It took Master Merenor the best part of three days to hear and note down all the stories of the dispossessed and bereaved, sometimes with his husband present, at other times with Healer Maereth there. It was an odd thing, but the bereaved were more generally forgiving of what the merely dispossessed elves saw as the poor response of the garrison to the dragon attack. He mentioned it to Healer Maereth at the end of the final session, and she nodded.

'Yes, it is the same with all those who were seriously hurt or separated from their elflings; they realise how much they have to be grateful for, rather than what they have lost.'

'It seems to have been a terrible business, and the worst of it is, all could have been different but for the messenger… how is Commander Triwathon now, is he over the attack, do you think?'

'I do not think so, not really. Coupled so closely with the death of his friend – the body of the poor Lord of Gondolin was actually in the room when the commander was attacked – it has had more of an impact, I think, than it would had he not been grieving. You know they were close, of course?'

'I do, I remember telling the Lord Balrog-slayer that Triwathon was waiting for him… ah, so long ago now, yet so fresh in my memory… he stole my bottle of winter-wine, you know… well, appropriated it, and I didn't mind, really… that was when I brought Healer Ness back from her adventures…'

'Oh, we were so pleased to see her! And she was so low-spirited. Still, she has found her happiness now.'

'And well deserved it is… well, shall we gather up our notes and take them to his majesty? He wanted them as soon as we were done…'

And so, in those hours when he wasn't actively taking notes from aggrieved elves, Merenor gossiped his way gently around the New Palace, picking up all sorts of information. In one of his innocent conversations with Healer Nestoril, he learned that when she had examined Triwathon: '…the poor commander was almost in tears! And I was very gentle with his neck and throat, but I could feel the distress… and even Mae asked if it was really necessary…' and in a little chat with the corridor servants, discovered Master Parvon and Commander Triwathon had almost spent the Night of the Names in separate commemorations, because of Lord Arveldir needing someone to share with, leading to unfounded rumours that perhaps Lord Arveldir missed the Seneschal of Imladris more than was proper for him to admit in front of his spouse.

'Oh, I am sure that cannot be the case!' Merenor said quickly as he moved on. 'He loves his handsome Noldo husband far too much! Now, may I steal some food from you? I don't think I can spare time for the hall day-meal today, and I intend spending the hour with my grandson in the Palace Office, so if there's enough for two…? Lovely, you are helpful, I am very grateful…'

Faerveren, delighted to have his Daerada bring food and share the day-meal in the otherwise empty Palace Office, chattered away happily about Master Parvon, about finding him dispirited sometimes, and worrying about him, in an entirely friendly and not-romantic manner whatsoever.

'Because, after all, Master Parvon's fëa is bound to Commander Triwathon's. Is not it odd, Daerada, how everyone knows it except the commander? And they had a terrible falling-out, although neither of them admit it, and I think the Commander didn't like me helping Master Parvon as much as I was, but what was I to do? We were suddenly busy, there was work to be done…'

'Not-romantic, eh? Of course not, you're far too professional… but, penneth, you wouldn't be the first to have a teeny little crush on your superior – it happens all the time, everywhere…'

'Oh, but no, Daerada, really…! I like Master Parvon very much, but he has – while I have had no family here – he has been like a brother or uncle to me! He even offered me advice, which was kind… I did wonder why, at the time, but if you think I am… then he may also have… but he told me, you see, he said, do not settle for less than your fëa-mate. And I think he is right, because he would not console himself with anyone, he is waiting for Triwathon to see him. Although, if I may venture an opinion, Parvon might easily find someone who would be much nicer to him and, to me, it seems that Commander Triwathon will get the better part of the bargain. It is almost as if, by remaining true to his fëa, Master Parvon may find himself settling for someone not properly suited to his nature. But the fëa wants what the fëa wants, and who am I to question the choices of my master?'

'Goodness, Faerveren, you have had a lot to manage, have you not? And so wise as to the ways of the heart already… yes, I know what you mean… Commander Triwathon is lovely, though, he is just… caught up in glory, perhaps. And Master Parvon far too gentle and nice to be as forthright as he maybe should be…'

'Indeed. Do you think… because, with the Lord of Gondolin coming back, and the commander falling in love with him all over again, do you think that might be why Master Parvon suggested to our king that he take charge of the next company that wishes to sail, even going across the seas with them?'

Merenor blinked. Parvon, sail? Leave his unseeing beloved behind and forever distance himself from his fëa's other half…? But Faerveren was in full spate now.

'Because, of course, the Lord of Gondolin, he will return to his beloved Lord of the Fountains, and so Commander Triwathon would find it painful, perhaps, seeing his lover with someone else. But sometimes, Daerada, do you know, sometimes I think of poor Master Parvon and then wonder if such a thing might not serve Commander Triwathon right!'

'Well, now,' Merenor began, trying to take all this in and sound as if he knew what he was talking about, and not a little surprised at his grandson's decided opinion on the topic. 'Master Parvon is a one-elf elf, you see. He has lived with his feelings for the commander for so long now, I think he would not want to learn to love another, even if he could. So perhaps, by sailing, he would put himself out of reach of the torment of constantly seeing the one he loves, but being unable to do more than be his friend. It would be a brave move, if so. But could it not simply be that he has no family here any longer? I know from past discussions, he told me he would be reluctant to sail, but then, his brother died in battle – I remember his brother, lovely fellow, saved me from a nasty scrape, once – and not long after that, the rest of the family sailed.'

Privately, Merenor wondered how Parvon had felt about that, that his parents would leave him behind and go chasing off to the Undying Lands to be there when their other son left the Halls of Waiting; it seemed far too sad, to his mind.

'Yes, but, Daerada…' Faerveren continued in subdued tones. 'I am not sure… now I think… that I should have mentioned this to you. I think it is meant to be a secret, and Master Parvon would not like it if the commander were to know he had offered to sail…'

'I am not surprised, penneth; it might feel like a betrayal, since they have worked together to build this place… but don't you worry, I won't say a word to anyone about it. And now you've got it out of your head, you don't need to worry about letting anything slip either. Not even if the king asks – it is far too good a story not to keep to myself!'

Sure enough, when asked by the Elvenking what the mood of gossip was like, he just shrugged and kept several of the best stories to himself.

'People generally blame the garrison and the palace for their discomfort, not their own reluctance to have safety measures in place.' He spread his hands. 'That is all, really.'

'Indeed? Have you lost your skill in gossip, Merenor, or are people simply not confiding in you? For there is a wild tale that Master Parvon offered to sail as penance for his part in the death of the messenger… I said it was nonsense, of course, that the Chief Scribe would not even consider such a thing…'

'Master Parvon and Commander Triwathon have worked so hard here, I cannot imagine him wishing to leave his work at the New Palace unfinished… unless there is no future for him here…'

'Indeed, one might ask, why would he choose to sail? I should be most interested in his reasons…' Thranduil let the comment slide into Merenor's possession, certain that where Ness had failed (or refused to find out) Merenor would probably bring back all the information he needed. 'Now, about those reports… I intend making a decision about the future of the ruined villages shortly, once I have been to see for myself. Obviously, Master Parvon and Commander Triwathon will expect to accompany me… but what I would prefer, Master Merenor, is an independent individual who may have been in the forest on the night. If anyone can think of someone, it will be you…'

'Rusdir,' Merenor said immediately. 'He is mourning his honour-sister, it is true, but when we spoke, he sounded as if he was becoming resigned… he is certainly independent, and was one of your majesty's warriors in his day.'

'Yes, indeed. Arrange it, would you? You may include yourself in the expedition, if you wish, as long as you do not let Parvon or Triwathon know about it until after the event; you are right that there seems a certain upwelling of feeling against them, and were they to accompany me into the forest, no doubt the good elves who have written so strongly their thoughts would doubt the objectivity of even my Garrison Commander and Chief Scribe.'

'Gladly, sire. It is such a shame, and the Commander and Master Parvon do seem quite anxious about their future here…'

'No doubt,' Thranduil said drily. 'And do not be trying your wiles on me, Master Merenor; I will not be drawn on the matter of the dissolution of the New Palace until after I have seen for myself.'

'Of course, sire,' Merenor said. 'Your majesty would not like such information to be made public, at least not until after my king has made up his mind what to do.'

'Quite. I… Merenor?'

But Master Merenor had already bowed himself out of the royal presence, hugging the knowledge to himself that perhaps the king was not as immune to an advisor's wiles as he might like to believe…

When Merenor approached Rusdir and explained the king's wishes, the former captain began to nod.

'Yes, yes indeed, for it was terrible, and the dragons came down so suddenly… Elrohir and I sounded the alarms, but…'

'Rus, you gave Master Merenor a full account two days ago,' Elrohir interposed gently. 'And I don't want you upsetting yourself more over this…'

'I know, but… it is important, I think, for someone to show my king all the wheres and the hows of the night. The Einior will not think to mention how he disbelieved us at first, wasting valuable time, how nobody except us seemed to think gathering in the Heart Glade was a bad idea… this is something I can do, a way I can honour my honour-sister.'

'And who else is going?'

Merenor considered. 'His majesty the king has asked me to attend him, so I will be there, with my husband Hanben. Perhaps Healer Nestoril, but I think the idea is to keep it to a small party. But I am sure he would not object to your presences, Lord Elrohir…'

'No, I'll stay with the elflings.'

'Of course. How are they now? It must have been dreadful, and as young as they are, how to make sense of any of it… I am a father myself, you know, and so I understand how worried you must be for them. But, if it is any comfort, little ones are strong in ways we adult elves don't remember.'

'Thank you, I am sure you…' Elrohir broke off; he had been about to dismiss Merenor's attempt at sympathy, but saw only compassion in his eyes and sighed. 'Yes. Yes, you love your children and grandchildren and, in fact, everyone's children… and I know you've been spending time with the little ones who haven't been claimed by their families yet… so you know…'

Merenor nodded.

'I know. Sometimes I wish I did not, but I know. My youngest and his husband adopted a child of the forest, after the Battle of the Five Armies. He had been… damaged by events, but they loved him anyway. And he found a measure of peace, grew up, found love, and they sailed young. Well. Elflings aside, will you come, Rusdir?'

'Yes. I will come.'