The elves of the New Palace limped and struggled through the morning. Burials were something that should be alien to Elves, after all, and so to see a once-laughing, once-loving friend or relation lying still and cold with closed eyes shutting themselves apart was particularly distressing.

But there inside the doorway to the Quiet Room, Master Parvon and one of the Garrison guard stood sentinel, honouring the dead, showing the significance of the losses were felt by the entire settlement, and somehow, that helped.

What helped more was that Parvon was prepared to take a moment to bow to the dead, to speak in soft tones and acknowledge the worth of the elf in the shroud, to offer his aid, his personal time to the families, and they remembered that, he, too, had lost kin, a brother in the War of the Ring, he knew something of what they felt.

'It is difficult, I know,' the chief advisor said, more than once, to more than one party. 'But the worst passes. And tomorrow is the Night of the Names. You know your dear one will hear your voices, even though you may not hear theirs.'

By late morning there was only one complete body remaining – one of the missing elves was a cousin, and so the family were waiting until the last moment in the hopes the lost elleth would be found somewhere and could say her own farewells to the ellon they had already lost – and what were being referred to as the casket burials; those dead elves, such as Rhoscthel, whose remains were fragmented and largely incomplete.

Reconvening in the shortly before the day meal was called, the various officers and officers-by-courtesy of the New Palace and its garrison wore the strain of the past several hours in their eyes.

'I have been out as far as the place where our friends from Imladris stowed their gear,' Triwathon said. 'Three of your horses had made their way back there, too; they proved very useful for bringing in the saddlebags. All seemed well, and are in the care of our stable hands.'

'That's good news,' Erestor said. 'Amongst them did you notice a very pretty little bay mare, one white sock and a star; my Elwiniel?'

'There was a bay mare, I think.' Triwathon shrugged. 'I am sorry, I did not think to pay more attention; we had made another discovery on the way which was distressing, so to find the horses and your luggage was a welcome distraction… so, to that news… we found an area that had been trampled and flattened and… and there were signs of… of at least two, possibly three…'

'Signs?' Parvon asked, and the commander nodded, swallowing.

'Three… three shoes with… contents, so… at least two people… there was not much else… we have told Healer Mae to prepare…' he gulped again, shook his head, and went on. 'It looked to be one of the areas where the dragonets took their prey. It was some distance from the villages. From there we continued on, found the horses, as I say… I told three of my most distressed to bring the animals here while the rest of us went to the villages.'

Faerveren found the strong spirits and poured some for the Commander in silence. Triwathon sipped, nodded thanks.

'The villages… I fear we have to give up Oak and Beech, Elm has a little less damage, but… you would think the trees beyond saving, but who knows? They may sprout again, in time. However, you would not want to take up residence near the burning. I know people will want to go, to see for themselves. My recommendation is that many of the talain and their associated trees are unsafe; I would want to send working parties out first, to make sure all is safe.'

'Thank you, Commander.' Parvon nodded. 'We will need to try to find out to whom the footwear belonged; it may be that all our elves are accounted for, at last, sad though it be. Arveldir, if you wish, there is time for you to go to the stables and see which horses have been brought. We will sit with Erestor while you do.'

'And I cannot go because…?' Erestor asked.

'Your pardon, Master Erestor,' Parvon said. 'Because it is a long way, and the ground of the stables is uneven and sometimes horses leave their traces on the cobblestones which would not do the wheels on the conveyance much good… I mean no disrespect, I assure you.'

Erestor stared and shook his head before finding himself smiling.

'I will hold you excused from wishing to offend me,' he said. 'And on consideration, Arveldir can walk faster than I am comfortable being wheeled, so, therefore, yes, I will stay here and wait.'

Arveldir returned with good news.

'Indeed, your Elwiniel is safe and well and stabled next to Asfaloth, to calm her. The other horses are mounts of our Galadhrim companions.'

Erestor tried to muffle his sigh of relief.

'I am grateful,' he said. 'But I wish I might see her for myself.'

'Ah, but my dear one, she would only worry to see you so strapped and injured. You would not wish that, I am sure.'

Early in the afternoon, confirmation came that the remains Triwathon's company had found belonged to three different elves. That being so, Parvon retrieved three suitable pearls from the hoard of gemstones and went to give them, along with the sad tidings to the families, including that of the last Silvan yet unburied. It was not a task he had ever expected to have to do – explain that so grisly a find was proof of yet another death for the family – but he did it with as much dignity and courtesy as he could find.

'I am sorry to be the bearer of such news at any time,' he said, bowing to the son of the dead elf. 'But when you already have grief and loss, it must compound your difficulties.'

'At least… at least we know. We may honour our dead in time for the Night of the Names. What…? how do we proceed, Master Parvon?'

'Your kin in the Quiet Room, when you are ready, you may bear him forth to whatever place you have ready for him. Sadly, there being so many burials today, where our honoured dead have family present to lay them to rest, the Palace Office can do no more than be present when the fallen is carried out. Currently, Master Arveldir is on duty there. It is true, he is not officially a member of staff, but he considers his ties to us still as strong as if he were living amongst us.'

'Lord Arveldir's presence will be most welcome, Master Parvon. But… but our cousin?'

'A place of honour is preparing for her, along with the others who are so unfortunately incomplete,' Parvon said. 'A cairn is building near the byway to the three villages. Tomorrow, in the morning, we will place them, and the Palace representatives will be there to acknowledge those who lie there together.'

And suddenly, there was only Glorfindel left.

Triwathon and Parvon met Erestor and Arveldir outside the room where the Balrog-slayer lay. Arveldir lifted a set of saddlebags with an odd expression on his face.

'These are his,' he said. 'Brought to me with our own luggage. I thought it would be appropriate to lay everything out beside him, in case there is something we think should go with him.'

Parvon nodded. It was not a Silvan thing, to lay the dead to rest with anything other than garments and a shroud, but Glorfindel had not been Silvan, of course. Nor was Erestor, and for him, sending something to rest with Glorfindel might be important part of the rituals for him.

Closing the door after them, Parvon watched as Arveldir laid out the contents of the saddlebags on a small table at the side of Glorfindel's bier; a change of clothes, a small bottle of thick liquid.

'Mane wash for Asfaloth,' Arveldir said with a smile. 'Glorfindel used it on his own hair. He claims – claimed – if it's good enough for his horse, it's good enough for him.'

Erestor smiled, and shook his head. Triwathon scowled, trying to keep his emotions locked up.

Next out was a pouch, the ties tight at the opening.

'I know what that is,' Erestor said. 'Treats for Asfaloth. Dried cherries, I expect.'

'And strawberries.' Arveldir ghosted a smile. 'We can give these to Asfaloth later.'

'He should come to the burial,' Erestor said. 'I am sorry if it seems odd,' he added with a glance at Parvon. 'But it seems fitting to me.'

'Then it shall be done,' Parvon said. 'If you feel you can sit comfortably, perhaps Asfaloth would bear you to the earth-cave, and then nobody would think the presence of a horse unusual.'

'He cared very much for his steed, that is plain,' Triwathon said.

Arveldir continued his explorations, but there was only one item left to remove; an old piece of fabric, so worn and tired it was impossible to say whether it had once been white, or grey, or blue. At the edges, a trace of stitching suggested something had been embroidered there. Triwathon reached for it with a muffled exclamation.

'I apologise,' he said, nevertheless keeping hold of the towel. 'But it was something between us – you probably all know – I made him blue towels with yellow flowers one year and just kept on doing it at intervals.'

Everyone nodded, or looked away from the raw emotion on Triwathon's face; the gifting of towels had never been secret, however private it may have been intended to be, so that even Parvon had known of it.

'Fin never went anywhere without one of those towels,' Erestor said with a sad smile. 'And there was almost a kinslaying when a hapless housekeeper thought the original ones rags and tried to throw them out… poor elleth, she never quite recovered from the shock of having an irate Balrog-slayer turn on her…'

Small, soft smiles. Erestor continued on.

'It was that incident that led me to seek a way to find what had happened to you, Arveldir, and you also, Triwathon, and so you arrived at Imladris and I was most joyfully reunited with my love… Ai, we waited too long…'

'But we had our reasons,' Arveldir said, lightly touching Erestor's arm. 'And all is well for us.' He looked at where Triwathon still held the old towel as if it were a living creature he needed to nurture. 'You should keep that, mellon-nin, to remember.'

'I… I ought not. If it was precious to him, it ought to lie with him, surely?'

'I see a newer version under his head. Your work?' Arveldir asked. 'Then let that go with him, your last gift to your old friend.'

'That is a good idea,' Parvon said. 'Why should you not have a keepsake?'

'But he… his Melpomaen. He should have it, surely? If it was precious to Glorfindel?'

'Keep the towel, Triwathon,' Parvon said. 'You made it for him, after all. It seems fitting it should come back to you.'

'We will take the mane wash back for Melpomaen,' Erestor said. 'Since Glorfindel started using it, Mel has altered the ingredients to enhance elven hair as well as horse mane. It will be better so, for if you think, the towel will only make him think of how close you and Glorfindel had been.'

Triwathon nodded. 'I should have thought, perhaps… I… it is not my wish to do anything to make his grief worse. It will be bad enough without my insensitivity.'

'Do not worry about Mel,' Erestor said. 'He has a good friend in Rivendel, Lindir, who will support him. And Arveldir and I will do all we can to help, just as you have a good friend here to support you through the sadness.'

Triwathon nodded, glanced over at Parvon.

'I have been aware for many years that I am fortunate to have such a friend as Parvon,' he said. 'And you are both my friends, and with Parvon, perhaps more aware of how things have been between Glorfindel and me. But I would hope people in general will believe me when I say we were no longer particularly close.' He paused to grimace, turning the faded towel in his hands, caressing it. 'If nothing more, it would help me get on with things better.'

Parvon suddenly felt the urge to grin but stifled it.

'You'd better not let them see you with that, then,' he said.

'Master Parvon!' Arveldir said in shocked tones, but Triwathon was laughing softly and shaking his head, the tension broken.

'Ai, Parvon! Yes, you truly are a good friend! You are right, I am sentimental and emotional and I am not nearly as stern a soldier as I need to be at times like this! Yes, then, I will keep the towel, but I will put it away.' He gave a self-conscious shrug and stowed the faded fabric inside his formal uniform tunic. 'Lord Arveldir, don't mind my friend. He has a keen sense of the ridiculous – especially when I am being so – and one thing we all know of Glorfindel, he dearly loved to laugh. He would not mind our levity, he will know we do not make light of his death.'

'Well, then.' Arveldir repacked the saddlebags, saying nothing when Erestor pocketed the pouch of dried cherries. 'I will have these sent to our room, and then perhaps I will speak with Healer Maereth about whether or not Erestor is fit to ride.'

'Will you so?' Erestor asked mildly.

'Indeed I will, for you will listen to the healer where you will not pay any attention to me…!'

In the finish, Maereth allowed herself to be persuaded that Erestor could ride as long as he was on a thick sheepskin pad which was placed carefully across Elwiniel's back and Erestor placed equally carefully on top by Arveldir's competent hands; the reunion between horse and rider had been calmly affectionate, and more than a few treats from the pouch had found their way to the bay mare before Erestor had been gently lifted onto the sheepskin pad.

The two waited outside the gates while around them gathered those elves who wanted to be part of the ceremony – it seemed like most of the populace, in truth, although Arveldir did wonder whether it was due, in part, to the strict lockdown Parvon and Triwathon had been enforcing; no elves were permitted outside the gates except for burials and memorials, unless they were warriors on duty, and for those Silvans who had been living in talain until so very recently, any excuse to get out under the trees must be welcome.

Triwathon provided an honour-guard from the garrison to carry Glorfindel out through the gates. Once there, he was lain with dignity onto a wheeled bier that Asfaloth had consented to pull. The horse had been dressed in his fine belled headstall for the occasion, and Faerveren waited at his head to lead the way to the earth cave beneath the designated tree.

Parvon came to Triwathon's side and both bowed to the bier before taking their places. Those elves who had flanked the doors now followed the burial party at a respectful distance. Parvon and Triwathon followed the bier, Arveldir and Erestor following, Arveldir keeping close watch at his side. Behind, Elrohir followed – Rusdir had stayed with his nephews – the Galadhrim after him mingling with the rest of those who had been known to the Balrog-slayer in life; Canadion and Thiriston, Celeguel and Amathel.

It was a strangely silent procession, just the soft footfalls, the squeak of the wheels on the bier, the light jangle of Asfaloth's bells.

About a mile into the forest to the north they went, on the broad trail and then the lesser tracks until finally they reached the place.

At his side, Parvon heard Triwathon gasp as he saw the intended resting place; on a low mound, a tall and elegant beech tree held its bare branches neatly to the sky. It looked formal, somehow, stately, but lovely in its lithe lines. Where the roots met the ground, they arched up, leaving open a space large enough to lay an elf to rest in peaceful seclusion.

Faerveren led Asfaloth around the mound, bringing the horse to a halt with the bier in perfect position near the earth-cave. Now Parvon stepped forward and bowed once more.

'Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin, Balrog-slayer, Seneschal of Imladris, hero, dragon-slayer, friend,' he began in clear tones. 'On behalf of Thanduil our Elvenking, I thank you for your service. We are grateful for your sacrifice, for the many lives you saved by your courage and valour. We lay you to rest amongst us, as a Silvan, because you died for Silvans, amongst Silvans, far from home. When the time comes, we will remember you.'

He paused, and Triwathon came forward to bow in turn.

'Glorfindel of Gondolin, Laurefindil, brother-in-arms, friend of those in need of protection, the warriors of the New Palace honour your courage. We will remember you, when the time comes.'

Now the two acknowledged leaders of the New Palace turned to the gathered elves and waited while they repeated:

'We will remember you.'

At Triwathon's nod, the honour-guard who had carried Glorfindel too his bier now came forward to gently lift his remains from the bier and carry him into the earth-cave. Once they had placed him and left to rejoin the company, Parvon spoke.

'And so we lay our friend to rest. Last time he died, he was on a mountainside, and they made him a cairn from stone. But he died for us here, in our forest of Eryn Lasgalen, and so we place him under one of our trees. May his rest be sweet and as his essence mingles with his host, may something of him grow to be part of the forest forever.'

He waited for a moment before turning to acknowledge the Galadhrim and the elves of Imladris amongst the crowd.

'Our Silvan rites of rest are done. If there are any amongst us who wish to add their own words, according to their traditions, it would honour us.'

Elrohir sighed and came forward.

'My brother Elladan and I are considered the leaders of the elves of Imladris where Glorfindel made his home,' he said in a voice that threatened at any moment to shatter. 'And I think I speak for us all when I say Fin would be so proud that you love him as one of your own, I… goodbye, Glorfindel. You taught me to fight, but more importantly, you taught me when not to. We will miss you but we will remember you.'