as iced with chill as they had been, and he had almost stopped trembling. 'You really want to see? You feel up to it?'

'Of course, my over-protective delight; I had a tiny wobble, that was all. I am fine.'

'All right. But take it slowly; if I let you wobble again, Lalbes will have my ears on a stick!'

Ecthelion nodded, glad of Glorfindel's support, for the comfort of his kindness. Now he was starting to recover, he was furious that he had allowed himself to faint, knowing that Glorfindel loved him, had showed time and again that it was Thel he trusted, needed, and loved. But it had been Thel's fëa that had responded, his heart, not his conscious mind, and he had been unable to hold on to his reason or quash the terrible sense of loss and pain.

Outside, the breeze that always accompanied high tide revived him even as it made him shiver and lean in closer to Fin's side. His husband gave him a little squeeze.

'We can go back in whenever you want, Thel. Just say the word.'

'I will be fine. There they are,' Ecthelion said, gesturing with a hand that still trembled. 'Just there.'

The two Silvans were talking, not shouting, at least, although their gestures were wild and voices loud and emotional enough to be clearly audible above the rush of the tide.

'…did not want to sail anyway, Parvon, I would have stayed, but, oh, the king needs us…'

'Do not try to put this on me! You were the one who contacted him, "O, my king!" you began your message! And even if… it does not matter now. We are here, I doubt we can go back. Not that I would want to; the round world has grown too toxic for elves like us.'

'Parvon, I am so very so…'

'You are sorry? Yes, of course you are sorry. I am sorry too, sorry that I was not surprised, I should have known you still cared for him, why should you have stopped simply because he died? But you are married to me, you are MY fëa-mate, it is my soul that is entwined with yours…'

'Yes, and yes, we are, you are, I am! And I do not want anything else, anyone instead of you, I love you, Parvon, you know I do! It is only, I only…'

'You wondered if you could have him as well, no doubt? Or his admiration at least, the romance of feeling you were still in love, linked together by fate even though you are both married to other people? This is Valinor, Triwathon, not one of your Mills & whoever-it-is novels, or the celebrity gossip magazines; THIS is real life, where two people make up a marriage, not three or four…'

'No, I know, I am sorry, it was just... seeing them together and knowing Glorfindel is not loved and honoured as he ought to be, it… it has burned at my heart and…'

'Not loved? Not loved? Who are you to judge?' Parvon shook his head, became aware that they were watched. 'Besides, they are there, ask them, I am sure they will tell you…'

'Yes, of course they will say that they love each other, but how true is it? How do I know he really…?'

'He walked away from you, Triwathon! He died so he could be free of you, he did not even offer you a hand just now when you were weeping; he loves his husband and whether he is loved back or not is none of your business…'

'But I need to know! How can I put this behind me when I do not know even if he is happy with his lot?'

'Is that it? Do you really need to turn the knife in these self-inflicted wounds of yours? Will you give up this nonsense if you have proof that Fin's been happy without you, that his husband loves him?'

'Yes… I suppose… But that… to land here and see him in the thrall of that… that…'

'That noble lord who died protecting his city? Who has shown us nothing but kindness and generosity? That great hero who is also a Balrog-Slayer? That honourable and currently distressed person who is leaning against his husband for support because of your idiotic and thoughtless words?'

Triwathon hung his head. Parvon took hold of him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his arm and gave him a little shake.

'Come with me. Come. We will settle this; I will show you proof your friend is honoured and loved as he deserves and if that is not enough, well – you can walk back to Middle Earth and its modern awfulness, for all I care. Alone.'

He set off back towards the villa, practically frog-marching Triwathon along. At the top of the wooden steps he paused, making Triwathon stop too.

'Lord Ecthelion, if you will allow it, if it is not too much to ask, may I please show my pe-channas of a fëa-mate your art room?'

Ecthelion nodded, making a half-gesture into the house.

'Yes, a good thought… Fin, shall we…?'

'All right. Come on, then.'

Glorfindel led the way, taking his time so that Ecthelion was not rushed. Inside the studio he stood back, still keeping an arm around his husband.

'There's some lovely pictures here,' he said, waving with his free hand. 'I like this one, myself, with Evil-Eyed El, it makes me laugh… oh, not that,' he said quickly, for Parvon turned towards the monumental abstract oil painting. 'It's not finished yet, I don't…'

'Beloved and true light of my fëa,' Ecthelion said, smiling as he stroked Glorfindel's arm. 'Hush.'

Once inside the room, Parvon had released his grip, giving Triwathon a not-exactly gentle push towards the artworks displayed. This perhaps explained why the erring Silvan ended up on his knees before the abstract where he stared up as if the canvas filled his whole world. Stared, and kept staring, like a supplicant before an altar.

Finally, he spoke.

'It is... oh, too blue, too, too blue… there is the gold of his hair, the peach of his skin, the pink and the white of his old scars... the dark steel of his warrior resolve wrapped around the fire of his courage and the blue eyes, over everything, the most important thing is the blueness... this is truly a moving and beautiful painting...' He turned his head and everyone present could see a sheen of tears in his eyes. 'Oh, Glorfindel, this could only have been done by one who loves you... I am glad, really, so very glad you are loved and honoured as this shows…'

Ecthelion shook his head and answered with sharp swiftness.

'Of course I love Glorfindel I always have, from the first moment I saw him. How could I help but honour him? He is MY light and My joy, and if I stress the possessive pronoun, understand; when necessary, I am given to being extremely possessive where Glorfindel is concerned.'

The smuggest smile in the world grew on Glorfindel's face and he cuddled Thel against him, placing a smacking kiss on his cheek. Ecthelion patted gently at his shoulder, smiling into his eyes.

'Not that I am often required to display such unattractive attributes.'

Parvon inclined his head.

'Lord Ecthelion, I can only apologise for my fëa-mate – since he seems unable to do so for himself – and beg your pardon for any distress this… misunderstanding has caused.'

The dryness of Parvon's tone drew Triwathon's attention away from the oil painting and he scrambled to his feet.

'Yes, yes, of course, Ecthelion, Glorfindel, sorry, I am… I am really sorry, I… got a little…' He sought for words, snatched at the word Glorfindel had offered him earlier. 'Confused, perhaps. Having never met you before we landed, Lord Ecthelion, it was perhaps too easy to project onto you what I expected or assumed… and it may be too many of the ways of the modern world followed me across the Sundering Seas, the wrong expectations. Of you, Glorfindel, and Parvon, and of… of myself, I think.'

Looking at Parvon with a shrug and then returning his attention to the canvas, he continued in soft, thoughtful tones.

'Glorfindel saved me, you see. Then he saved us and so it was natural to…'

'And exactly what do you think you need saving from in Valinor?' Parvon asked. 'For that matter, yes, Triwathon, Glorfindel saved you from your loneliness, he saved us all from the dragons… but after that, once he was dead – forgive me, my lord Glorfindel, for mentioning it – who saved you then? Who protected you when – he's still dead, so I cannot name him but from… him? Who saved you from the stake, the gibbet? Who got you out of jail when the rest of the prisoners were looking at your long hair with hungry eyes? Who, Triwathon, who kept you safe from the skinheads and the thugs and the homophobes?'

'You, Parvon, of course, it was you, every time after…! And do not think I am not grateful, that I do not regret every moment's pain I gave you; I did not think we would ever come here, I did not think I would ever see him again and all the old feelings came back and… it was too much. I was foolish and bewildered and, oh, his eyes are still too blue and…'

'That's enough,' Parvon said. 'Glorfindel, I can see you want to care for your husband; I have intruded too long. If you will excuse me, I will take my leave of you; be well, my friends.'

The Silvan bowed and turned towards the door. Triwathon stared after him.

'Parvon? What about me?'

'Yes, indeed… what about you?' Parvon kept his tone dispassionate, but Glorfindel, watching, saw his throat convulse and guessed he was struggling to remain distant from his husband.

'Aren't… aren't I coming with you?'

Parvon shrugged. His voice, when he spoke, had a hint of a tremor to it.

'I have no idea, Triwathon. I do not seem to know what you want since we landed any more than you do. You apologise, and rightly, to Glorfindel and Ecthelion and yet not to me; did it not occur to you that I, too, am owed at least a word or two…?'

'I am sorry I did not say… but it seemed to me that any words would sound empty and trite; I did not want to diminish the severity of my transgression as it might seem to you, but I only spoke a few words, and I did not mean…' Triwathon broke off and took a breath. 'Parvon, husband, fëa-mate, friend of so many years… will you not pardon me? Forgive me?'

Parvon paused for too long before replying.

'Husband?' Triwathon's voice was pleading. 'Can you not find it in you to forgive me? You are so much wiser than I, so much more calm and patient…'

'It is possible that I might… but…'

'I am grateful! Parvon, really, I became swept away by the moment and everything and I assure you, I will not ever…'

'Yes. You will not ever. Not ever again. Don't slide your eyes towards our hosts, yes, it is true that Ecthelion has forgiven Glorfindel repeatedly, but only for one transgression and…'

'Two, strictly speaking,' Glorfindel put in. 'Just to be clear.'

'None, in fact, for there was nothing to forgive; Glorfindel I had released from our vows and we were not married when he died,' Ecthelion added. 'But since he believes, down in the heart of his fëa, that he needs to ask my pardon, I freely grant it… Your case, Triwathon, is different.'

'…only imagined transgressions,' Parvon continued sternly, and Ecthelion was reminded that the Silvan had served in the King's Office where an air of authority must have been required for his duties – 'nevertheless, Glorfindel's contrition I understand to have been heartfelt. You? Do you even realise…?'

'But, Parvon… I thought… I thought you loved me…'

'As, in fact, I thought you did me. I hear the bewilderment in your voice, but really, why? Did you think that simply being loved means you have permission to treat me badly? It does not, it ought not, it…'

He broke off and put his hands to his head, turning away as he caught at his braids in frustration.

'This is what will happen,' he said. 'If –and at present, I reserve the right for it to be "if" – if I am to forgive you, then we need to talk. Privately and freely and excessively. If I am to excuse your atrocious lapse, we will be more Gondolin; when we address each other we will speak our kindnesses, we will use such terms of affection as we feel we wish. There will be none of this, "But nobody speaks like that these days, Parvon," no "But why would you want to expose our affections so publicly, Parvon?", for I believe if we had, if we did – if you had only said you had longings for Glorfindel still – then we would not have come to this. And so, my still-beloved-in-spite-of-this-incident husband, I am going to leave now.' He dropped his hands and stalked across to Triwathon, pulling him close to kiss him almost violently in his passion, releasing him abruptly. 'You know I love you still and will never stop. But that does not give you licence to torment me. So, I intend to follow Lord Oromë into the forest; one or other of our lords will have a King's Office of some sort where I may find occupation. I will leave behind all the trappings of the modern world, which has tainted us so badly. If you wish to be with me, you may come too. And you can show me by your actions and behaviour how much you truly wish to be reconciled. My lords Glorfindel, Ecthelion, I will send word of Lord Oropher as soon as I have any news. I am grateful for all you have done to assist we Silvans since we landed. Be well.'

With a bow and a swish of his tawny hair, Parvon left the room, striding out with his head held high. Triwathon gawped, then looked to Glorfindel and Ecthelion for help. Glorfindel shook his head.

'Well? If you love him, if you ever loved him, go after him!'

'But… I do not know if he has forgiven me or not…'

'The only way to ensure he does is to follow him and keep working hard to deserve it,' Ecthelion said. 'I wish you well, Triwathon.'

'Go on,' Glorfindel said, draping an arm around Ecthelion's shoulders and making shooing gestures with his free hand. 'Now, hurry, or you'll have to keep running after him all the way to the forests.'

Once the Silvan had hurried from the studio, Glorfindel drew Thel close and brought him to stand in front of the abstract. He sighed.

'I really don't see it like Triwathon did, Thel. Still can't believe it is actually complete. But… it seemed to give him the idea that you love me, so perhaps it's finished enough. And maybe I can't see it because I don't really believe I deserve to be loved by someone as amazing and wonderful and gorgeous as you.' He sighed. 'I'm really glad I am, though, Thel. Thank you, thank you for loving me, for being patient with me while I try to love you as much.'

From somewhere outside they heard Triwathon's voice, calling out for Parvon to please wait for him. Glorfindel sighed.

'Can't help but feel sorry for them. Mostly for Parvon; you could see he hated being so stern with Triwathon, but at the same time… if he lets it go too easily, who's to say he might not find himself needing to forgive something else…? Not me, oh, I hope you know I don't mean that, but… forest full of Silvans, old friends, reunions… then again, if Parvon hadn't turned up when he did, he'd never have known Triwathon was being silly…'

'Of course, you had it all under control, I assume?' Ecthelion found he could be amused, now it was over and the Silvans gone. 'A few words of wisdom from you, and of course Triwathon would have seen the error of his ways…?'

'I'd like to think so. Although I was on the point of running away… and then I saw you, Thel, it was awful, seeing you falling like that, and the Valar bless Parvon, everything that was going on and he still stopped to help you.'

'Unlike you; I gather you abandoned your weeping friend to come to me.'

'Of course. Well, I didn't want to make it worse, couldn't even pat his shoulder, he'd have misunderstood.' Glorfindel cuddled his arms around Thel. 'Besides, you matter to me. He doesn't.'

'Then perhaps I pity Triwathon a little more than I pity Parvon.' Ecthelion shuddered, began to tremble again as he released the last of the awful, awful fear that had gripped him so deeply.

'Thel?' Glorfindel gathered him in, slid a hand under his hair to caress his neck. 'It's all right, they've gone, they've really gone, all of them. Bit of peace at last, eh? How are you feeling now?'

'Oh, Glorfindel, my heart, my soul, I… what is it you say? Make me real, Glorfindel. Take me away and make me real, remind me of who I am and who you are and who we are together, I need…'

'Come on, then. Going to let me carry you? I'd like to carry you; after all, you've been carrying me around all this time… my turn to look after you now, yes?'

'There is no need for that; I am not quite so incapacitated!'

'Ah, but my arms full of moonlight, it would be wonderful to hold you, to know you trust me not to drop you… go on, let me?'

Ecthelion sighed as if he wasn't really smiling.

'Oh, very well, then; carry on.'