'Are you come to collect me, Commander?' Healer Maereth asked when Triwathon arrived at her healing rooms. 'I was told that speaking of the wellbeing of my charges might cheer the hall, even though I had not intended dining with the company tonight. But as I am told it will do people good, somehow, I am prepared to take the time to share the feast; it is Yule Eve, after all. I will be ready in a moment.'

'I… of course. Mae, have you seen Parvon, at all…?'

'Oh… oh, no, the invitation came by note… I expect he is much too busy to run his own errands, especially tonight. He'll be at the feast, of course, although if he'll sit still long enough to eat… I do worry about him, you know. Well, I will only be a moment…'

She patted his hand and reached up to remove the head-rail that signified her office just as her assistant called across that help was needed to attend to someone in a side room.

'It's so kind of you to wait and escort me, Commander,' Maereth said as she patted his hand and hurried off, and so, of course, he had to wait…

…and then, when Maereth finally emerged some long minutes later, he was obliged to show no impatience, to match his stride to hers, and even to try to talk to her. Usually, he would have been quite happy to do so; he liked Maereth, she was conscientious and hard-working, well-versed in Silvan traditional healing and exceptionally good at her job. But tonight, he wanted to get to the hall and have a few words with Parvon ahead of the feast, if at all possible…

He bit back a sigh of exasperation as he realised it would not be possible.

Arriving at the hall, he found most of the benches already full, the top table populated with just a few places empty. Parvon was there, looking pale, Triwathon thought, his hair damp and but as neatly braided as usual. Faerveren was ushering people to their places, an air of haste about him belied by his pleasant smile. While Arveldir and Erestor were not present, Elrohir was there, Rusdir at his side, a couple of their visiting Galadhrim friends with them. Thiriston and Canadion were at the other end of the top table with Celeguel and Amathel, and as Triwathon headed for the seat next to Parvon's, he was hailed by the captains and so had to pause for a moment, by which time Maereth had taken the seat next to Parvon so that Triwathon must needs take the last empty place between her and Elrohir where she was an insubstantial, unwitting, but still effective, barrier between himself and the head of the Palace Office.

Faerveren called the hall to order and signalled the servers to send the wine round before taking his place on Parvon's other side. Triwathon bit back a sigh as Parvon rose to his feet; any chance of talking to him would have to wait until after the meal now.

Parvon glanced around the table and saw Triwathon's grimace of frustration without knowing quite why the commander was annoyed. Even so, he nodded an acknowledgement to him in what he hoped was his usual manner as he prepared to speak,. He kept his expression cool and formal, for the gathered elves had to be his focus now, the business of the moment taking precedence over his own feelings.

'Be welcome, all,' he began. 'Galadhrim guests, visitors from Imladris beyond the mountains, we greet you and offer thanks for your assistance. Silvans – my kin, my friends. This is not the Yule Eve Feast we were hoping for. But we are here, we have survived, and who, during the attack, could have hoped so many of us would still be here to gather and feast the Dark of the Year? I honour you, your many sacrifices, your boundless courage.'

Raising his glass to them, he bowed his head and continued.

'And our friends from Imladris,' he continued. 'Unlooked for they came to our aid, and they will be returning home, in due course, with their own injuries and loss and grief. The assistance they have given us is inestimable; our own losses would have been far higher but for the selfless courage of the Seneschal of Imladris, the Balrog-slayer whom we honour as one of our own. We will remember him, and all those who have died. Tomorrow is the Night of the Names; do not be afraid to speak freely then of all those who we will not see again on this side of the Sundering Seas. Word has gone to the Old Palace and no doubt help will soon come. Before we begin our meal, Healer Maereth will speak about those in her care, and then Commander Triwathon will give the garrison report. Healer Mae?'

'Master Parvon.' Maereth got to her feet and began in a shaky voice that gathered strength as she went along. 'Yes. It has been hard, but we will be well. Those who came in injured have been treated, and while there are many still in my halls, they are healing… we have run out of healing spider silk, but we are managing without, and…'

Parvon let his attention drift away from Maereth's hopeful tales of elflings reunited with their parents, of no more deaths. Triwathon kept glancing at him, frowning – scowling, almost – and he wondered why. Was it something he had done? Did he think the invitation from Arveldir his doing, in some way, did he take it as a rejection? Or was it something else, was Parvon simply projecting and not the reason of the frown at all?

'…lists of the injured outside on the usual boards,' Mae was saying. 'And there are still three elflings without family come to claim them, so if anyone knows the whereabouts of their parents or brothers, aunts or uncles… there are lists for those, too, on the notice boards… and that is all.'

'Healer Mae, thank you,' Parvon said, rising from his seat again. 'It is a good point about the lists. We are continually updating them when we have news of anyone whose location had been unknown, so if you are still lacking someone, the information as to their whereabouts may well be on the boards; people who have lost their homes are being allocated rooms in the palace, of course. It is difficult for my office to keep track of every elf in the New Palace, and so you would do better to look there first for news rather than trusting to my memory. Now, Commander? Will you speak about our security?'

'Chief Advisor, my thanks.' Triwathon got to his feet with an air of tiredness clinging to him still. 'We are as safe as we could possibly be. The watch is redoubled on the flets, the boundaries are secure, the doors are guarded. Word has gone out to the Old Palace, as you have heard, and we expect a response shortly. Our garrison is in good heart and we are fortunate to be bolstered by the volunteered services of elves from elsewhere… the fires are out and it would seem the danger is past. But if it is not, we are prepared to meet it with all our courage and might. I must still insist, however, on everyone staying within the palace boundaries unless part of an official burial procession; I know you wish to see what may be left of your homes, but it is not worth risking your lives for. Once we have word from the Old Palace, we can rethink, but until then, I ask for your patience and co-operation.'

With a brisk nod to Parvon he took his place again, leaving it to the Chief Advisor to address the hall once more.

'So, in a spirit of hope, knowing our boundaries are safe, the wine has gone round, let the food be set, and let us join in the Yule Eve sharing of the Feast.'

Placed as he was between Maereth and Faerveren, Parvon felt safe, somehow, sheltered from the rest of the hall. It was odd, too, that this was the first time their king was not resident amongst them at Yule; it had been a mark of how far they'd come, that Thranduil had seen fit to leave the New Palace in Parvon and Triwathon's care… of course, it had not gone well… Parvon thought again of the helplessness of knowing that had the message from the Old Palace been delivered in time, they would have been able to evacuate the villages, to prepare against the attack…

It was all just too sad to think about, and this was meant to be a happy occasion. At the Old Palace, the Yule Eve Feast started early and finished late, with no set times, so that everyone could come when suited them, or according to their duty shifts, or their elflings' bedtimes; the dining hall had been busy and bustling with arrivals and leavers… here, they tried to echo that sense of freedom, of coming and going as one chose, but tonight the hall was full, as if everyone had tried to arrive at the same time, as if people were huddling together to feel safe.

The servers set food for him, hot and rich, and the aromas kindled something akin to hunger in him, but really, his appetite was hardly there. Still, he ate, for it would have been wasteful otherwise and he had to try to keep his strength up; there would be busy days ahead. The vexed problem of Triwathon's invitation filled his thoughts as he tried to look as if he was savouring the food, and an idea began to form, based in part on something Faerveren had said; that the populace would be dismayed if it were known that Parvon and Triwathon were not sharing private observances without good reason. Except… he thought he might have found one…

'Master Parvon?' Triwathon had leaned forward to address him, Maereth obligingly shuffling back a little with a smile. 'I've been trying all day to catch up with you, it seems – I need to have a word…'

'Yes; I have been busy, unfortunately.' Parvon did not explain the nature of his busyness. 'However, might it wait until after the meal?'

'Yes, it might… as long as you do not allow yourself to be swamped with questions from our good elves before I have chance…'

Parvon gave a polite smile. 'I might say, also, as long as you manage to avoid being surrounded by queries from the garrison…'

'And I might say, perhaps I ought to return to my healing duties and you can carry on your conversation more easily?' Maereth put in with a laugh. 'For it is difficult for you to talk with me here…'

'No, stay, Maereth, please!' Parvon said, not yet ready to have any conversation with Triwathon since he was sure it would turn to the matter of Arveldir's invitation. The idea which was forming about how he could make all well was not yet quite finished in his mind. 'We did not mean to give the impression you were in the way…'

'But I am finished eating…'

Faerveren slid from his seat and grabbed a bottle from the end of the table, coming to stand behind the Healer and fill her goblet.

'You have not finished drinking, though. Stay, Healer Mae! You have worked so hard, you deserve a little time away from your halls.'

'Ai, it is a conspiracy!' she said, throwing up her hands in mock-despair. 'The entire weight of the Palace Office against me, how might I resist? Very well, I thank you. But no more wine after this. Master Parvon, if you like, though, we could swap places; I will be quite comfortable next to Master Faerveren.'

'It's too much to ask,' Parvon said, but Maereth had already risen and so he could do nothing except himself stand, and move back for her to take his former seat.

And there was Triwathon, looking up at him, impatience in his eyes, and the last thing Parvon wanted to do was hear from his friend's own mouth how unimportant he was suddenly become, and so he took his half-shaped idea and forced it into words, focussing on that phrase of Faerveren's onto which he could latch his speech, for, having risen, he was being looked at by most of the diners who assumed he had something more to say and so, he said it.

'While I am on my feet…' he began...

Triwathon's relief when Maereth had moved, giving him the chance to speak more easily to his friend turned to annoyance when Parvon looked away and, instead of sitting down, started addressing the hall.

'…While I am on my feet, and have your attention,' he began, 'there is one further matter I wish to mention. It is nothing of note; not a matter of concern, that is. But we have our own habits here, and I know if this were made known without explanation, some of you might worry. And so. Given our recent losses, there will be a variation in practice for tomorrow's evening commemorations… so many of us have been touched, some less grievously than others; I myself, although I knew all of our honoured dead, was not close to any. Yet there are those close to me who have lost the dearest of friends… that being the case, we intend setting up another station for observances, in the Palace Office, where I will officiate for those whose losses are not so awful as those suffered by so many of you. This frees up the Healers for those whose need is greatest, and also allows my dear friend and former mentor Lord Arveldir, and his spouse, to share the observances with our own Commander Triwathon; thus both will…'

Triwathon stared up at the Chief Advisor whose own gaze was resolutely on the hall; even when he named the commander he gave just the briefest of glances, the slightest gesture, looking away again almost immediately…

What had Parvon just said? How had he known about the invitation, how could he have known…? Impossible. Unbelievable; Parvon had just committed him to a course of action he had not actually acknowledged yet; now he must accept the invitation whether he wanted or no…

'…will benefit as Lord Arveldir and his husband have shared in the Lord of Gondolin's recent years, and Command Triwathon was his dear friend…' Parvon paused to let this sink in, to breathe, to allow the hall to settle, to settle himself. Yes, this was the way, the only way to retain some sort of control over events, to prevent himself feeling lost and helpless and no longer needed. 'When first I mentioned that the commander and I might not share the Night of the Names, I was told by one whose opinion I value that it would never do, that everyone was so used to us commemorating together that any variation would be shocking and upsetting. I do hope this is not the case; I am really not so interesting that my arrangements need be a matter of broader discussion… besides which, we are currently engaged in a different celebration, so I will finish, and just say that the details will, of course, be on the boards, although not until after the day meal tomorrow. Arrangements have yet to be finalised.'

The hall did not quite go into uproar, but enough people looked surprised and shocked that Parvon decided to take his leave. He bowed, murmured something to Faerveren about please to take over, and left the table, finding the shadows and blending in so that his actual point of exit would be unnoticed. Only Triwathon, watching, saw and marked which door he used as he left the hall in search of a little quiet time to properly think through the entirety of what he had just done.