'…Are we there yet?' Glorfindel asked, his voice sleepy in his ears as he blinked – or, rather, his fëa blinked. He was surrounded by sparkling darkness which seemed to be thinning out, somehow, if that was possible…

'Hush, no, not yet.' The resonant voice of Lord Námo sounded slightly peeved. 'We've… had to come back.'

'Wha'?' Glorfindel mumbled. 'Where… where's back?'

His vision clearing, he blinked again and took in the surroundings. They were in a forest.

'The forest,' Námo said. 'Eryn Lasgalen. I had forgotten, these Silvans… they wanted to see the trees where they will rest, hear their names for the last time. Except it isn't of course.' Námo cast a dire glance toward a silver-coated form that was vaguely elf-shaped and which was focussed on a procession of elves heading towards an oak. The elves were carrying something on a stretcher – actually a body on a bier, and as Glorfindel and Námo looked on, the fëa sighed and moved a little nearer.

'Not too close there, Landaer, there's a good fellow. You don't want them to sense your presence; they would think you were unhappy with the host tree…' Námo turned back to Glorfindel. 'I don't know if you've seen one of these burials… they like to put the bodies under the arches made by the tree roots.'

'Triwathon told me, yes, it's… very Silvan, they think the tree absorbs something of the dead, and they live on through the forest. Except there's Landaer's fëa, he isn't going anywhere except back with us, and he's bringing himself with him, so how…?'

'It is, indeed, very Silvan,' Námo said. 'But it brings them comfort and that's the important thing. There, they've just said his name and in he goes… and then a last little farewell… there. Come now, Landaer, back to your rest. Night of the Names soon, you'll hear from them shortly. That's it.'

He gathered the fëa back into his aura where, as far as Glorfindel could tell, it settled down in one of Námo's capacious pockets and was calm.

'That's nearly everyone,' Námo said. 'There was almost a riot when I tried to go West from Imladris, my pockets were most unhappy… I'm sorry you were disturbed early, it will be a little while yet, but never mind, I know where they're going. We can get there ahead of them.'

'Why?' Glorfindel asked.

'You know, I don't think this stage of death suits you, Findel! You are asking very obvious questions and I remember you as being rather a witty conversationalist. Oh, wait. No, that was Ecthelion, when you were there to bring out the joy in him. Never mind, you'll be together again soon… now, what was it…? Oh, yes, why. Well, because they've decided to treat you to full honours. They don't often do it, bury a non-Silvan by their rites, but they seem to think it's fitting…'

The glade with the elegant beech was empty when they got there, and Námo smiled as he breathed in the air.

'This is lovely, don't you think?' he asked.

'Erm… I suppose…' Glorfindel glanced around, trying to see beyond the confusion that lay over him. 'No, it's nice. Very nice. And good of them to do it… poor Triwathon, he's only going to upset himself, though…'

'Triwathon is not and never was your fëa-mate, Glorfindel. He is neither your responsibility or your problem.' Námo sounded almost stern. 'You can't help it, I suppose, the way they fall for you and stay fallen in spite of everything…'

'Oh, it's not like that,' Fin said. 'That is, we had our time, we both knew when it was done. Well, I think we cut it a bit short, but that was because Triwathon had an opportunity to come here and be in charge… so it was the right thing. Anyway, all that's in the past.'

If Namo had an answer, it didn't come, for at that moment a solemn procession appeared at the edge of sight, winding through the forest to circle the tree and stop near its arching roots.

'They brought Asfaloth, look! Doesn't he look fine?' Fin said as people arranged themselves in some sort of order. 'And in his harness, too… Oh, look, is that Parvon? He's sweet on Triwathon, well, the field's well and truly clear for him now…'

'I do not believe that thought is uppermost in his mind at present.'

'Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin, Balrog-slayer, Seneschal of Imladris, hero, dragon-slayer, friend,' Parvon's clear tones rang out. '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.'

'Thank you, Parvon, that's nice of you. Isn't that nice of him?'

'Yes, Glorfindel. They are bent on offering you the best they have. You even have a starlight gemstone, you know.'

'Really? Next time you're passing, tell them thank you, will you? Oh, there's Triwathon now… he's looking very brave, isn't he?'

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

Together he and Parvon turned to the gathered elves who repeated:

'We will remember you.'

The honour-guard moved around the shrouded body and Glorfindel gasped. 'Is that me? That can't be me, can it? I'm taller!'

'Your fëa is taller, yes. Now, hush.'

Once Glorfindel's body had been placed, the honour guard rejoined the company, Parvon spoke again.

'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. 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.'

'Erestor doesn't look well,' Glorfindel said, noticing how his old friend struggled to sit on his gentle bay mare, how Arveldir's attention was all on his husband.

'He is not about to join us, Fin, don't worry. He is a little uncomfortable, nothing more. And sad, of course. For all he has a loving husband, you were his oldest friend.'

Elrohir stepped forward to speak.

'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.'

The burial party had gone. Námo waited for a little space of time before he spoke,

'Glorfindel? It is not customary to weep at one's own burial, you know.'

Fin gave a hitching laugh and shook his head.

'Can't cry properly like this anyway,' he said. 'But they were so sad. It doesn't seem right…'

'Well, that's Silvans for you,' Námo said with a shrug. 'Come along, then. Let's get you home to your husband. He's missed you.'

Glorfindel was gathered up and once more the silver glitter sparkled through the soft darkness to warm and console him. He had no sensation of movement, of time passing, of anything, but then he heard his name, quite clearly from somewhere far away and yet right next to him at the same time…

'…for Glorfindel, not for you… Well…'

'My lord? What did you say, Lord Námo?'

A sigh from somewhere outside him, a very big sigh, making Glorfindel feel very small. He nestled down and continued.

'…only I heard my name…'

'You did.' Lord Námo's voice was deep and booming here, all around him, huge without being loud. 'It was Parvon, who should know better; once laid to rest, once the rites are done, they do not speak the names of their dead except…'

'On special occasions, yes, been to one or two. But that's odd, I'm not Silvan…'

'I think that is why Parvon did not think to guard his tongue. Yet they have laid you to rest as one of themselves…'

'My lord? Is it as they say, does it disturb them? And is it only Silvans, what about other elves? I… I don't remember anyone calling out our names, but… there were songs and stories about us, our names were everywhere… people must have…'

'It is yet another Silvan thing.' Námo sighed. 'They have changed things for themselves by these… beliefs… they have adopted. Otherwise there would be not a moment's peace in my Halls! No, it is only Silvans. But when one slips up, and says the name, the one called is not disturbed, but pleased to be thought of outside of the observances. Now, never mind about Master Parvon, he does not mean any harm.'

'But what was he saying, what was for me not… for who? Whom, I mean…?'

'The place where they put your body. Parvon believes it the finest tree in Eryn Lasgalen, and so decided that's where you should be. He did it to make his friend feel better, but didn't want him to know in case he thought he had done it to make him feel better… honestly, I despair of ever understanding Silvans! Now shush. And go back to sleep.'