The good thing about setting up a new station for the observances, Parvon mused as he looked around the altered inner office, was that, within certain limits, he could set his own rules. And those who came to participate would have to abide by them, for, being new, they would not be able to say this particular form of observance was wrong.

So instead of requesting the corridor servants to provide hot food, he asked instead for lembas, dried fruit, and blackcurrant cordial to be brought in and left on a side table. Since it was the sharing of food – the breaking of bread – that mattered, then why should it not be waybread?

The inner room had its day-to-day functions masked by the simple process of putting away all the scrolls and papers, moving the desk aside and setting up a table with four set places in the middle, a candle in the midst of the crockery providing light while the rest of the room was dark.

The outer room also had a table and chairs, places laid. It was Parvon's intention to sit here with Faerveren until or unless another came in, seeking to share.

It would be a while yet, of course… in the hall, people would be deciding whether to stay there and remember publicly their dead, or to find someone to share with privately, and that took time and a certain degree of encouragement on the part of those on duty… when Faerveren had talked of seeing the hall 'organised', he meant something like that, pairing off those who were alone, advising those who didn't want a public observance…

So he was surprised to when a gentle knock at the open doorway was followed by a tentative voice asking if this was the right place…?

'Please come in,' he said. 'You are Oldor, I think? Come, be welcome. Tell me, what sort of remembrance will this be for you, private or…?'

Oldor, a young ellon who to Parvon's knowledge had family in the area, nodded and moistened his lips, anxious.

'Very… very private. And… personal. I hope it's all right, only I didn't want to bring this to Healer Mae and I just can't…'

'I see. Come through, then, Oldor, and sit down.' He pulled the door to, gesturing to the table and setting lembas and a flask of cordial on the table. 'May these observances bring us only joy.'

Oldor nodded and sat down, his movements jerky, awkward.

'I do not know how… the family gathering is different, and…'

Parvon nodded, pouring the rich, dark blackcurrant liquid into two glasses, breaking a wafer of lembas and sharing it between his and Oldor's plates.

'There is one person, then, whose memory weighs on you tonight?'

The young ellon nodded. 'I thought you would understand, you see, and Healer Mae… she knows my mother, and…'

'Shall I begin, perhaps? I remember an ellon called Maedon. He was…' Parvon paused to sip his drink. 'He was wild, you might say. He did not follow convention, in fact he flouted the rules wherever he met them. In itself, this would not have been so bad, but he led other young elves astray… but, still, he was loved, and when he died, he was missed. The one who felt most strongly for him did adjust, did go on to find someone else, for he and Maedon had not been fëa-mates… but I think, for a time, it was hard for him. So, I remember Maedon, who was, amongst other things, a fine shot, and a poacher. But still, people cared about him.'

'I remember… Hethurin. He was… Oak Village. I… in his flet, smoke, they think killed him not burning and… at least it wasn't dragons.'

'I remember Hethurin,' Parvon said. 'He was…'

He broke off. 'Going to be married', he'd been about to say, but as Hethurin's supposed bride was an elleth from the Old Palace, and as Oldor seemed to be in more sorrow than just friendship might claim, he changed his words hastily.

'…was late moving out to the village, wasn't he? Only came this summer, oh, that is sad!'

Oldor nodded, sniffing.

'Came to be closer to… to me. He said we might… next year, go away somewhere, if we couldn't be together here… I… I think he was my fëa-mate, because I just want to rip out my heart so it will stop HURTING me, but… how can I know?'

'I am sorry for your pain, for your loss. Obviously there was great affection between you. How does one know…? Sometimes, one looks upon an elleth or an ellon and it is as if the whole of Lord Eru's creation changes around one. At other times, there is just a certainty that this one is the other half of one's soul. Then there are those who are aware of the thoughts and fears of their loved one, sensitive to when they may be in danger or distress.'

'That was… I knew something was wrong. He… and I think, he could have got away, but he chose not to. That it was easier for him to die than to face his family and… there was an elleth, you see.'

'I see. Then that is doubly sad, when one is afraid of what one's family will say or do or think.'

'Was it like that for you, Master Parvon?' Oldor asked, his tone shy. But Parvon had no wish to be drawn and potentially quoted around the New Palace once this young one's distress had worn off a little.

'I am not the subject of the discussion, Oldor. The subject never came up in my family.'

'You were fortunate, then!' the young elf said. 'Hethurin left the family home to get away from them all telling him what to do… he told them he wanted to experience a traditional way of life for a while, before he settled down, but really, it was so we could be together. I didn't know if he meant forever, or just until they came after him and brought him home… I didn't care, really, as long as I was where he was.'

'Tell me more of Hethurin. He had never been in the guard or the hunters, I think…?'

'That's so. He could shoot well, though, he made sure he practised. And I practised too, so that was nice, to do it together. Oh, I miss him, and I do not know how…'

'You will adapt.' Parvon spoke calmly and softly. 'After the Battle Under The Trees, after the Battle of the Five Armies, there were many left as you are, their sweethearts dead, unsure of whether or not there had been a forever waiting for them. Some found, yes, that had been their fëa-mate. And of those, many accepted a lesser love with another who had also lost someone. There is that perfect match for all of us, but they say there are also others almost as close… others were so grief-stricken that they turned their faces away from their kin and towards the Halls of Mandos, to be reunited there. But I have always felt there are too many dead elves already, without adding to the number. After all, we are not forbidden to Sail, just because we choose not to.'

'I thought of that, of Sailing. But… he would still be dead when I got there, wouldn't he? But then, he is worth waiting for, I… yes, I could do that for him. I might. But… you know what will happen, don't you? The elleth, she will get all the sympathy and the kindness and she didn't like him that much – we were fëa-mates, she couldn't have done…'

If nothing more, Parvon found himself musing over Oldor's rambling grief, at least the young one seemed to have decided how things had stood between himself and Hethurin…

'…but that's how it will be. At least I can come to you and tell you, Master Parvon… oh, but he was wonderful, so much fun…'

Parvon listened and nodded and asked careful questions until after an hour or so the penneth was all cried out and his tears dried, his heart still hurting but his mood determined and when he rose from his place, and Parvon got to his feet likewise, he found himself soundly hugged and then released.

'Thank you, Master Parvon, I feel so much better now! I… if you don't mind, I'll tell my kin I'm late because I was with a friend, but I think I can join them for the rest of the night now. And… perhaps I will Sail… but that choice is for another day. I am very grateful. May the rest of your observances bring you only joy.'

The outer office was empty, but there were signs that the table had recently been occupied and within moments of seeing Oldor out, Parvon found himself greeting Faerveren.

'Was all well, sir? I have had three in here, all remembering friends who were not lovers, and they have gone away happy… in fact, they arrived separately but left together with the intention of drinking their various friends' health… you had Oldor; I slipped out to give him privacy leaving. How has he taken the loss of his lover, it was never going to be easy for him?'

'You knew his history?'

'Of course. It was no secret, at the Old Palace, that some families were not adapting to the modern acceptance of same-gender relationships… his friend was supposed to take vows with a daughter of his mother's friend… well, it will not happen now. Did he take it well?'

'Badly at first, in fact, but he seems better for talking at me.' Parvon gave a rueful smile. 'Had I known how hard this would be…'

'But he feels better, you see, and the ellyn I saw, they are more cheerful now too. We have done a good job here tonight. Of course, it is not over yet.'

But nobody came and so after another hour Parvon went into the inner room, gesturing Faerveren to accompany him. He took a seat at the table, in the place Oldor had used, and poured cordial into fresh glasses, set fresh fragments of lembas.

'May these observances bring us only joy, Master Parvon,' Faerveren said. 'For myself, I remember Rhoscthel, and an ellon called Úrdir. He it was who looked at me, and I looked back, and knew I was not like my adar but more like my Daeradar Merenor. He was in the guard, and I used to go and watch Uncle Canadion practice, so I could see Úrdir, too. But nothing came of it, perhaps because it was known whose nephew and honour-nephew I was, perhaps because I was not bold enough to do more than look, or because he was content just to let me admire him… it was nice, though, to watch him… I remember your brother Fonor, also, although I was too busy looking at Úrdir to really see him.'

'I remember Úrdir. And, of course, Fonor… I am grateful you spoke his name first, for he is the one I really wish to remember… they died in the same battle, of course, on the same field… poor Fonor! I do miss him…'

'There is a strong resemblance, except that he was so very tall, of course…!'

'You flatter me…' Parvon smiled. 'He was tall, stupidly tall… they say if you put us together and averaged us out, we would both have been the right height…but his eyes were brighter, his hair closer to blond than mine… he laughed more, and danced, and sang, and was such a light and carefree soul! Growing up, he seemed to be everything I wished I were, but was not. Although I was a better shot.'

'Really, sir? No, I doubt you not – I've seen you shoot, you are very skilled…'

'I could beat Nestoril, he never could. Although he claimed he was being gallant, but I think she just outshot him…'

'My uncle sometimes used to struggle to beat Healer Ness; I think maybe Captain Fonor was just outmatched. But his skill with the sword was very fine.'

'Well. I keep thinking of what you said earlier – there's nothing like a loving family. And we were. That is, not all over each other all the time, but my parents were always warm and supportive… quite old-fashioned, without being very old fashioned, if you know what I mean. So I don't know if they knew how it was with me, or if they just believed me when I said I wanted to devote myself to the King's Office and that to marry would be unfair to any potential spouse. And they never questioned it… I think… maybe they knew, but couldn't quite face what that might mean… Assuming Fonor didn't have any dark secrets I didn't know about, he may well be out of Mandos now, in which case, why am I doing this? He won't be able to hear me if he's re-embodied…'

'I always thought we did this for ourselves,' Faerveren said softly, refilling Parvon's glass. 'Because we miss them, and we need to express that loving longing. And to do so like this, saying their names… if they are still with the Lord of the Dark Halls, then it comforts them, too. But if they are not, then they are probably missing us just as much. I wonder if, in Valinor, on the Night of the Names, do they gather and think of us, left behind here?' The younger elf smiled. 'Sometimes I have too many thoughts, my naneth says.'

'I do not think a person in the employ of the King's Offices can have too many thoughts, Faerveren. And thank you; yes, it is not really why we do this tonight, but why we do not speak their names the rest of the year… but I do miss him. While he was here, I could see his love of life and feel that a part of me was a joyous, dancing, laughing ellon too. I…'

He broke off abruptly as a wave of grief took the breath from his lungs.

'Sir? Master Parvon?'

'Oh, I…' Not him, not his grief, he was not missing Fonor that much. But it was anguish and agony and it beat hurt, hurt, hurt with his heart and he had to do something to break free of this misery even if it meant… 'Faerveren, can you stay here?' I have to go and…'

'I am sure you are not well, sir… let me take you to Healer Mae…'

'No, I am fine, I simply…' He broke off and shook his head. 'I have to go. May the rest of the night bring you only good memories, Faerveren. Thank you for listening. I must…'

He hurried from the room, not consciously aware that Faerveren was following discreetly, just tracking the anguish… no, being pulled towards it inexorably. He passed a servant's trolley laid for the night, and grabbed a bottle of wine and a loaf from it as he went, hurrying towards the furthest part of the New Palace.

As he went, he felt the despair and sorrow fade… no, not fade, it was as if it became masked, numbed by a chill, cold, creeping calm…one last corner and he ended up outside the room where Glorfindel's body had lain in state terrified about what he would find within.