His heart pounding and his mouth dry, Parvon turned away from Faerveren, took a breath, and pushed into the room. Empty now of the table where Glorfindel had lain in state, empty of everything except a huddled form against the wall, it felt huge, dark and vast, the only light a dim glow from the corridor lamps.

Even so he knew who it was huddling there, and he threw himself across the room to kneel beside the figure and touch the exposed skin of one hand. It was far too cold, like to so many cold hands of dead elves that he'd touched in recent days…

'Triwathon? Triwathon, no…' He pulled at the commander, making him unfurl, trying to chafe his wrists. 'You can't fade! Don't you dare fade! It won't help you to be there, he'll be there, yes, but he won't be alone, it will just make you more unhappy… Triwathon, you can't turn away from us! There are too many who need you!'

…who love you…

Triwathon groaned and uncoiled, resting his head back against the wall and shivering. His face was pale and streaked with tears and his shoulders shook.

'…not trying to fade, idiot,' he said between gusting sobs. 'Trying not to…'

'Well, this does not seem to me to be the best way to go about it. Come, get up. You're freezing; we have to get you warmed up, this isn't right…'

'…making me, taunting me, Girithon, he's in my head, whispering…'

'No, he's not. The messenger – I will not honour him with his name – he is dead. He is not here. He is with Lord Námo. He cannot be in your mind, he cannot hurt you, Triwathon – you need to hear me.'

'I… oh, Parvon, he's dead, Glorfindel's dead, and I don't know what to do about it!'

Parvon pulled the commander to his feet and put an arm around him, attempting to lead him towards the door, but instead Triwathon clung to him, trying to stop sobbing, trying to come back.

'There isn't anything you can do about it, Triwathon. It's awful, dreadful, and he is such a huge loss to Middle Earth… all we can do is to keep going without him.'

'That's easy for you to say!'

'I remember Glorfindel,' Parvon said, leading the way from the room. 'He saved us. He knew we were in trouble, and he came to help. Perhaps I was not in love with him, but I did honour him and admire his courage. And he was very handsome, in a golden sort of way.'

Triwathon gave a sniff that might have been a laugh. The shaking had receded, the sobs finally subsided, leaving him trembling more than anything, shivering still.

'Your rooms or mine? Yours are nearer, mine will certainly have a fire burning…'

'Don't want… company, the others to see me…'

Parvon was not surprised.

'My rooms, then. Come, hold your courage, my friend. Not long, and you can tell me everything.'

Parvon was grateful for the quiet of the corridors, for the tray of food and jug of mulled wine on the stand outside his rooms, the fire burning in the grate. He helped Triwathon inside, sat him by the fire and handed him a glass of hot wine, trying not to peer too closely into his face; he had more than a sense of what his friend was feeling and had no wish to make matters worse by seeming over-anxious. But what had he been doing there, alone? Why had he left Arveldir and Erestor, could they not see, could they not at least have guessed that something like this would happen?

'Here. This will warm you. Tell me, Triwathon?'

Triwathon wrapped his hands around the goblet and stared into its depths.

'He is dead, my friend Glorfindel is dead,' he said. 'What more is there to tell?'

Parvon inhaled slowly, gathering himself. At least Triwathon didn't look so horribly grey now, at least he was almost stopped shaking.

'I am sorry he is dead. Sorry for you, and sorry for us all. He has been so entwined with history that it is as if more than lives were lost when he died. But, Triw – at least you were there. You were with him, you held him and brought him comfort in his last moments. Yours was the last elven face he saw before he left us. You were the last to hold him.'

'He smiled at me, he did, he was glad it was me…' Triwathon gave a huge sniff and gulped at his hot wine. 'And I know – what you said, if I were to fade – I didn't want to, really, it wasn't me… then I would only have to see him with Ecthelion, and… no, that would not be good…'

'This is why we are not meant to be alone on the Night of the Names. Had you been long there?'

'I do not know. I… it… Do not think badly of Arveldir and Erestor, they were welcoming. And it started well. We went through those lost to the dragons first, and then those from earlier days at last Glorfindel was remembered… Arveldir brought his name to the table. Then Erestor said he remembered Glorfindel and spoke of how long he'd known him and it made me feel ashamed, I think, about how… how personal it felt to me. And then… then Erestor, he… began to weep and of course Arveldir went to him and I felt… of course they didn't want me there, not really, so I left and… I didn't know where else to go. But he wasn't there, only the messenger, whispering it was my fault, my fault he was dead because I let you stop him, and my fault you were going to be called a murder and kinslayer, and my fault Glorfindel died because… and it felt so true, and all the time his voice saying I didn't deserve to live, not after everything I've done, and nobody would miss me, and... he said… he said even you wouldn't want me and… and I was so tired, and so sad, and after today… I just couldn't not listen…' He sought refuge in his wine once more. 'Thank you, Parvon. I… haven't treated you well lately and you still came and saved me.'

'We can talk about that later,' Parvon said. 'You do know it's not your fault, I hope? None of it. I would have hit the messenger anyway, I think, given the opportunity. He'd been pestering other elves and it was past time someone said something to him about that… and then to find he'd delayed on the road… no, if it's anyone's fault, it's his.'

'It wasn't your fault he died, though. You do see that, Parvon?'

Parvon allowed himself the luxury of a sigh.

'Yes, I know it… that is, I understand what everyone tells me about the how and the why and the misfortune, and had it been anyone else I would be saying exactly the same, but… it's one thing to know it and another to feel it in my fëa…'

Silence fell. Then, with another exhalation, Parvon got himself a glass of wine and lifted it in salute.

'I remember your Glorfindel,' he said. 'It is a strange thing, because for all I had tried, in my younger days, to put you out of my mind, I had not entirely succeeded, I think. Seeing you return in such sorrow from the Battle of the Three Dragons moved me. And Glorfindel… the way he looked at you made me look again. I saw how you had grown and were no longer… well, it will sound silly… dangerous… I was in the dining hall, and I heard the skitter of a dropped braid clasp. Automatically I picked it up to offer… and saw it was yours, then felt the touch of your fingers… and all the years peeled back to show me my heart and fëa were unchanged. It was still you, Triwathon, and it would always be you.'

Triwathon shook his head but Parvon lifted a hand.

'Let me continue. I was only going to add that I have lived with that knowledge in all the years since, and I hope it has not been awkward for you. There have been moments when it's been useful – my fëa told me you were in danger when the messenger attacked you, and tonight, also, I knew you needed help. And so I was there.'

'Thank you. That is, I will be grateful in a day, or two. But just at the moment I do not know how I feel…'

'No, I can understand that.'

'But I do know I am sorry, Parvon. Sorry I suggested there was anything between you and Faerveren. I was… not jealous, but envious, if you understand? That there was so obvious a partner waiting for you if you just looked up… and you didn't seem to want to see… and I knew that I would never find anyone who was so like me that it seemed right.'

'Faerveren and I are alike in some ways,' Parvon said, tipping his head in acknowledgement. 'We neither of us wish to be with any except our fëa-mates. He has yet to find his; I know mine is out of reach…'

'It is not… we have so little in common, I am a warrior, you are an advisor… and I think… I think I was so dazzled by Glorfindel that I cannot love again. So if you mean me, Parvon, yes, I am out of reach. But it does not mean I do not like you, or value you, or… or feel terrible about how I have spoken to you at times. I… did not say anything elsewhere, there will be no gossip about you and Faerveren…'

Parvon smiled.

'Did not you know? Apparently, every half year or so, someone notes how much time Faerveren and I spend in each other's company and they wonder aloud if it is all just work…'

'Ai, my apologies! I was unaware…'

'As was I. Faerveren mentioned it.'

Triwathon sat up a little.

'You didn't tell him what I said?'

'Of course not. I said… you had brought something to my attention… and that he and I may become gossip-fodder. He laughed and said it was an old tale.' And, taking a chance on Triwathon's mood, he went on in a lighter tone. 'So obviously some people think I am interesting…'

Triwathon groaned and shook his head.

'I am more sorry than you can know for saying that! I really, really did not mean it, my friend!'

Parvon smiled.

'I know it. You were… it was a difficult time. You had lost your dearest friend just when he had found you again.'

'But… for all my grief was new, and raw… you have lost people too. I remember Fonor.'

'Fonor.' Parvon lifted his glass. 'I miss him so much, he was the best of brothers.'

'I used to wish, sometimes, that he was my brother, you know,' Triwathon said, his voice almost shy, suddenly. 'How he would laugh, and sing, and be so happy in life… he was the only elf I know who could dance at breakfast time in the hall and make people want to join in rather than scold him. I wished I could be more like him…'

'It is a strange thing, Triwathon, but earlier this night I was thinking the same thing; he found it so easy to laugh and sing…'

'For me, it was more, he knew when to stop, when so far was far enough. Me, I always got swept up and went too far. I got silly and giddy and loud. But Fonor never did.'

'Easily led, that was you. Too trusting, too eager to please.'

'Perhaps. I may have been afraid if I didn't go along with what people wanted, they would not like me. I know better now, of course, but… it was a long, hard lesson. So.' He lifted his goblet. 'To Fonor, whom we miss as a brother and a friend.'

They continued through the night, Parvon allowing Triwathon time to remember Glorfindel in as much depth as he needed. Mostly the commander focussed on the early days of their knowing each other, and the last, bitter meeting. Eventually, when noises outside in the corridors suggested the night was drawing to a close and the servants up and about their business, when they were both talked out and heavy-eyed, Triwathon shook his head and sighed.

'What a lot of nonsense I've been talking,' he said. 'Thank you for your patience, Parvon. I wonder if Glorfindel heard any of that.'

'I have no way of knowing,' Parvon said. 'He is not, after all, Silvan. But I hope at least he knows he's been remembered. Now, what will you do? Go back to your rooms for the rest of the night, or bed down on the sofa again? It's the Night of the Names, many people will be leaving rooms not theirs this morning with nothing inappropriate having happened…'

'That's true. Thank you, Parvon. That would be kind. I'm glad we're friends again; I couldn't bear it if I lost you, too.'

Parvon felt his throat constrict.

'When you need a friend, Triwathon, I will always be ready to support you.'

'Whether I deserve it or not?'

'Irrespective.' I love you. 'Sometimes, I may not like the things you do or say very much, but I will always do my best to help.'