Triwathon stood at Glorfindel's side and tenderly stroked his hand before laying it gently down by his side. The Hero of Gondolin had been washed, his wounds dressed, and a fine linen shirt and formal Silvan fighting kilt put on his body. His hair, too, had been washed, braided and bound, his eyes closed in a strange sort of sleep. Beneath his head lay a blue towel, folded so that the border with its tracery of embroidered yellow flowers was visible. Outside, the New Palace was bustling with refugees still arriving, injured elves, misplaced elflings… but in here it was just Glorfindel, and Triwathon, and Parvon on respectful watch inside the doorway; Girithon's remains had been removed to a very small room off the healers' chambers once Healer Maereth had looked the body over.

Triwathon, too, had submitted to Maereth's inspection, and while her brows had contracted to see the many purpling bruises around the commander's throat, she had declared him otherwise well and released him from her halls. From there, he had returned to the Palace Office and Parvon had accompanied him to his rooms where, as he had promised, the advisor had stood guard outside the Commander's door while he washed away the taint of Girithon's pollution.

So now Triwathon was clean and in fresh garments, wearing a tunic with a high collar to hide the marks on his neck, but feeling much better for the chance to wash and change.

Even so, he was troubled and once again turned to his friend for support.

'I am so afraid, Parvon,' he began. 'I learned so much from Glorfindel, he made me what I am, and now that he is gone, will I change again? Will I revert to how I was, that shy, uncertain ellon?'

'The death of anyone who has been important in our lives changes us,' Parvon said, folding his hands together in front of his body. 'How not? They have been there, and then they are not; there is a void where once there was laughter, friendship, affection… how much it changes us depends, in part, on how much we allow it, how much we refuse to be affected… but as to reverting to how you were? I doubt it, Triwathon; I think you have come too far, and do not forget, much of what you have achieved you did on your own. Or at least, without Glorfindel's direct encouragement.'

A wan smile.

'It felt, in those early days, as if Glorfindel was in everything I did… Ai, Parvon, I do not know how to start, where to begin, what to feel…'

'That is normal.' Parvon said it with the certainty of one who knew. Although he was quoting what Glorfindel had himself said, on occasion, still, it was true; he himself had lost kin, he knew loss and grief. 'We are not supposed to die, and therefore we were never meant to witness the death of our friends and families. One feels what one feels, in one's own way and in one's own time.'

Triwathon nodded.

'And the other thing… had you not arrived when you did… It was frightening, Parvon, him… Girithon… coming in here, saying those things, and I… almost… just like after… oh, I do not know if you knew, my friend who died…'

'The poacher?'

This drew a wry smile.

'Yes, indeed, the poacher, although he was so much more… well. After he died, I was… other people died, too, of course, but he… and I thought, if he had not been so flighty, if he had done more in the guard than just follow the set orders, if he had tried harder, perhaps he would have lived… and I wondered if I would fall into the same trap… instead, I fell into another. One who has sailed, he… he offered what I thought was comfort… and more, and that it would help. It did not and half way home he… he abandoned me. Glorfindel – when we got back – Glorfindel was kind. I do not want to go back to the person I was before; too many people rely on me, I would not be fit to protect them, I… Someone said to me once, that I was the sort of ellon to fall in love again and again, just to avoid finding my forever love, because in my heart I did not believe myself worthy of being loved forever. That I would never be good enough, or consider myself good enough.'

He took a deep breath and sat down, turning to face Parvon.

'I have often wondered what you thought of me, when we first met. I have wondered what you might, perhaps, have told Glorfindel about me, had he asked…'

Parvon frowned; it was an unexpected comment and he was unsure where it was leading.

'Glorfindel would not have asked, of course, especially not once he knew I had feelings for you. He was too well-mannered. But, had any enquired of me concerning Triwathon, of the Court Guard, I would have said nothing either of us need be ashamed of. I would have spoken of your courage and loyalty and your developing leadership skills; I would not have mentioned youthful indiscretions and misdemeanours…'

'I know, that wasn't quite… I think what I meant was… what did you see in me, when we first met? So that if I change, I know you would spot it, and stop me.'

'I think it would take more than I to do that,' Parvon said. 'Really? You wish to discuss this now? Here? In front of Glorfindel?'

Triwathon nodded.

'Perhaps I want him to hear what I was like then; I never told him how foolish and silly I was, not really.'

'Oh, very well…' Even though Parvon was fairly certain Triwathon would not be flattered. 'The first time I saw you was when you and the poacher had been hauled into the King's Office for straying, yet again, onto the Royal Elk Tamers' preserves. The Elk Tamers were rightly furious, and the poacher was smirking. You were grinning openly and I looked at you and my world changed. My fëa reached out to you and my heart stood in my chest as if it would never beat again. I could not speak, I could not move; all I could do was fill my senses up with you.' Parvon grimaced. 'I was furious! Here, then, was my fëa-mate, beautiful of face and form, yes, but… but giggling because he'd been caught in the preserves with a poacher? I was devastated! How could this be? What were the Valar thinking, to tie my fëa to someone who seemed destined for the cells, or at the very least, remedial duties? How was I ever going to live it down?'

'…what?' Triwathon managed after a long pause.

'We were not a proud family, not above ourselves or our company, not afraid of a hard day's work… but to think of my parents having to acknowledge me, their son, connected with a… a borderline criminal…! The shame of it would have broken their hearts, even if they could have got over the first shame of my being – as they would have said, thought, felt – afflicted… I resolved in that instant I would never acknowledge my feelings, would never seek marriage or love but instead would live a close and celibate life and thus spare my family from the awfulness of having you for an honour-relative.'

The commander shook his head.

'This, from you? A person under house arrest?'

The advisor and the commander stared at each other. Parvon gaped, Triwathon ventured a grin, and the advisor blinked and from somewhere a laugh bubbled up. Triwathon joined in, the two of them clearing their fëar, the air, their hearts with humour. Even Glorfindel, it seemed, was smiling gently.

'Well, you asked.' Parvon recovered first, gestured towards Triwathon with outstretched fingers. 'But look at you; so handsome, so beautiful… and for decades no-one suspected me of being attracted to you, they thought I was simply doing my work well and efficiently, that I had no interest in romance. When you came back from fighting dragons, you were already changed. Then, something about you – perhaps the loss you had suffered, the rejection, perhaps the realisation that your friend might not have died had he been more conscientious – I do not know – but something about you reawakened all the yearnings of my fëa and this time, this time my heart and my mind followed too, and I was lost beyond redemption.'

He lowered his hand and brushed back his tawny hair.

'It was only then that Arveldir noticed my attraction, although perhaps that was because he had lately found love with his Erestor – but whatever the reason, that was the moment. Perhaps my fëa had always seen your potential, perhaps I was simply slow to follow… I know I do not speak of it often – it is too difficult a reminder for us both, I think, and if I ignore my deeper feelings, I find I am able to be quite a good friend to you. I hope I am, at least.'

Suddenly it bore in on Triwathon how at every touch and turn, Parvon had been there, watching over him, helping him, supporting him in ways no garrison commander had any right to expect from an advisor-in-chief and he was more grateful than he could properly express at for Parvon's steady assistance.

'Parvon… you have been my best friend for so many years now… '

'And I hope to continue to be so for as long as you need my friendship.'

Triwathon nodded. 'I will always need your support, I think, as wise as you are, as brave in your own ways even as was Glorfindel.'

'You honour me, Triwathon.' He paused and looked down at the Balrog-slayer, lying in state as if he were a Silvan. It struck him he had no idea of the burial customs of Glorfindel's people, what his wishes might be. 'We must find out what his friends want for him. I shall ask Erestor, that will be best; Elrohir has his own grief at the moment.'

'Are not we his friends?' Triwathon said. 'Can we not honour him in our own way? He died for us, we need to offer him a Silvan burial; he should have a starlight gemstone, be laid to rest in the forest…'

'He would like that, I am sure,' Parvon said, interrupting before Triwathon's voice could grow sharp and fast with emotion. 'But we should consider his household, should we not? He does have other friends…'

'He does, of course; I am being selfish, I… but consider the practicalities; how might one carry his remains across the mountains at this time of year? Should we not send for his other friends, have them come here for whatever rituals they would hold? If… if they will not follow our ways…'

'The timing is difficult, of course. Triwathon, I think you are right – he should have a gemstone. He was always moved by the Night of the Names, and it is a good way to honour him. Let me speak to Erestor, though, and seek his opinion.'

Triwathon nodded.

'The best, he must have the biggest, clearest, brightest and most perfect diamond in the stores, he…'

'I'll bear that in mind when I select the stones for our fallen,' Parvon said, trying not to flinch; Glorfindel had been many things, but perfect was not one of them and the advisor was sure that so wonderful a gem as Triwathon suggested would not be appropriate.

'Thank you, yes, that would be kind. I… oh, I am wrong, am I not? He'd just laugh at a perfect stone…'

'We can choose together, if you like. Celeguel said she would like to sit with him, she's just outside. He won't be alone.'

Parvon presented himself outside Arveldir and Erestor's guest chamber and inclined his head politely as Arveldir opened the door.

'If I may, could I speak with Master Erestor before supper?' he asked. 'It is not a pressing matter, but I am anxious to know what to do, when the time comes…'

'That sounds rather ominous!' Arveldir said. 'Is it something I might help with, perhaps? My husband is injured and tired. Step in, however, and sit a moment.'

'I know, and I apologise for being a nuisance; it is possible you may be able to advise, Lord Arveldir, but I am not entirely sure. It… it concerns… certain burial arrangements…'

'You mean Glorfindel?' Arveldir said bluntly. 'I see why you feel you need to involve my husband… it is not straight forward, is it?'

'Is it not?' Erestor asked from where he lay on the sofa near the fire.

'We wish to offer Glorfindel full Silvan rites in honour of his sacrifice. But if we do so, in order for us to remember him on the Night of the Names, he must first be laid to rest; there has to be a clear delineation between the burial and the speaking of the name after it. With the observances so near, it is impossible for Glorfindel's friends across the mountains to get here in time,' Parvon explained. 'But really, I wished first to ask whether, in your opinion, any of his friends would object to us taking care of him in our own way; I do not know what it is you do, with your bodies, you see.'

'Generally, we try not to create any.' Erestor smiled. 'Glorfindel would love to be treated as a Silvan, I am sure. Nor do I think any of his friends will mind… he had a lover, did you know? Just lately, the last few years.'

'I did not know, no.' Parvon tried not to sigh; here was another thing he would have to either tell Triwathon, or decide to keep from him. 'I hope he will not be too much missed?'

'He will be hugely missed by all of us,' Erestor said. 'But his friend – I do not think they were in love, I think they were more friends who happened to be lovers occasionally.'

'Melpomaen – Findel's bed-friend – is very tender-hearted, so he will mourn, certainly. But he will not quite break his heart over Glorfindel,' Arveldir said. 'Not to sound callous – however much we treat him as one, Glorfindel is not a Silvan – so his fëa will not mind if it is not treated entirely as it should. I suggest we find him a place, and lay him there with the rites required for us to speak his name, and then escort his gemstone to Imladris. We will return, in time for the New Year, with it, and with any of his friends who wish to attend, and lay him formally to rest then in accordance with Noldorin tradition. Is that a good plan?'

'Yes, that would fit all the eventualities,' Parvon said. 'As for where – I have an earth-cave which I would be honoured to give up for Glorfindel. Nobody need know it was mine, I am not looking to have my name linked with his – but it will be easier, I think. The tree above is the most elegant in the forest, and golden flowers bloom around it in season. When his friends come in the New Year, it will be beautiful to see.'

'It is very kind of you, Parvon,' Arveldir said. 'Will you circulate the stone here first or send it back unfilled?'

'Glorfindel's current lover should be first to speak his memories,' Parvon said. 'I am certain Triwathon will cede the right to first memories to him, once he knows Glorfindel left someone waiting.'

'Yes, that is as it should be. We will stay with you until after the Night of the Names, and then – once Erestor is well enough – we will escort the gemstone to Rivendell.'

The evening meal was a strange affair. Having consulted with Parvon once more, Faerveren had approached everyone who was anyone in the palace and invited them to the top table. As expected, Maereth claimed pressure of work, but there had been no new arrivals needing her care for more than an hour and Othwen said firmly that she could cope perfectly well, Maereth needed to get away from the healing rooms for a little while and if there were an emergency, she would send to the dining hall. Elrohir and Rusdir hesitated, but Faerveren had asked with so much respect, acknowledging their loss and suggesting their example would support others who were also grieving, that they accepted the invitation. The Galadhrim were there, too, honoured guests for their part in helping escort the injured to safety and in fighting the dragons. Erestor sat a little awkwardly in his elf-barrow rather than on a chair, Arveldir at his side. Parvon and Triwathon sat almost together at the centre of the table, only a narrow, empty chair between them, representative of the presence of the king but taking up less space.

The hall filled. Towards the back tables, three ellyn in from the villages south and east clustered, bickering, silenced only when Parvon rose to his feet to address the company.

'Welcome, friends, guests, visitors, on this strange evening. Following the meal Commander Triwathon, Healer Maereth, and I will address you concerning the difficult events we have weathered and answer any questions you may have.' He spoke with a confidence he didn't quite feel, in part fuelled by the knowledge that if those in the hall knew of his involvement with Girithon's death, they would be less likely to believe in his reassurances. 'But for now, eat, drink, and console yourselves with the fact that we are here, our forest is here, and however hard the days ahead may be, in time, all will be well.'

He nodded to the servers, waiting at the sides of the hall, and the food and drink went round.

'Winterstew,' Arveldir said with a sigh, leaning forward over the bowl and inhaling the rich aromas. 'I have not eaten winterstew in many decades.'

He reached for the platter of bread and broke some off, dipping it into his bowl and proffering it to Erestor in a public display of intimacy that made his husband blush, just a little, as he accepted the morsel.

'It is delicious,' Erestor said. 'It minds me of meals from long ago, when I was a little elfling. The sauce is so rich, and the vegetables add colour and texture.'

'Winterstew is also a very good way to make a small amount of venison server a large number or persons,' Arveldir added, smiling. 'Understandable, as there must be twice the usual number of diners tonight.'

'I was going to explain it by saying we are saving ourselves for the Yule Eve Feast and therefore the fare is simple,' Parvon said. 'But somehow, it is what we need tonight; it is comforting, I think.'

Certainly those gathered ate heartily. Knowing there would be a temptation for everyone to drink more deeply than they ate, Parvon had made sure the wine going around was the lightest in store, but there were no complaints. The mood of the hall, really, was weary more than anything.

Once the meal was over, and the wine had gone around again, Parvon rose to his feet. Along the table, Arveldir surreptitiously tapped his goblet to call the hall to silence.

Parvon lifted his drinking cup.

'To our honoured dead,' he said. 'We will speak our memories to their stones, and we will remember their names at the appropriate times. But while we are still permitted to name them, let me say: I remember Landaer, Rhoscthel, Hithuves…'

A murmur spread as the names sank in, as those who had not known now realised what had happened to their missing friends or relations. One or two wept softly.

'…Girithon,' Parvon finished, slipping the name of the messenger in at the end of the list. He paused. 'There are those who are missing, still, who I will not count with the dead. One other lost his life in the attack, an elf whose home was far, far from here, who travelled over the mountains with his friends and who died after slaying the last of the dragons. We will remember the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin, Firstborn and Seneschal of Rivendell, Balrog-Slayer and now Dragon-Slayer, Glorfindel in accordance with Silvan traditions, for he died protecting Silvans. He will be missed.'

A ripple of consternation passed through the hall. Parvon waited for the buzz of conversation to subside.

'The Palace Office understands that you will wish to lay your fallen to rest as soon as possible, and to that end memory stones will be placed beside them this evening, so that you may begin to share your recollections. If you have any requirements, needs, and questions about laying your honoured dead to rest, we will be at your service in the morning. The death of any elf is a terrible thing, and to lose so many in such circumstances is a tragedy. We feel for your losses.'

He paused to let them take that in, and addressed them again.

'The king has been informed of our situation by hawk and by messenger. And now Commander Triwathon now will speak to you.'

Triwathon rose, lifted his drinking cup in salute.

'To our honoured dead,' he said. 'May Lord Námo nurture their fëar until it is time for them to walk again in the bliss of Valinor. But I must talk now of us, of we who survived. We have done well, given the start of this day, to end it in peace. There is much still to be done, of course, but there is room in the New Palace for all those who have lost their homes. The healers will need support in the days ahead, and cannot be expected to bear it all alone. Those of my garrison with field training will help. I have had teams of hunters out searching for our missing friends, and they will go out tomorrow, also. Our visiting Captains Canadion and Thiriston have offered to help look after the elflings in the school room – not to teach them, but those who are apart from their families feel safe with them. It is to hope we can reunite our sundered families swiftly. But now the palace is secure, the dragons are all vanquished, the fires no longer burn. In the days ahead we will need to face many difficult decisions, but for the moment all we can do is regroup and take care of each other. I wish to extend my thanks to those visiting elves, from the Old Palace, as well as from across the mountains, who have worked so tirelessly to help us. To those of you who have abandoned your regular tasks to assist. To our Healers, Maereth and Othwen, and their assistants, who have not ceased in their efforts. Healer Mae – will you tell us, please, how it is with your charges?'

Healer Maereth gave the impression of steeling herself as she began to speak. Her voice wavered at first, until she saw the nods and relieved smiles from the hall as she spoke of how everyone in her care would heal, how few injuries the elflings had suffered, how brave the little ones had been… thus encouraged, she relaxed, and went on to thank those who had helped her.

'Although we seem to be missing a borrowed elf-transporter, and somebody promised to return it…' she finished.

Faerveren looked acutely embarrassed, but Arveldir spoke up.

'Forgive us, Healer, but I would not countenance its return – my husband refuses to let me carry him in public.'