Knowing it was likely to be at least an hour before the stretcher party returned, Parvon filled the time by trying to tidy the area while Triwathon kept watch over Glorfindel's remains. He tugged the slain dragonet to the edge of the clearing, dragged the dead dam, inch by inch, away from Glorfindel. It was a struggle, for by nature he was slight and not as tall as most Silvans, but it was worth the effort for the privacy it provided Triwathon, creating a little space in which he might think all his sad thoughts and cry silently over the body of his former lover. At one point Parvon left the clearing altogether, returning a little while later with clean hands and a filled water bottle, although the Commander hadn't seemed to notice his absence.

'Triwathon, you should drink a little. And the stream is not far, if you want to wash your hands and face; I will sit with him for you.'

'Yes, I suppose I… Listen!' Triwathon said, looking about. 'That's Celeguel's call… I do not know if we should…'

'No, neither do I. To answer would bring her and how she would react… and it could summon others, too…'

The Commander gently released Glorfindel from his arms and set him down as carefully as if he were still alive, as if it still mattered. It did, of course.

'I will not leave you long, Glorfindel,' he said quietly. 'And Parvon will stay with you while I am gone…. Will you not, Parvon?'

'Of course I will.'

When Triwathon returned a few moments later he looked calmer, a little cleaner. His clothes were still smeared with soot and he was covered in blood from where he had cradled his dead friend, and there was a terrible fragility in his eyes, but his emotions were under control.

'I could have carried him home, Parvon,' he said. 'We would be there by now.'

Parvon doubted it; Triwathon was trembling with exhaustion and distress and the chance of him being able to carry Glorfindel any distance seemed remote. Instead of saying so, however, he took a different tack.

'And what would that have looked like, may I ask? People here admire you, respect you and such an action would make them look at you askance; everyone knows you and Glorfindel were close, but they had thought you had both allowed your affair to fade into friendship. To carry him in would make you seem a lovesick youngling, and they would think you weak, just when they need you to be strong. I am sorry; I know you loved each other and I do not mean to disrespect your closeness. But the people need you now, Commander Triwathon, we must stand together, you and I, and bring our people through this terrible time; neither of us can afford to show our softer side, not where it will be misinterpreted by frightened elves.'

Triwathon sighed.

'You are right, of course, Parvon; you are always right.'

'Sometimes I would prefer to be wrong, my friend.'

Celeguel's call sounded again and Triwathon got to his feet and sent out his own identifier.

'Celeguel was a friend of Glorfindel's. I will not leave her whistling alone in the forest.'

Parvon nodded, and went to the edge of the clearing whence had sounded Celeguel's signal. When she dropped down through the trees a few moments later, therefore, it was Parvon she saw first, and not the dead Balrog-Slayer.

'What's going on?' she asked, and Parvon bowed his head.

'I remember Glorfindel,' he said, the traditional Silvan way of announcing a death.

'What? Oh, I did not even know he was here… Triwathon…?'

Yes. This was how it would be; every time Glorfindel's death was mentioned, Triwathon's name would follow, for it was no secret that the two had been close not so very long ago, and nobody would stop to consider Parvon's feelings on the matter. But he set the thought aside and nodded.

'He was with him, at the end; the dragons are all dead, at least.'

'That's good, at least, that's good news.' Celeguel nodded to herself and followed Parvon into the glade. 'Commander… I remember Glorfindel. He was a hero to many, but he was also our friend.'

'Captain Celeguel. You are uninjured?'

She shrugged.

'Mostly, Commander. If you wish, I have a report for you.'

'Proceed.'

'Fires are coming under control around Beech and Oak villages; the settlements proper are still burning, however. I regret to report several known deaths, many elves missing in the confusion – but it is to be hoped they are merely lost and will be able to make their way to the New Palace. I found several elflings who had become separated from their families and gave them into the care of Canadion and Thiriston. There are two scouting parties out in the woods looking for survivors, and Calithilon reported having encountered two Galadhrim who were escorting a company of injured Silvans to safety earlier. The Galadhrim said Arveldir, Erestor and… and Glorfindel were in their party, so…'

'Thank you, Celeguel.' Triwathon managed a tight, formal smile of acknowledgement. 'Arveldir was here when Glorfindel died – his wisdom will help us greatly in the days that follow. Erestor I saw briefly, when we all met up, but not since…'

'I will keep watch for him as I go; Arveldir will be anxious. Sir, do you need help here? I could sit with the fallen should you need to be elsewhere…'

It was a good and sensible suggestion, but Triwathon shook his head.

'No, Celeguel, but I am grateful. We expect a stretcher party soon. I suggest you head back to the palace, pass on your report to Narunir and make sure it is known that the dragons are dead and now we must simply douse the flames, lick our wounds, honour our dead and rebuild.'

Celeguel nodded.

'You make it sound so straightforward,' she said. 'And, indeed, if anyone can hold us together, it is you, and Parvon. Sir – make sure you take time for yourself. If you fail, we will all fail.'

'I think she meant to be encouraging,' Parvon said when Celeguel had gone.

'No doubt.' Triwathon's smile was wan. His eyes were drawn to Glorfindel once more, and he sat beside the fallen warrior and began to untangle his hair from the twisted bun at the back of his head. 'What do you think he was doing with his hair so untidy? Glorfindel never bundles his hair up in such a mess…!'

'Perhaps to get it out of the way. If he knew there were dragons, and with his history…'

'It does not suit him; it is wrong, Parvon, it…' Triwathon heard the edge of hysteria in his voice and he shook his head. 'I am sorry. Perhaps I am tired. But… I should like to tidy him.'

'When we get him home, Triwathon,' Parvon said. 'I will help you, if you wish, or I will stand outside the door if you want privacy to attend him alone. For now, though, we should leave him as he is.'

Erestor sat in Faerveren's office and made himself useful by compiling a list of those elves who had safely attained the sanctuary of the New Palace while the young scribe read through the missives. After a very few moments, he thought he heard a suppressed expletive and lifted his head.

'Is there something amiss, Faerveren?' he asked.

'It is only… I must make certain… but I think… it must be a mistake, my imagination, but would you check something for me?' Faerveren brought the messages over. 'Now, you see, all were sealed up in the same folded sheet – it is our practice, the latest message is the outermost… but the wax seal has been broken and then resealed after. You can see the outer message mentions dragons here… and dwarves…'

'Yes, I do see that.'

'There was one other message inside, to do with our king's journey to Ithilien which was folded and tied, but not sealed with wax; in it, the king says that in the light of this news he will not go, lest he is needed, and he awaits our acknowledgement of the information. But this message is dated later than the outer sheet, where the date is, to be frank, ambiguous and may even have been written over, which is not policy, all mistakes are left and corrected beneath… it suggests that the two were written almost at the same time, the king's note being too small to serve as the outer cover. I must ask, am I mistaken, in your opinion, or do you concur with my findings?'

'If that is your system… I cannot see the point in sending separate messages, and yes, the date on the king's message is clear while that of the outer sheet is not… the seal is undoubtedly broken, but it could be because the message was sealed before the inner letter was ready to send, which also would explain why it was innermost… I am sure you have a reason for asking…?'

'Usually, when a seal must be broken and remade, it is imprinted a second time so it is obvious that no tampering has taken place. The date on the king's letter is five days ago. He would have wanted the message bringing as soon as possible, I am certain he would have impressed the need for haste on the bearer. I am not sure if you know, but a person on foot can cover the ground between the Old Palace and the New in three days at a push, on horseback, two… we should have had warning days ago! Ai, can you imagine…? The Commander would have been able to evacuate all the talain towns, and have the guard ready… we would have been prepared, our people need not have died…'

…Glorfindel need not have died…

Erestor swallowed his dismay and examined the missives.

'I… can only agree, that is what it looks like here. But wait, I beg, ask Arveldir, ask your Master Parvon, oh, it would be just too, too dreadful if this is all the fault of some messenger who dallied on the way…'

'But it would be well within the moral compass of Master Girithon to disregard the importance of his messages and waste time in idling… we were expecting a messenger yesterday, I mentioned to Narunir, for I was concerned… I also have word from Acting Commander Narunir that Girithon was seen about the near villages the day before yesterday…' Faerveren shook his head. 'Of course I will speak to my superiors before I make any accusations. I… oh, but this is terrible, terrible. Even had the messenger arrived when expected, between the daymeal and supper, there would have been time to send out the warriors to the villages, to begin an evacuation, but… And we are to just set this aside and I am to get on with my work as if…?' Faerveren sighed. 'Yes, I am supposed to do exactly that; this is the Office of the New Palace and I am its servant. Once I am finished for the day, then I will respond like an ellon, not a scribe. Master Erestor, I beg your pardon, but this has been a little shock… do you wish me to find a room where you may rest so that you are spared my nonsense?'

'In fact, Faerveren, I would rather be busy and have company while I wait for news of my husband. If not you, then I fear the newly dead will be my companions in thought, and I am not yet ready for that.'

'Thank you, Master. I must admit I would prefer not to be alone at present.'

So Erestor was there in the Palace Office when Elrohir and Rusdir came with news of their escape and journey, and duly noted the names of all the elves and elflings escorted in with their party. He also noted that Rusdir's sister had not been named, but forbore to ask for details. It was a subdued reunion with Elrohir, of course, especially when he mentioned – as he felt he must – that Glorfindel had fallen. He was there to smile at Celeguel and tell her he was pleased to see her again, although not under such circumstances, and to pat her shoulder as she floundered into tears.

'You haven't had your injuries dressed yet, have you?' he said gently. 'Perhaps you should go to see Healer Mae. She will help you.'

'I was… in the forest… Triwathon and Parvon and… and Glorfindel is…'

'I know, it is terrible. I do not know what we will do without him; Imladris will never be the same. But he will be with his Ecthelion, so we should not feel too badly about him.'

'It is hard, though,' she said and, yes, it was hard for Silvans who would never sail, but his heart lifted suddenly and there in the doorway was his husband, carrying an elfling.

'Erestor, I am glad to find you well enough to be working – you are well enough, I take it, I heard you were hurt?'

'I have had my injury tended to, my dear, and I would rather be useful. Faerveren here has been kind enough to set me to making lists, and so may I ask the name of your young companion?'

'This is Harnion. I am on my way to Healer Maereth with him but I heard the rumour that you were here and wanted to be sure of it first.'

Faerveren vacated his seat.

'My lord Arveldir, if you like, I will take the elfling along to the healers, and on my return bespeak some refreshments for you,' he offered. 'There is a matter on which your advice would be most helpful but until then, please, do sit; I will find you an emergency restorative…'

'Ah, I do like the sound of that!' Arveldir smiled. 'Well, if you will not mind carrying young Harnion here… Captains Thiriston and Canadion say he has been very brave.'

Faerveren saw Arveldir supplied with spirits, topped up Erestor's goblet, and left with the elfling in his arms. Sighing, Arveldir reached for Erestor's hand.

'I love you,' he said. 'I was most anxious when we were separated.'

'As I was for you. Even though I have heard the tally of the dragons – nine juveniles and the one adult. Do you know, the Dwarves chased them out of their new lands, or suchlike, and sent them on to us? I am sure Thranduil will not be happy when he hears the tale…'

'Ah, that is Dwarves for you; whether they mean to or not, they always cause confusion… but you are safe. I find that is the most important thing in my heart at the moment. You are writing a list of survivors? I met with many in the forest, let me give you more names…'