Parvon did his best to put this latest encounter with Triwathon from his mind. The fact that there was so much to do helped, because he didn't have time to mope and fret… there was the dining hall to visit, to make sure the preparations for the day-meal were underway… then a glance at the information boards, installed at several points throughout the complex; outside the Healers' rooms, near the dining hall, close to the main doorways… but first, the Palace Office, to thank Arveldir and Erestor for filling in for him, to check if there was anything to demand his immediate attention.

All seemed to have been reasonably quiet.

'There have been enquiries about this evening,' Arveldir said. 'Many concerning the new observances; they are to be held in here, I take it, after the formalities have begun in the dining hall?'

Parvon nodded. 'There should be information on the boards; it is my next job to see they have been updated…'

'No doubt there is, they have. But an information board, however cunningly questioned, is unlikely to divulge the reasons behind this change of routine, whether it has anything to do with Commander Triwathon's loss, or if all is really well in the New Palace…'

'Oh, I see. I am sorry; it must have been awkward to see the Seneschal of Imladris claimed on behalf of one of us in such fashion, especially for you, Erestor. You must have known him for longer than anyone...?'

From his corner seat where his injured leg was propped on a stool, Erestor stirred and nodded.

'I think I can claim that honour, yes. He was, in fact, my oldest friend… but no, I understand. Everyone wanted to call him their Seneschal, or friend, or instructor-at-arms. Or… well. He was so much to so many, but all he really wanted, you know, was to be Ecthelion's Glorfindel again.' Erestor's smile was sad. 'You will pardon me, I hope, but I should like to go back to our room now.'

'Of course, and my thanks to you both. I understand there is no caul silk left in the Healers' stores, Master Erestor, or you would have been made more comfortable…'

Erestor waved this away as Arveldir helped him up.

'No, there are elflings in pain and elves with far worse injuries than my own. I am recovering, but there is still some soreness… well. If I rest now, I may be able to come to the hall to share the day-meal.'

Parvon held the door and bowed as Arveldir supported Erestor from the room; just for a moment, he felt almost impatient with Triwathon's grief; there was no doubting his pain, but there was also no doubting the fact that others were also grieving for Glorfindel…

In his own way, so was he. It had been impossible not to like the bold, blond hero of so many battles; Glorfindel had worn his frailties like his scars, as badges of honour, signs he had survived. He had laughed easily and drunk deeply and he had ridden out from the safety of Imladris and across the cold of the mountains, apparently because of a prophetic dream that had said the Silvans were in trouble, and he had died there, in their forest, killing the dragons that had wrought so much devastation…

Briefly Parvon wondered what Ecthelion was like, as a person, how he would react when he heard of Glorfindel's romantic adventures. It had been repeatedly said that the Ecthelion had freed him from their vows, and so he would forgive him Triwathon and this later lover, of course; who would not forgive their forever-love, no matter how it might sting and smart?

One thing was certain; Ecthelion would never accuse Glorfindel of not being interesting…

Parvon sighed. So much for putting the encounter with Triwathon aside. Even so, there was no point allowing himself to feel aggrieved; it was plain Triwathon would never see him as more than a friend, and at present even their friendship seemed under strain. It was no good; the situation simply couldn't be allowed to continue… nor would Parvon allow it to do so, but presently there was too much to organise, too many other things demanding his time…

Information boards next, yes. He closed the office and made his rounds, finishing outside Healer Mae's rooms so he could enter and ask her how her charges were, had there been news of family for the unclaimed elflings yet, and how was she, herself?

'Everyone is recovering, although now the worst of the pain is over, they are feeling the fear and sorrow more, of course,' she told him. 'Word has come that two of the elflings have kin currently at the Old Palace; we will send word to them with the next message… if we know when that might be?'

Parvon shook his head; they were, of course, presently lacking an official messenger.

'We sent a messenger hawk to the Old Palace and are expecting a reply within the next day or so,' he told her. 'But when the bird was sent, of course, the messenger was still alive.'

Maereth laid her hand on his arm.

'An accident, Parvon; it really was not your fault.'

He shook his head. 'That aside, Mae, I asked after you, and your assistants; are you bearing up?'

'Come take tea with me and I'll tell you,' she said, smiling.

'I really shouldn't…'

But he allowed her to persuade him, and spent twenty minutes drinking lemon balm and lavender tea the fragrance of which filled Maereth's little office with the memory of summer. Almost unconsciously, Parvon relaxed, let down his guard, didn't notice Mae's gentle questions drawing him out about how he himself was feeling, hardly realised he had admitted to being stressed and anxious and really not as happy as he might be.

'… but it's no wonder, when we have all had so much to deal with, is it?' he finished. 'But while there is work, while I have my duties, there is a certain solace in routine.'

'That's true,' the healer said with a nod. 'And so you see, that is why so many people are curious about the new arrangements for the Night of the Names; the routine has changed, you and Commander Triwathon will not be observing privately together… it is silly that such a small alteration should have everyone questioning, but so it is.'

'Which is why I made a public announcement, so that it would be clear there was nothing to worry about… but elves will be elves, I suppose. I am grateful for the tea, Maereth; I had better be off, I need to make sure the hall is ready for the day-meal.'

Following the traditions set by the Old Palace, the Yule day-meal would be relatively light with people expected to come and go when suited them. Under normal circumstances, the afternoon would be free, where possible, for people to prepare for the evening when a formal Night of Names meal would be set in the hall, the official observances opened, and people then either staying or going on to private observances with friends or family; the point was that nobody should be alone on the Night of the Names.

The housekeeper and her team had everything under control in the hall, and Parvon paused to acknowledge the hard work that had gone into the preparations, the understated Yule decorations of holly and ivy with a splash of red berries amongst the foliage.

'For we none of us really feel like celebrating, and yet the hall looks so well it lifts the spirits.'

'Thank you, Master Parvon. May I ask? About tonight?'

'Yes, of course. The formal settings on the top table, with places at opposite ends set and the empty seats on either side of the king's seat. Commander Triwathon has been asked to be lead us, and I was thinking of asking Lord Arveldir to be respondent tonight, if he and Master Erestor are able to attend. Captains Thiriston and Canadion are leading the garrison, but our commander will want to be there too, so he may not stay long.'

'No, in fact, I meant… you and he are not sharing the observances tonight?'

Parvon carefully didn't sigh, didn't scowl, didn't reply sharply, but it was not easy.

'That's right. As things are, Commander Triwathon will visit Master Erestor and Lord Arveldir; their mutual friend was dear to all of them, while I did not know him well. Besides which, there are so many new griefs that I feared Healer Maereth would be overwhelmed with people seeking her out, and so providing another place for people to share…'

He carried on by rote, almost, giving out the official reasons why he and Triwathon would be taking part in the ritual separately for the first time in almost two decades, trying to make it sound natural. The housekeeper seemed satisfied, but sniffed.

'Well, I hope it will be back to normal next year,' she said, and he smiled and nodded and left, somehow feeling nothing would ever be normal again.

As he was heading back to the Palace Office, trying to keep to the shadows so that nobody would stop him and ask more questions, he spotted a figure he knew but which looked unfamiliar for some reason… of course, it was Faerveren, but Faerveren not in his robes of office, instead wearing leggings and tunic – off duty clothes. As if he heard Parvon think his name, the underscribe turned and smiled a greeting.

'So far I have referred six people to the notice boards, and two to the office – telling them to wait until after the day-meal for everyone is busy, of course. But apart from that, I am not working, as you told me. It feels very odd!'

Parvon nodded. 'I find that, too… sometimes I think all my life is work, even when I socialise, the talk usually turns to palace business.'

'Ah, but that is probably the company you keep. I am invited to join my uncles at table for the day-meal, and they would like you to sit with us too – that's all right, I hope?'

'Of course it is, and very kind of you all… I hope you have something nice planned for the afternoon, too?'

'Yes, again, my uncles…' Faerveren smiled. 'It was good of you to give me the time, Master Parvon.'

'You're welcome; it's been a difficult few days. One thing I should mention…' Parvon hesitated. Fully intending to tell his underscribe that Triwathon might inadvertently make him the subject of some scurrilous talk, he took a moment to rephrase; however much he was smarting after Triwathon's words, he would not wish to make others think less well of the commander for a minor lapse. 'The commander mentioned something… there's a possibility of some gossip going around concerning… well, concerning us, I'm afraid…'

'…as in, you and I, sir?' Faerveren shook his head. 'Ai, that is old news!'

'Really? But…'

'Oh, every year or half year, someone looks at how much time we spend working together and they assume there must be more to it than simple shared duties! I am glad you have been unaware of it, for it is so silly. And nobody ever believes it, not for a moment; everyone knows you are fond of the commander, and that you are not the sort of ellon to…'

'It is good you are not upset by it, Faerveren. People have nothing better to do, I think. Only at the moment, they do have other things to think about and trying not to think about them makes them look around for something else to fill their minds… and, truth to tell, it's flattering to have my name coupled with so good-looking an ellon as you, but I know you simply want to be left alone to work and if this disturbs your peace in any way…'

'I wonder what in particular…? perhaps when I touched your arm this morning in public!' Faerveren shook his head in mock-dismay. 'Let us hope they never hear about the evening I braided your hair for you, can you imagine…? Oh, and here, I have just passed on an invitation to you to eat with me and my kin… goodness!' The younger ellon laughed. 'No, I am not upset, Master Parvon, and if there is anything I don't like, well, I shall be seen in public with my uncles. Anyone wanting to spread silly rumours would do well to remember how Uncle Thiriston Cut-Face got his name…'

Parvon smiled. 'That's the spirit, Faerveren! But if it does become unpleasant… nor do I wish the reputation of the Palace Office to come into disrepute…'

'Sir, I'm sure it will be well. And as for the respectability of the office, Master, you have Commander Triwathon to breathe down the neck of anyone who would dare suggest otherwise!'

Faerveren smiled, expecting Parvon to laugh and acknowledge he, too, had a champion, but it was hard to do, to pretend, when it had been Triwathon himself started this line of thought.

'Yes, our good commander is always aware of such things!' he found himself able to say. 'Well, Faerveren, enjoy your uncles' company.'

'Oh, I shall!' he said. 'Uncle Canadion always makes me laugh with the stories about the gossip he used to cause… and, you see? He was not harmed by it!'

Of course Parvon had to be at the day-meal, and, of course, so did Commander Triwathon. But although there was nothing to say that both of them had to be there at the same time, Parvon lingered over his food for just a few moments too long, so that the commander came in just as Parvon was finishing his meal. Faerveren good-naturedly moved up and invited him to join the party, and so it was impossible for him to refuse, even though Parvon could detect waves of anxious awkwardness emanating from the commander. Nor was it possible for Parvon to leave either, for Captain Thiriston, with fine disregard for his polite refusal of more wine, had splashed full his goblet and to leave it would have been wasteful, and ill-mannered. Besides, he did not want Triwathon to think he was running away…

It was Triwathon who moved first, however, before even the servers had come to him.

'If you don't mind, Faerveren, I'll go and sit with Lord Arveldir and Master Erestor, I think; I need to talk with them about this evening…'

'Of course, Commander. You're First Speaker tonight, aren't you? I understand Lord Arveldir will be First Responder, if his husband is well enough for the hall…' Faerveren glanced across at Parvon. 'Otherwise, it will be you again, won't it, sir?'

'I hope Erestor is feeling much improved,' Triwathon murmured as he rose from his seat.

Faerveren nodded and smiled, and Parvon, wincing from yet another little stab, wondered if he was perhaps being too sensitive, reading into Triwathon's remark a veiled hint that he didn't want to open proceedings with Parvon as participant. Naturally, he agreed with the thought for Erestor's sake and… well, to not have to begin the most important ritual of the Silvan ceremonial year with a hostile associate would actually be quite a relief.

A little before the time appointed for the commencement of the observances, Faerveren presented himself in the Palace Office dressed in fresh formal robes and looking happy and relaxed.

'For there is nothing like a loving family, after all, is there, sir?'

'Indeed, Faerveren. I am grateful to have been invited to share your day-meal. My own kin are no longer here, of course, but I remember fondly the days when we were able to meet and share a table together.'

'Of course, sir, your parents sailed, did they not? Will you join them one day, do you think, sir?'

'It's possible,' Parvon admitted, for the almost-shocking thought that had come to him – to sail and be done with all this – came back into his mind. 'But not tonight, of course. I have not had word yet whether Arveldir will be attending… I should just pay a quick call…'

'In fact, sir, as it was on my way, I took the liberty of knocking and asking how Master Erestor was feeling. Lord Arveldir's apologies, but he and Erestor will stay in their rooms and just celebrate privately tonight.'

'Of course; it's no more than I expected, Erestor was at the gates this morning and then helped in the office…'

'Besides being at the day-meal. How do you suppose it is, for Noldo, sir, who follow other traditions? Is the day of Yule more, or less, important, do you think?'

A discussion of the habits of other kinds of elves, and whether or not those, too, might be altered further by proximity to humans, filled the time between leaving the office and arriving at the hall, giving Parvon little chance for anxiety. He had time to pause, straighten his robes, and wonder whether Triwathon had heard the news of Arveldir's absence before he entered, was seen by the commander, and realised from the swift look on Triwathon's face, that he had not expected Parvon to take the place at the opposite end of the table. He recovered, gave a slight inclination of the head which Parvon matched, and the two took their seats while the hall filled around them.

While he waited, Parvon found himself wondering whom Triwathon would bring forth as First Name. It had become tradition, in the Old Palace, to begin with the name of the king's former consort, the mother of the princes, and were the king present tonight, no doubt Triwathon would follow the familiar formula. But the king was not present, and there was so much death over the New Palace… no, there was little doubt who Triwathon would name, it would be Glorfindel, of course, bound to be, even though to bring forth the name of a non-Silvan might be considered radical; he just hoped the commander could say the name without wavering…

The seats filled, the food served except for the empty settings on either side of the king's place, the goblets filled with good, rich wine… Parvon and Triwathon rose to their feet as if by some signal, lifted their drinking vessels. Parvon felt his attention drifting so that he was only aware of the latter part of Triwathon's speech…

'…this evening, this year, things are not as they usually are, and so, I ask, Chief Advisor to the King, do you remember…?'

Glorfindel. Yes, I remember him, he…

'…Rhoscthel, Landaer…'

Parvon gave himself a little shake; the expected name had not come. Instead, Triwathon was reciting the names of everyone who had died, every Silvan they were mourning, every lost individual soul…

Abruptly, Triwathon ran out of names, shook his head.

'And one more person who died that night. Do you remember Glorfindel?'

…there it was, tacked on to the end of the list, and rightly, too, for he had died last… Parvon lifted his wine in salute.

'Yes, Garrison Commander Triwathon, I remember Rhoscthel, whose husband had died but who still sand to her children… and Landaer, an Elder of the village who loved living in the trees… I remember…'

He went on, listing them in turn, adding what they had meant to him, to the community, to the kingdom. Finally, he, too, paused.

'And, yes, Commander, I remember Glorfindel of Gondolin, whom we honour as one of our own. He died for us, for our elflings, for our kin and our friends, and we will always remember him.'

Raising his goblet, he saluted the empty places again, and drank, and Triwthon called out to the hall:

'Who else remembers these, our honoured dead?' and gradually, from here and there, calling over each other, the people joined in with their memories of this one and that.

But nobody, other than Parvon, quite had the courage to remember Glorfindel, it seemed, until Elrohir got to his feet, his seat stuttering and scraping back over the stone of the floor.

'I remember Fin, Glorfindel, he… he taught me to ride, to fight, not to be afraid of who I am… he taught me all the things my own father couldn't, or wouldn't, or was too busy to share, and… it feels like losing my father again. Only worse, because Ada sailed and Glorfindel… I… Oh, Fin.'

'I remember Glorfindel' a voice from the side tables; Erthor, one of the visiting warriors. 'We came back from escort duty together, singing 'Heroes Coming Home' in the wet and cold. Ai, he is home now, at last!'

'I remember that, I remember 'Heroes' and rain and Glorfindel singing… he could sing well when he wanted, but… he chose not to, that night. It made us laugh…' Calithilon laughed and drank. 'Yes, I remember Glorfindel…'

The memories began to run around the hall, loosening the mood, and Parvon saw Triwathon swallow, his eyes shine suddenly. He turned away his head; the raw pain was too much to look at.

'Sir?' Faerveren had come to stand behind his chair. 'If you wish, I will stay and see the hall organised; the commander can then go on to the garrison, and you to the Palace Office; the inner room is arrayed for private commemorations, the outer for more general observances.'

'Faerveren…' Parvon rose quietly. 'Thank you, that makes all easy for us both. I will see you later, then, once they are settled.'