Parvon heard the noise of knocking on his door even though his washing cascade was running at full strength.

For a moment he debated ignoring it – the water was hot and stinging and he needed it – but, given the events of the day, it was probably important, and if he wasn't available, then whoever it was would seek out Faerveren instead – and although the underscribe had proved himself remarkably capable and resilient, the poor penneth had been looking exhausted. It wouldn't be fair.

He turned the lever to stop the flow of heated water and wrapped himself in a towel, taking another to rub at his hair as he called out he was on his way and padded through – if the matter wasn't urgent, the person knocking was more likely to apologise and retreat if he was obviously drying off…

He had so hoped to be done for the night.

But then he realised with a start that the knock was familiar, known, and he was at the door and unlatching it almost before he knew what he was doing.

'Triwathon?'

'I am sorry, Parvon, you said you would always stand my friend and I need a friend very much tonight…'

'Come in, of course.'

Wishing he had paused to grab a dressing robe after all, Parvon secured the door and gestured to the sofa. To be seen in such a state of undress, even though they were good friends and had known each other for so very long, he still felt uncomfortable…

'Forgive me, you were bathing…' Triwathon's eyes flickered over Parvon's lithe body and he shook his head, looking away is if his glance was an intrusion. 'It is not important.'

'It must be important, Triwathon, you would not arrive uninvited else.' Parvon assessed his guest and passed him a goblet of wine. 'Sit with this while I dress; I will be but a moment.'

Retreating to his bedroom, he pulled on sleeping shorts and a dressing robe – the garments covered him as well as his formal robes did, but were much softer; really, he wanted to feel he was off-duty – wondering what had brought Triwathon to his door.

The commander was staring into the embers of the fire, his wine untouched, his thoughts adrift. Parvon poured himself a beaker of wine and took a seat in the chair placed at right angles to the sofa Triwathon occupied.

'How can I help, my friend?' he asked.

'I cannot settle,' Triwathon whispered. 'I keep thinking about Girithon, the things he said, his hands on my throat, and I cannot shake the images… or the fear that some of what he said could be right… after all, when my friend the poacher died, I sought companionship and…'

'When your friend the poacher died, you needed solace, perhaps just friendship,' Parvon interrupted. 'Somehow I doubt that was what Girithon offered.'

Triwathon nodded, the edges of his mouth trying to smile as he lifted the wine to sip at. 'I think you are right.'

They sat in silence, Parvon giving Triwathon time to gather his thoughts. But when Triwathon's goblet was empty and he was staring at the dregs still without having spoken again, Parvon ventured to begin a different topic.

'I think our elves responded well to the reports tonight. After the burials and the Night of the Names, we can begin to regroup, to rebuild, to…'

'Rebuild? Regroup?' Triwathon's tone was bitter. 'I could not even keep safe a handful of villages, not with all our alarm systems and the full strength of the garrison; we will not be allowed to rebuild! The Elvenking will abandon the New Palace and take up his seat again in the old and all we have tried to make here will fall into ruin. As it should, for all we have built has been ruinous…'

'For myself, I thought we had done well,' Parvon said, cutting across his despair. 'Elves do not like change, and that so many of them would embrace a new centre of governance so swiftly was good. That they were willing to settle out from the palace was a sign of optimism. And yes, I know that optimism seems to have been misplaced, but…'

'How many dead, Parvon? How many pearls did you set in the Quiet Room?'

'Not as many as it may have been.'

'How many?'

'Even one is too many.' Parvon sighed. 'I took out sixteen pearls and placed them all, including that of the messenger. There are several persons still missing, and I am starting to lose hope… But there are fewer dragons in the world to plague us. How are you feeling now?'

'Feeling…?' Triwathon drained his goblet and gestured with it. 'I am… heartbroken, for all our losses, for what I feel as a personal loss… I am beyond tired, and I am on the verge of tears even when I do not think about Glorfindel and I feel so very, very lost and alone and added to that, Girithon…'

Parvon refilled their drinking cups.

'We do not have to talk about difficult matters unless you want to,' he said. 'We can just take time.'

'I want to sleep, but when I try to find reverie, I hear Girithon's voice, feel the air leaving me, something touches my neck and I realise it is only my hair, but for a moment… it feels as if my very room mocks me…'

Parvon swallowed, remembering the sight of Triwathon helpless as the messenger had held him, mauled him. To think of his friend reliving those moments… yet how could he help, other than sit up all night with him?

'You know he cannot hurt you now,' Parvon began. 'And yet the knowing is not enough, I understand that. My brother used to say, being alone makes anything worse. I have been fortunate, although I have suffered loss I have not had to endure… but that does not mean I cannot guess at how upsetting it was for you. Stay here tonight.'

'What? Parvon, you are dear to me as a friend, but you know I…'

'No, I mean nothing improper. Only that if you are anxious, it is a way for you not to be alone. Take my bed, I will sleep on the sofa here, it is quite comfortable; I have fallen asleep here myself some nights…'

'I… could I take the sofa?'

'You are almost two hand's breadth taller than I; you would be more comfortable in the bed, I think.'

'But I would feel I was putting you to too much trouble. Besides which, you are under house arrest, I would be between you and the door, if any were to enquire about what watch was placed on you, or if you were to attempt to flee,' Triwathon said, trying to make a joke of it. 'I could not take your bed. But thank you. The sofa will suffice.'

'It will mean you are well placed for an early breakfast meeting, too. If we thought today was hard, I fear tomorrow will be almost as bad.' Parvon got to his feet. 'I will find you a pillow and some blankets. If you would like to use the washing cascade, there are towels and a spare dressing robe.'

'No, but… in fact, I would like that. Thank you, you are being very kind.'

By the time Triwathon left the washing cascade and returned to the sitting room, Parvon had made up a bed on the sofa for him. He tried not to smile at the sight of the commander in a dressing robe intended for someone shorter and narrower across the body.

'I am grateful, Parvon,' Triwathon said. 'You must be exhausted yourself.'

'It has been a long day, indeed,' Parvon said with a sigh. 'But we are at the end of it now. May I make a suggestion? Put your hair in a single braid doubled to your head and secured. That way the strands will not slide around the front of your throat while you sleep.'

'That's a good idea… I am not sure quite how you mean, doubled?'

'Shall I help?'

Triwathon nodded and sat down with his back to Parvon who gathered his damp hair deftly, folded the tips up to his hairline and clipped it into place before separating it out into three thick strands to plait together. He tried not to see the bruises on Triwathon's neck which were already fading from purple to an unpleasant shade of green.

'There is less length this way, more rigidity to the braid - it is more of a queue, really – and it will not catch you in the night. And now I will secure it…'

…his hands in Triwathon's hair, something he'd never experienced before; there was an intimacy to it, perhaps a trust, and Parvon was glad his expression could not be read, for he feared he was wearing an inappropriate, and rather silly smile. But it was so rewarding, to feel the heavy strands of Triwathon's damp, lustrous tresses coming together neatly and tidily so they would not disturb his rest…

Parvon fasten off the thick braid, schooled his expression, and stilled his hands.

'That feels… contained, thank you, Parvon. I cannot remember when last I had help with my hair.'

Could he not? Surely Glorfindel must have assisted, on occasion? Parvon resumed his seat, acknowledging the thanks.

'If there is anything more you need, just knock on my door and enter,' he said. 'Shake me awake, if you must; I do not have dangerous, warrior reflexes. You have been my guest here often enough to know where everything is if you want a drink or such.'

'I'm very grateful, Parvon. It's good to have a friend such as you.'

'Well, goodnight, then. Leave the lantern lit or not, as you wish.'

Parvon closed the bedroom door and hung up his dressing robe before sliding into bed with a grateful sigh for the simple pleasure of being horizontal. Just the other side of the door, a few yards away, Triwathon would be settling, too, finding the most comfortable way to fold himself onto the sofa, perhaps trying to tell himself he wouldn't dream…

This was a new stage, perhaps, in their friendship; although Parvon often visited Triwathon after the evening meal for a nightcap and to deconstruct the day, and Triwathon frequently visited Parvon in turn, never before so late, never had Triwathon come in such need.

Never had Parvon had his hands on Triwathon's head, in his hair…

Parvon sighed and rolled over onto his back. Now was not the time to let his emotions take hold; he had managed to work alongside Triwathon for almost two decades without allowing his attachment; no, his love – to get in the way of their working relationship; he could not afford to start now, tonight, not with Triwathon fragile and vulnerable after the double hit of Glorfindel's death and the messenger's assault on him… it would be too easy to slip, tired as they both were, to make a mistake from which their friendship might never recover…

One thing, though; if Parvon's fëa were not attached to Triwathon, he would not have sensed something was wrong; he might have come too late.

It wasn't entirely a comforting thought, but Parvon was so tired that it was the last one he acknowledged before his eyelids fluttered up, his nictitating membranes engaged, and he slid into reverie.

His dreams were uneasy, tainted with the fear he'd be accused of murder, and featured Thranduil banishing him to serve as intermediary with the Dwarves, where he met both a re-embodied and vengeful Girithon and a dragon that spoke in Triwathon's voice and then started knocking a huge amber gem against the floor to let out a trapped elf apparently inside, tapping and knocking and…

Knocking.

Parvon sat up with a gasp, his eyes focussing.

Triwathon, of course.

'Triwathon, are you well?'

He left the warmth of his bed and pulled open the door. The commander his friend was shivering despite the fact that beneath the blankets draped around his body he was still wearing his shirt and leggings, his face stiff with control as he shook his head.

'Dreams,' he said.

'Of course dreams. Will you come in, or should I come out?'

Triwathon stood back from the door, clutching the blankets, retreating to the sofa. Parvon nodded and reached for his dressing robe.

'I am grateful you knocked,' he said, taking a seat by the hearth and prodding the almost-dead embers into a hopeful glow before adding firewood. 'My own dreams were… unpleasant.'

Triwathon gave him a sidelong look.

'It's not a competition, I know,' he said. 'But… mine were awful.'

'If it were a competition, I would concede to you the victory undoubtedly,' Parvon admitted. 'My point is more that we share in the common experience of disturbed rest. I… what will happen, if Thranduil should declare Girithon's death not misadventure, but… but murder? For while I had no wish to kill him, I was terribly angry and in my rage I was aware only of getting him off you…'

'Do not think that, Parvon, not for a moment… it cannot happen, not with the word of Lord Námo, and our own Arveldir to explain… but if it were, then I would insist on standing alongside you as equally culpable, I would share your fate. For if I had been more determined, more vocal in my rejection…'

'Lord Námo said it was not your fault.'

'Also he said it was not yours.'

Parvon sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to feel when in the night they were. 'It is four hours before dawn. Small wonder we awoke; it is the same time that the warning bells sounded. There is still much ahead of us. We should try to sleep a little more.'

'Yes. But I do not know how I can. Girithon…'

'…is dead. He cannot hurt you, not even in your dreams.'

'I know this, of course. But my dream self…'

'Consider.' Parvon left his chair and took up a station at the end of the sofa. 'Consider who is also dead. Glorfindel. If your dreams give Girithon power, they will also give your friend strength. He would never allow you to be harmed.'

'But…'

'No; hear me. If your dream self acknowledges the one, it must also recognise the other. Remember it.' Parvon smiled as Triwathon began to settle on the sofa, and lifted his friend's feet across his lap. 'Although in my dreams he did not rescue me, I assure you.'

'I am sorry. Then who…?'

'You, I think. Or a dragon, it was rather bewildering. Now, let your eyes open fully to reverie, and try to rest a bit. I will be here, should the dreams return.

Parvon woke with a start to find himself alone and more spread out on the sofa than he remembered having been. The blankets had been draped over him, and an attempt made to slide the pillow under his head.

He blinked clear his eyes and pushed himself up, smiling as he spotted a beaker placed on the slate warming stone close to the fire. He reached for it and sipped at the warm liquid, grateful for the thought behind the drink as much as for the tea itself.

A soft tapping on the door, and Triwathon came in. He looked taller, brighter, and was dressed in a fresh uniform. His hair, Parvon noted, was still in the queue he'd bound it into the night before.

'You found it, then? Good morning,' Triwathon said. 'I woke an hour ago, begged a drink for you from the hall servant. I also took the liberty of telling him you would want breakfast for five for the morning meeting before I brought your tea and went back to my own rooms. I changed and got the night report from Narunir, I thought we could look it over before the others get here.'

'You've been busy. And you're looking better.'

Triwathon nodded.

'Your words helped. I slept easily and woke feeling much refreshed. You'll want to change, of course; there is time, I asked everyone to meet here in half an hour.'

'Everyone?'

'Faerveren, of course, and Arveldir said he wanted to know what was happening. Erestor by courtesy, if he feels well enough. I do not think Arveldir wants to be away from his side at present.'

Parvon nodded.

'Thank you, that's saved me a great deal of trouble. Will you wait here while I dress?'

'Of course; I have the report to look over in any case.'

'Good morning, mellyn-nin,' Parvon said, inviting everyone in. 'Shall we eat first? Otherwise the discussion might dull our appetites.'

'A good idea,' Arveldir said, supporting Erestor into the room. 'I must confess to an appetite today.'

'Take seats, please; no elf-barrow today?'

'I thought I would be able to walk,' Erestor said with grave dignity. 'Too many persons stop and ask how bad is the pain, when I am in the wheeled contraption.'

'I hope you are feeling better, however. Faerveren, thank you for coming. No, sit down, we can all serve ourselves.'

It was a good thought not to discuss anything except the food, for once the meal was done, the breakfast meeting was solemn, given the weight of recent events and the information from the night report.

'No further survivors arrived overnight,' Triwathon announced. 'In fact, the bodies of two Silvans were found in the remains of a fire-damaged talan in Oak Village last night. I have yet to see for myself, but Narunir says it looks as if one individual died of injuries and the other held him and allowed herself to fade.' He paused, swallowing against the sadness implicit here, allowing the others a moment to take it in. 'There was a married couple from Oak on the list of the missing, so we feel sure we have identified them. That leaves three elves unaccounted for at the present time. Otherwise, all is secure around the perimeter.'

'Thank you, Commander,' Parvon said. 'Faerveren, we should make enquiries; who they were, if they have any family…'

'Already done, Master Parvon. Captain Narunir slid a note under my door with the information for when I woke. They seem to have had friends, but no relations. They are being brought in, a double table is being prepared for them, so they may stay together still, and Healer Mae has promised to make them presentable, if she can, before the families of the other dead arrive.'

'That's very efficient of you, Faerveren, I am grateful. This morning, I expect the families will wish to begin laying their dead to rest. It is not essential for the Palace Office to send representatives – indeed, there are so many it would be difficult – but we cannot attend some, and not all.'

'I… this is outside my experience, Master Parvon,' Faerveren admitted. 'But there must be precedents?'

'Indeed there have been,' Parvon said. 'I think a respectful presence in the Quiet Room to bid each elf farewell and thank them for their service on behalf of his majesty, to bow them on their way, will suffice. Where there are no remains, or very few, those elves will be commemorated together,with a cairn where the path breaks to go to each of the three villages; branches will be laid to represent those whose bodies are lost. We – that is, a representative of the Palace Office and of the Garrison – we will attend to honour them. Later, when all the rest are settled, we will see Glorfindel laid to rest.'

He sighed, and Arveldir nodded.

'I understand your distress,' he said. 'Some of these elves were your friends, and to feel it necessary to act as the king's representative, and so show no favouritism, it is hard.'

'But necessary,' Parvon said. 'I will remember them on the Night of the Names, that will suffice. Very well. We should look at who will be where, I suppose, Faerveren. I hear everywhere that you conducted yourself with admirable composure in spite of all the chaos here. I would suggest you might like to be away from the Palace Office, but if I did so, then you would perforce take the duty in the Quiet Room…'

'I could do that, Master Parvon; I knew everyone who was lost, I know their relations at least a little. But equally, they will expect you there, perhaps. I really do not mind the office…'

'Mostly you will have people coming to ask permission to take their fallen from the Quiet Rooms.'

'Oh. I… is there a procedure I could learn? That is, I will know how to say it, if I only know what to say…'

'I will be here, Faerveren,' Arveldir said. 'Erestor will sit in the inner office again and I will bear him company. It is quite straightforward, though. If they have a place already, note its type and location so that a proper sign can be installed at a later time. If they do not, there is a list... is there a list of available trees?'

'In fact, there is not. We did not anticipate this many dead. Everyone who settled here, however, assured me they had a suitable earth cave, just in case.'

'What…' Triwathon swallowed, scowling as if annoyed at the catch in his voice as he broke off. 'What of Glorfindel?'

'There is a place set aside for him already, donated by one who has expressed a wish not to be named,' Parvon said. 'It is to the north of the New Palace by about half a mile. I think he would like it.'

'Who would do such a thing?' Triwathon asked. 'It is generous, but…'

'Just a person who recognises the greatness of Glorfindel's sacrifice,' Parvon said, and was grateful when Erestor spoke up.

'I wish to attend his rites,' he said. 'Fin was my oldest friend, after all. And those for Rhoscthel, I would show my support for Rusdir and Elrohir.'

'You must consider your injuries, my dear,' Arveldir murmured.

'I do not wish to demonstrate my apparent stubborn streak, my love, but if I must…'

'The earth cave where Glorfindel will rest is close to a good and level trail.' Parvon said swiftly. 'Rhoscthel, I assume, will be laid to rest at the memorial cairn. It will be an hour's walk into the forest, but with care, and the invalid conveyance, it should be possible.'

'If I may suggest, Master Parvon?' Arveldir began in mild tones. 'While there are still three elves unaccounted for, there is cause to delay the memorial cairn – in case sign of them is found, or, better, in case they return – if the cairn is built today, as much as it can be, then tomorrow you could hold their memorial. I know it will be Yule, and the morning of the Night of the Names, but it gives a little more time to find the missing.'

'Thank you, that is an excellent idea. Very well. Faerveren, you take care of the office, I will be present in the Quiet Room. Triwathon, if it is possible, I would like one of the guard with me, to show the garrison's respect. And can you have someone stationed outside the small room where the messenger lies? His …friends may come for him and I want it noted if they do, how they conduct themselves.'

'Of course, Master Parvon. I need to go out this morning, to see for myself how things are in the forest. Narunir will be on duty until I return. Is there anything more?'

'Could I ask?' Erestor shifted in his seat. 'There is a sweet chestnut, about an hour south, and east of south, of the three villages, where we left our saddlebags. If someone could be spared… Glorfindel's things are there, of course. He took Asfaloth's harness off, it may sound silly, but…'

'Not at all,' Triwathon said. 'I know how Glorfindel used to work on that harness, how he claimed it was for the horse… but really…'

'Yes, indeed. I am grateful.'

'Thank you, everyone,' Parvon said, drawing back from the table a little. 'We will reconvene in the Palace Office just before the day meal is called. And after that, I suppose we will need to consider arrangements for this evening's Yule Eve Feast… but I think that is everything for now.'