'The scouts report another party of warriors marching up the North Trail, singing loudly about 'Heroes Coming Home',' Parvon said. 'Which makes the third party of heroes this week, Valar be praised, will we ever be done honouring them?'

Commander Triwathon, to whom the comment was addressed, laughed at this.

'Ah, the old songs are the best... well, is there anything else I need to know, Master Parvon?'

'Other than once more your name has been put forward to commence the observances on the Night of the Names...'

'Again? Really, I am flattered, but is there no-one else?'

'With our prince settled in Ithilien and our king away at the Old Palace this year...? Unless you want to ask one of our many returning heroes...?'

'You know, I'm tempted... but if it's what the people want... well, if I do the public observances, I can't do the garrison's commemoration as well... we need a warrior couple for that... '

'Thiriston and Canadion are arrived, Commander – we could ask them?'

'Yes, a good idea; they are well-respected and, if any have the right to sing Heroes Coming Home, it is those two.'

'There is nothing more, Commander, except are you dining in the Hall tonight?'

Triwathon sighed. It was a formality he could do without, but the fact was, with the king away, there was no formal court other than Parvon and Maereth, in charge of the Healers Hall attached to the settlement, and the people in the talain around the New Palace did like to see someone at the top table when they came for the nightmeal… Still, it was good that so many had made the effort to come to the New Palace for the Yuletide Observances.

'Yes, I will be there. Perhaps you can scout out one or two of the Heroes to join us, too?'

It was almost two decades since Triwathon had taken up his post as Commander of the New Palace Garrison, and while it hadn't been easy – there had been much to learn and more to do – he had settled quickly into the life and learned to love this new part of the forest as much as the old; more, if anything, for he had made the garrison his, staffed with his chosen warriors under hand-picked captains.

There had been times when he had missed his old home, but so much changed and so swiftly in the years following the War of the Ring that there had barely been time to mope. There had been clearing up to do, too, as the darkest recesses of the forest began to grow light once more and the things that lurked in the shadows fled, quite often onto the bows and knives of his Silvan guards.

It seemed as if the forest was growing clean again, at last, for the number of incidents had been fewer in recent years and there was even a small, but vocal minority who were now concerned lest some of the forest's species – notably its giant spiders – were on the verge of extinction which some claimed were now a vital part of the forest's ecosystem...

Triwathon tried hard not to get involved in politics; that was what Parvon and the Palace Office was for; his job was just to keep everyone else safe while they were doing theirs.

The New Palace was situated far to the north, really less than a day's march from the northern edge of the forest. Huge glades had been opened up following the fires that had raged during the Battle Under the Trees, recovering now and filling with lush, low growth, and it was around several of these glades that the talain townlets had established themselves, close to the series of caves that now housed the New Palace complex and its satellite garrison.

Triwathon had lived so long in the Old Palace, and so close to it, that the thought of even the half mile between the nearest settlements and the shelter of the caves sometimes alarmed him, not to mention the villages further out. These days there were new ways of doing things, innovations to pipe water from the rivers and springs so you didn't have to fetch it for yourself, and there were schools enough in the talain settlements, so that your elflings wouldn't have to have a Palace education unless they wanted to go into trade, or politics, or the formal standing army, or something like that, and in all the excitement of 'new' things, people were forgetting how close they still were to old dangers.

The Commander had made his concerns known, of course, it was his duty, and he had been attended to, a little, at least; there was an alarm system, with each townlet and village having bells they could ring if there was trouble, the sound carrying through the forest to the watch flets outside the caves with different signals for different dangers.

But it was hardly enough, Triwathon thought, as more and more elves flocked in, wanting to return to the old ways, and not to be too close to their neighbours, or to live in large communities, so that some of the newest talain townlets were more than five miles away from the New Palace. While most of these far towns were to the south, within easy reach of the trail to the Old Palace (and correspondingly settled by elves with family there in the original Old Palace complex), there were several outliers north and west of the New Palace, and it was these townlets about which Triwathon was most concerned. But, in short, people wanted to return to the old ways and the old days, but with the addition of such of the new that suited them...

The commander smiled to himself. Well, he could understand that. Hot water and washing cascades had been an innovation, a luxury back in the days when he was a newly made captain. And now, everyone had them – even in the townlets.

There was a good crowd gathered in the Feasting Hall, he thought, as he took his place on one side of the empty high seat. Parvon, at the other, nodded to him. At the formality of the top table, proper terms of address were adhered to, at least at the start of the evening.

'Good evening, Commander Triwathon.'

'Good evening, Master Parvon.'

The advisor had done well, Triwathon noted, gathering some interesting faces to the top table. At Parvon's left sat Healer Maereth, and beyond her several veterans of the old days – Erthor, he recognised, and Calithilon. Brought together by injury, they had stayed friends ever since. To Triwathon's right he could claim old friends, too – Captain Celeguel was there, grinning already at something she'd overheard. He had trained with her, and they had fought beside each other many times through the years. With her, Amathel, a superb knife-thrower and with a tongue as sharp as her blades. And beyond, completing that side of the table, Captains Thiriston and Canadion, a married couple who had been together since before Triwathon had gained his captaincy. They were a mismatched pair, you'd think; Thiriston bigger and burlier than was usual in a Silvan (some said he had cave-troll ancestry, but only while he was out of earshot) and was almost as old as the king, while Canadion...

It was fair to say Canadion was one of the loveliest beings ever to walk under the trees of Eryn Lasgalen. His skin had a golden, tawny sheen, his hair was long and shining and a rich, glossy chestnut and his brown eyes were ringed with gold and dappled with golden flecks. A ready smile, a slender form marked him out from the rest. An expert archer even among experts, as keen with a bow as his husband was with his throwing blades and each utterly devoted to the other, they were a formidable pair and Triwathon was not the only elf in the Greenwood who owed them his life several times over.

Another couple, even more striking in their disparity at the other end of the table, was made up of Rusdir, a former captain of the guard, and his husband Elrohir, the son of Elrond Halfelven. But he seemed a decent enough chap, brave in battle, devoted to his Silvan, and nobody in the forest held either his human blood or his Noldo ancestry against him. They were come on a visit to Rusdir's honour-sister and had been persuaded to stay for supper before going on to her talan in one of the outlying villages; her spouse, Rusdir's brother, had died during the War of the Ring and he tried to visit as often as he could to keep an eye on his two nephews.

The food was good; fairly simple, perhaps, but bountiful, for winter, and the wine and beer went round with no lack. Light conversation with his neighbours, the ease of their journeys in, their plans for after Yule, and when the meal was done, he invited the entire top table back to his rooms to reminisce.

'We'll pass, I think,' Elrohir said with an easy grin. 'And might we beg a bed for the night? It's grown too late to arrive at Rhoscthel's village tonight, they'll all be bedded down by now. And I don't think she was definitely expecting us today.'

'Of course,' Parvon said. 'I will have a word with one of my assistants; we've plenty of space.'

'I will decline, Commander,' Healer Maereth said with a smile. 'I have left my assistant alone long enough tonight. But it is lovely to see everyone again; especially you, Captain Canadion!'

'It's going to be a warrior party, I see,' Parvon said. 'And so I, too, will beg to be excused – a busy day tomorrow, with the Yule preparations to organise...'

'Of course, Parvon, but if you change your mind, you know where we will be...'

Triwathon's rooms were situated in the next corridor along from the garrison warriors' quarters. They were spacious, not because he wanted imposing rooms, but because quite often he had meetings there, and the ability to seat a dozen or so visitors at once, in friendly surroundings, was of great use to him.

Tonight, it was just pleasant to take off his formal coat and relax amongst friends, to pass the wine around and smile at Amathel, and laugh with Celeguel and catch up on all the news.

'How long are you back for?' was a safe question. Many questions, for a Silvan, were not safe; asking after a person by name, for instance. Even in days of peace, there were dangers, and to speak the name of a dead Silvan, except on the Night of the Names or the anniversary of their death or their begetting day, was to disturb their rest. So you could not ask after an individual, not safely.

'How long will you have us?' Thiriston asked. 'Ithilien, very pretty. Not for us, though.'

'Too many Men,' Canadion said with a shudder. 'And they kept mistaking me for an elleth. Honestly, sometimes I think I should adopt female garb and have done with it!'

'You would both be welcome, of course,' Triwathon said, when the laughter at Canadion's dismay had died down. 'Any and all of you, if you want a change...?'

'It is not too far north for you, melleth?' Canadion asked his husband. The big elf shook his head.

'No, it will be fine. I want a job with real trees around me again.'

'In that case, seek me out after the observances,' Triwathon said. 'I'm sure I can find work for you both.'

And,

'How are things here?' was a safe question, too, a question Thiriston asked him.

'We are settling, we are happy, we are increasing our numbers,' Triwathon said. 'This is the first year that our king has felt we are secure enough for him to leave us for a time.'

'We happened to be at the Old Palace when he arrived,' Thiriston said. 'Going on to Ithilien to visit our prince, no less. We were there to catch up with family...'

'Oh? And how are they, your honour-kin?'

Thiriston smiled and gave Canadion a nudge.

'Why don't you tell them about your father, penneth-nin?'

And Canadion was off, almost prattling about my Ada this and my Ada that and Honour-Adar Hanben has invented that...

Triwathon grinned, and passed round more wine.

'Do you ever hear from across the mountains?' Celeguel asked, after Canadion had told them all about his father and honour-father's latest adventures modernizing in the old palace and had moved on to tales of his brother and family. 'I saw Elrohir, I would have liked a chance to ask how things are with our other friends there.'

'Yes, indeed. There is a monthly – or bi-monthly – exchange of news. All is well with our friends who settled there, and with those of the household we know. Elrohir and Rusdir were saying that Lord Celeborn is not in the best of spirits...'

'And... and Glorfindel?' Amathel was the one brave enough to mention him by name. 'Is he still there, or did he sail yet?'

'No, he is there, he sent me a gift of four bottles of honey beer with Elrohir, which seemed an odd number… and Arveldir writes that our old friend is well, and happy, and has taken up with one of the healers there but that they both think it is still a secret arrangement… I am glad of it, that he is not lonely.'

'So does that mean you will be a little kinder to Parvon, now?'

'Celeguel!' Triwathon grinned as he protested. 'I am always kind to Parvon! We are the best of friends and work exceptionally well together...'

'So has he stopped chasing you?'

'We work together exceptionally well,' Triwathon repeated. 'He has never chased me, but respects my boundaries even as I respect his feelings; in fact, I hold him in the highest esteem regardless of whatever our personal feelings may or may not be...'

'Come, Triwathon, you have to soften towards him soon,' Celeguel said, nudging Triwathon's shoulder.

Triwathon shook his head, smiling.

'It really hasn't been that long, you know. But I hold him in high regard. More wine?'

The mood grew relaxed as the wine was passed. Nobody was drunk, however, just laughing and loose-limbed, Canadion reaching the giggly stage when Triwathon lifted his head.

'Is something wrong?' Celeguel asked.

'I do not think so – what could be wrong? But...'

But he was uneasy, and when next the wine passed, he abstained, and was glad when his guests had finally left, and he had his fireside to himself again.

Not for long.

He was debating whether to put another log on the fire, or to bank it for the night, when a familiar, discreet knock came.

'Come in, Parvon,' he called out, a smile in his voice despite the lateness of the hour.

The advisor joined him by the fire, to find a glass of wine poured for him.

'Thank you, Commander. You had a pleasant evening, I hope?'

'It's always good to catch up. But it does mean the memories come back...'

'Well, at least you are still here to have memories.'

'True.'

'I thought you would like to know the main doors are secured, sentries report all is well...'

'Thank you, Parvon.'

'...Although I cannot quite shake a sense of uneasiness.'

'You, also?' Triwathon shook his head. 'I do not know, perhaps it is just that the trees here are mostly so young and fresh they do not know the signs of approaching danger for themselves, let alone for Elvenkind, that it is winter and the mature trees are slumbering so they are not alerting us to conditions... or perhaps it is merely anxiety as we are without our king...'

'We do not need our king for us to be safe, Triwathon. We have you commanding the guard.' Parvon raised his glass.

'And you to keep everything else under control.'

'Ai, we are being foolish; all is well, Triwathon.'

'Yes, Parvon. All is well.'