Not wanting the meal to drag on for too long – there were still many things to attend to that evening – Parvon took the first opportunity to rise from the table, Triwathon following suit immediately in a clear signal that the meal was over.

There was an instant rush and clamour of elves with questions spilling out of their eyes, however, and so the Commander and the Advisor in Chief exchanged glances and set up at a side table with Healer Maereth between them, where they spent an hour reassuring, consoling, advising and sometimes simply listening to the worries of the elves in their care.

Just when they thought everyone had been answered and were ready to rise again, the three bickering ellyn came forward, talking over each other and jostling for place.

'What happened to Girithon?'

'Why is he dead?'

'He was a messenger, not a fighter, and he was taken from my village by armed guards!'

'Wait, what was he doing in your village? He said he had to go to the palace, that's why he left me…'

'Oh, so, that's where he was off to! He told me I was the only one… this trip…'

'But he didn't tell me he'd been with you…'

'Master Girithon had an accident,' Healer Maereth said. 'He slipped and landed badly, his neck breaking in the fall. It was swift and he did not suffer. I am sorry to bring you the news, since you appear all to care for him.' She rose with grace from the table. 'And now I beg to be excused. For you have moved on to matters for private discussion, I deem, and I have left my halls in Healer Osweth's care; she has been on duty since the first warning. Goodnight Commander Triwathon, Master Parvon. Be well.'

Parvon waited with every appearance of polite attention for the three to stop squabbling over whom Girithon had liked the best, and whose fault it was that he'd been brought to the palace anyway; it was a part of his Palace Office training to keep his expression neutral in the face of extreme provocation, but really, he was mortified. That at least three persons seemed to care about the messenger compounded the guilt he had been trying not to feel ever since he had realised the ellon was dead. But had he not acted, Triwathon might now be lying lifeless on a table somewhere; Arveldir had passed on Lord Námo's exact words and there was no doubting the Doomsman of the Valar…

The thought steadied him and he interrupted the squabbling ellyn with new steel in his voice.

'In fact, if you take a moment to consider, Girithon's late arrival meant we had no news of the dragons until they had already descended upon us and started killing people,' he said. 'Those of you – all and any of you – who harboured him or persuaded him to delay his road are probably culpable. Had Girithon arrived when he should, he would have been on his way back to the Old Palace and nowhere near dangerous, slippery stone floors in those parts of the New Palace where he had no right to be. I am sorry that you are saddened by his death, but this is really quite unseemly behaviour and best kept for private discussion. Decide amongst yourselves what to do with his remains; he is resting apart from the other since his death was not dragon-induced. Goodnight, mellyn-nin. Commander Triwathon and I have business to attend to.'

Since the ellyn did not seem as if they wished to move, Parvon was forced to rise and walk away, with Triwathon following his lead.

'I am glad to be gone from the company of those three,' Triwathon said as they moved deeper and deeper into the heart of the palace, 'but I would like to know if we are simply fleeing, or if there is a destination in mind?'

Parvon halted.

'My apologies, Triwathon! I am heading for the strongroom; I wish to set the gemstones as quickly as possible so the families have time to sit with them. And, of course, there is Glorfindel's stone to select.'

He reached a corridor with an awning over and unlocked several doors before he and Triwathon reached the inner room he had been seeking. One wall of shelves was empty, with small stands set in place, waiting for the burden of memory-filled jewels. On the other wall, several locked chests waited for keys, and Parvon opened the first of these now; in it was a selection of pearls, smooth and softly gleaming in the lamplight.

'It must be difficult to know how to define our Silvan dead,' Triwathon said. 'None who lost their lives were warriors. And yet they died fighting.'

'The definition we use has come to us from the king himself,' Parvon said, lifting down a second, smaller chest. 'It has nothing to do with how one died, but about how one expected to die… otherwise, the presence of a diamond, or a pearl, could be misread to imply courage, or lack of it. I do not doubt that those who could, fought against the dragons. But it was not their duty, they were not trained for such an eventuality.'

Parvon sifted through the pearls, selecting one here and another there as if he was looking for something in particular, although to Triwathon's eyes there was no difference. He gathered some sixteen pearls and set them on a strip of velvet, eyeing them with approval before putting them in a small pouch and continuing with his explanation while he closed the casket and replaced it on the shelf.

'A guard, or a hunter, or a warrior, they expect to meet danger and are trained to face it,' he went on. 'A clear gem shows they knew their way was clear before them, its hard, sharp edges reminding us of the sharpness of edged weapons… but a warrior who perhaps drinks too deep and falls from his flet – it has happened, rarely – he would not have been expecting to die, and so a pearl is more fitting. A pearl says: they had no time to prepare, they had no warning of danger. Innocents, if you will.'

'I see. So… they all will have pearls?'

'Except for Glorfindel, of course.' Parvon lifted the lid on the small chest. 'These are the rare gemstones, the ones that defy cataloguing. I thought this would suit him.'

He lifted out a large, almost oval chunk of a gem. It was almost translucent, but its heart was tinted with shades of yellow and amber, and at its centre was a minute imperfection that altered how the light moved through and around it.

'Yellow diamond,' Parvon said. 'Considered far more valuable in monetary terms than white. Even flawed, this stone would sell for more than a dozen perfect stones. But we do not keep them for their value, of course, just for their worth. It was felt such a stone could not be allowed to be sent to market, to be pawed over and mauled by dwarves and men, but our own Silvans, of course, would not want a stone that was not clear…'

'Why is it not shaped and faced like the other stones?'

'Ah. It was thought the flaw would be more noticeable were the stone to be faceted. Instead, it was cushion-cut, rounded and smoothed so that it feels pleasant in the hand. You could sit with this stone, and talk to it, and feel it was a friend, perhaps. Now, I promised the families these gems would be set tonight. Will you come with me? I can bring Faerveren if you have other matters to attend,' he went on quickly, for Triwathon had seemed to hesitate. 'But it would be seen as a mark of especial respect for both the Palace Office and the Garrison Guard to place the gemstones.'

They went first to the small chamber where Girithon lay ('to get it done and to move on swiftly') Parvon said. Nevertheless, as he placed the pearl on its stand at the side of Girithon's head, he bowed.

'We of the New Palace thank you for your service on behalf of the Elvenking,' he said. 'And on a personal note, I am sorry to have been incidental to your untimely death. Console your fëa with the knowledge that, had you lived, Thranduil would no doubt have levied the heaviest penalties upon you for dereliction of duty, and causing the death of so many elves. We will remember you.'

From there, it was but a short walk to the Quiet Room hear Maereth's healing chambers. Of a courtesy, Parvon went to speak with her.

'We are placing the gemstones,' he said. 'Is all well with your charges?'

'Mostly they are settled for the night. One or two have pain, and others are afraid of sleep. But generally, all is well.'

The Quiet Room was occupied, not only by the deceased, but by one of the bereaved as well; an ellon, seated over by a table on which a small chest had been placed. A name card was propped against it, and the ellon looked up when he heard the door close.

'Triwathon,' he said, his voice gently dull. 'Parvon.'

'Elrohir. We remember Rhoscthel. She loved her family, she adored her children, and she was so proud of her honour-brother and his spouse,' Parvon said, approaching. 'How is Rusdir?'

'He is sad, of course. But he is glad they found her. Well, some of her… a hand, someone recognised a ring she wore… it's awful, isn't it? I've done my share of fighting, I know my way around a battlefield, but when there's just so little of a person left you could put them in your saddle bags…'

'I know,' Triwathon said. 'But you have something to lay to rest, a place for the children to go and know her essence is with the forest, even as her fëa is with Lord Námo…'

'They'll come back with us, of course. They like Imladris, and at the moment they're scared if they can't see the sky. Rus is with them, I said I'd sit with her, for a bit.'

'I have her gemstone here,' Parvon said. 'A pearl, to show she was not expecting to be taken.' He placed it in a stand beside the casket. 'On behalf of his majesty the Elvenking, we thank you for your service, your loyalty, your love, Rhoscthel. We will remember you.'

Together he and Triwathon bowed, and moved on around the room, repeating the ritual, only the names changing. Several of the tables held caskets like Rhocthel's, some were empty but for a name plate; known to have died, no remains recovered yet.

In due course they found themselves almost back at Rhoscthel's table, and Elrohir looked up once more.

'It's awful about Glorfindel, isn't it?' he said. 'I'm glad Arveldir's coming back to Imladris to share the news, I don't want to be the one to break it to Melpomaen…'

'Melpomaen?' Triwathon asked. 'He is one of the young healers, is he not? I remember him, but I do not…'

'You didn't know? I'm sorry, I thought you would… they were together… they kept it private, but I thought Fin'd write you about it. It did them good, they were both lonely…'

'I see. I hope… I hope he will not be too much distressed. I doubt Glorfindel would want that.'

'No… but he'd claim to want some tears, I think. He liked to pretend he was vain.'

Triwathon found a smile and nodded.

'Please pass on our sympathy to your husband. We remember Rhoscthel,' he said. 'And pardon us – we must deliver Glorfindel's stone now.'

'So that's what he meant, in the forest,' Triwathon said when they reached Glorfindel's room. 'When he asked Arveldir to "tell Mel"… did you know?'

'Arveldir mentioned it to me before supper. I was not sure whether or not you already knew. I would have told you myself, had I realised.'

'No, I… I'm glad for him. And… and it's fitting. He – Melpomaen – I liked him, you know, he was one of those easy, friendly sorts… he will be first to speak his memories. I won't have to. That's better for everyone, really, if… if not for him, they'd make me first, wouldn't they? Because of our past? And I wouldn't want to do that, to be seen to be mourning him especially. I will, of course, but it's as you said. They need us strong. And… it's going to be difficult.'

'You can, at least, place the stone.' Parvon tumbled the gem into Triwathon's palm. 'That much is our right, as leaders of the community. And you can thank him on our behalf.'

Triwathon held the stone in his closed fist for a moment before placing it.

'Glorfindel, we are grateful for your sacrifice to save our people. Our king would wish us to say we are indebted to you. We will remember you.'

As he stepped back, he nodded, his eyes filling.

'Yes, it is right, it is so perfectly right, and warm. I…' Shaking his head, he sighed. 'Pardon me. I am trying to be done with weeping for him; after all, he will be with his Ecthelion by now, will he not?'

In fact, Lord Námo had not quite got as far as the Halls of Waiting yet. This was due, in part, to his necessary delay while he waited for the fëa of Girithon to stop making suggestive offers in the mistake belief that he could, in some way, bargain for his life back. Finally, Námo got bored.

'Elves may be patient,' he said. 'Elves may be able to wait, but I, child, am an impatient Vala with miles to go before I sleep, and a stop to make along the way. Besides which, nothing you offer is of any interest to me whatsoever, except as it vindicates my decision to lock you up and throw away the key until somebody has something redeeming to say about you… now, be still and be silent!'

With a glare and a snap of his fingers, Námo leaned towards Girithon's body and dragged out an indistinct and unprepossessing shape which he held at arm's length and with a curl of his lip.

'You were born with a perfectly lovely fëa, too, it was bright and fresh and sparkling… just look what you've done to it! It will take forever to get some of those stains out. Ah, well…' He found a pouch and dropped the tarnished fëa inside, securing the neck and tying it to his belt. 'Now, I suppose I can get on… oh, just look at you,' he said, caught by the sight of Glorfindel's remains. 'So pretty in that kilt! Good thing you didn't see what I saw, you would not have liked it, child… Now, off we go…'

About to slide through the walls of the chamber and between the miles to come out at Imladris, Lord Námo sighed and turned back.

'What is it now…? Arveldir,' he murmured. 'I suppose I should have known…'

But it was a comparatively brief delay, and once Námo had recounted his impression of events (and leaving out the dire and disgusting impressions he had had from Girithon's mind), the elf had been satisfied enough to bow and leave.

So, finally, Lord Námo emerged somewhere in the environs of the Last Homely House and it was time for Glorfindel to wake up and say his farewells…

He had become very fond of Glorfindel during his first stay in the Halls of Waiting, and was delighted to see that some of the changes to his fëa, during this last life, had not been all bad. In fact, there had been some very good alterations... privately, Námo always loved these moments. Even after just a few hours in his care, the fëar of the dead started the process of losing the restrictions caused by inhabiting a hröa, much in the way a butterfly will fill out its wings once it emerged from its chrysalis. Such was the case now, as he gently withdrew Glorfindel from his little nest and set him down safely before him.

'Here we are,' he said. 'Rivendell. Out you come, Glorfindel.'

'Here we are,' a voice said. 'Rivendell. Out you come, Glorfindel.'

Fin became aware that the sparkles around him in the darkness were not so bright, the darkness not so dark. He - his fëa – was next to Lord Námo near a rushing river, lit by moonlight. Snow lay all around and he should have been cold, but…

Oh, that was it! He was dead, that was why.

'You said you wanted to say goodbye to someone,' Námo reminded him.

'Mel. Melpomaen. He's very sweet. Pretty little thing, too, all wide-eyes and wants to see the world, but he's been a bit scared, really. Not sure this will encourage him.'

'No, indeed! Well, come along. Where will he be, do you think?'

'His room, my room… now, that'd be something, if he was keeping the bed warm for me. Actually, no, that'd be upsetting, I think.'

'Well? Lead on?'

Glorfindel thought about Mel, where he might be, and found himself in the young healer's room. There was a big bolster laid at his back in the bed, as if to keep him company, and Glorfindel sighed. He would have wept, if he could, to see his erstwhile lover curled up into the smallest space possible, huddling into himself in sleep.

'He has missed you,' Námo said. 'He would deny he loves you, if he could, but he does. Not the full, abiding, deep love of fëa-mates, but a very pretty sort of affection anyway.'

He waved his hand over the sleeping ellon and he uncurled a little, rolling onto his back.

'There. That should make it easier for you to say a proper goodbye. And, Glorfindel – don't forget, you have no substance here. If he doesn't respond, don't take it personally, dear child.'

Glorfindel nodded, already lost in Mel. He looked at the dreaming face of his former lover, the beautiful line of brow, the sleeping smile of his mouth. Eyes silvered by the nictitating membrane that protected his irises while he slept, Melpomaen had an ethereal, elegant grace that twisted Glorfindel's heart.

'Sweet dreams, sweet Mel,' he said as he kissed Melpomaen's sleeping cheek; there was nothing, no sense of contact, but Glorfindel remembered how soft Mel's skin was, and that was almost as good.

The young healer stirred, muttered something.

'You were so kind,' Fin went on. 'Do something for me; have a lovely life.'

Námo cleared his throat.

'There, very touching! Come on, now, I need a word with Celeborn. Silly fellow's disconnected his fëa from his reason…'

'Is that what it was?' Already he and Námo had left Melpomaen's room, were materialising in a different part of the house. 'We thought he'd lost his marbles.'

'I suppose he has, in a way. It's easier than having to think about his family. I mean, Elrond hasn't exactly been a shining example, has he? Letting his daughter go off with a mortal, not exactly fair to Celebrian, that business with Gil-Galad, and then all those young ellyn… can't blame the old fellow really… still… and then Galadriel left and took the heart of Lórien with her, he just couldn't cope with it all… come on, back in the pocket, you don't need to see this.'

Glorfindel found himself surrounded by lovely sparkles again. Transfixed by them, his heart warmed by his last sight of Melpomaen, he settled down once again in the darkness and allowed his fëa to sleep…