His Majesty the Elvenking, Thranduil Oropherion, rode into the palace on a gleaming white elk at the head of his company. Beside him on a dapple-grey mare rode Nestoril, chief Healer of the Old Palace Healer Halls and consort to the king. It had to be said, though, had anyone dared phrase it like that to her face, she would have dimpled with smiles and pointed out that, in fact, the king was more often consort to her…

About them rode a troop of strong Silvan warriors, and behind came three supply carts, the narrow vehicles designed by Master Hanben for better mobility on forest trails. These were drawn by ponies rather than pulled by the donkeys for which the carts were originally designed, but there were limits, Thranduil had said, to how low the Elvenking could stoop in public, although he was privately rather fond of the little herd of donkeys kept in the palace paddocks.

The king arrived on the morning of the fourth day after the Night of the Names to horns blowing from the New Palace and a double row of elves lining the last half mile of the route. Dotted amongst them here and there were members of the garrison, fully armed, arrows and bows ready to hand.

There were no cheers, no glad cries, but that was as it should be; so soon after the deaths reported, it would have been wrong had the Silvans welcomed him with anything less than formal, sombre bows.

The gates closed behind the royal convoy. Parvon and Triwathon stood waiting to greet their king. As soon as he had dismounted, his steed led away for care, the Commander and the Advisor-in-Chief bowed.

'Welcome your majesty,' Parvon said, hearing his voice sounding thin and uncertain. 'We are grateful for the honour of…'

'Never mind all that,' the king said briskly. 'How many dead? Sixteen at the last count?'

'Alas, it has risen since. Nineteen. Eighteen by dragon or by flame, one by mishap afterwards,' Parvon said, his voice faltering on the last. 'Sire, that is a matter which I must lay before you as urgent. Not all was in the missive sent in haste after…'

'Very well. We will require a little time to brush off the dust of the trail,' Thranduil said. 'Then we will see you in our Hall of Audience.'

Thranduil had always had a way about him, and that had not changed since Parvon had last seen his king enthroned and holding audience.

The Elvenking had ensconced himself in his formal Hall of Audience and now sat, a glass of good red wine set beside him, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, unconsciously intimidating his Chief Advisor simply by his regal presence, notwithstanding the fact that it had been Parvon begged a private word before the formal reports were even begun.

'Proceed, Master Parvon.'

Parvon swallowed.

'My king, this matter… I wish to bring it to you myself… It looks… may look…'

'Whatever it is surely does not require such deliberation? There are pressing matters…'

'Sire, I know, it is simply…' He took a breath and let the words go with his exhalation. 'The messages went off before this incident took place. Otherwise, it would have been mentioned, but its omission... the messenger who brought us tidings of the dragon…'

'Belatedly, I understand. I hope he is in the cells, if not in irons?'

'In fact, my king, he is in the Halls of Mandos.'

'How very fortuitous! Do tell me whom I have to thank for sparing me the trouble of deciding how to punish him for his deliberate tardiness?'

'Sir, it was… it was I. But I do not want thanks, it was an accident, and it weighs on me, for I killed him, accident or no, and so, if you will, I am willing to accept any punishment you would have given him, in payment for my actions…'

Thranduil waved a languid hand.

'Parvon, I really did not think you, of all elves, would take so dramatic a turn… come, tell me, then?'

'An accident, as I say. I… to begin, you may not have heard, but the Balrog-Slayer, the Lord of the House of Gondolin, lately Seneschal of Imladris…'

'Glorfindel, yes, continue…?'

'He died, sire, helping kill the dragons. He was honoured with full Silvan rites.'

'I see. Or rather, I do not…?'

'Prior to his burial in the forest, he was lying in state attended by the Garrison Commander. By some chance, the messenger had got into the room, and then attacked the commander. I happened by and intervened.'

'Of course you did. I seem to remember the messenger was quite a powerful individual in appearance, taller than most?' Thranduil's gaze was measuring; Parvon was at least a hand's breadth shorter than the majority of elves, and slight with it. 'And the commander, while not quite of the same build, still required your aid?'

'He had been taken unawares, sire, and was exhausted with the stress of battling the dragons and trying to get our people safe. But yes, I… in hindsight, I ought to have called the guard, which would have disturbed the attack but I did not think. Instead, I acted instinctively, I pulled the messenger away and then hit him… and he staggered back and slipped, falling. At the time, I thought him simply unconscious, and was more concerned to attend the commander.'

'I can understand your concern with the charming of the two. And the commander?'

'Bruised and shaken and… rather mortified, sire, that he had need of rescue. However, the case is, I killed the messenger. I wished to tell you in person, more to explain why this news was not in the messages. I had just learned of the messenger's perfidy – that he had been in the local villages for at least one night – and that he knew for a fact the content of the missives in his care. It seemed to me that people would not have died, had he not delayed on the road, and this fuelled my anger.'

'As well as the sight of him mauling your friend, no doubt! Oh, come, Master Parvon, do not look so shocked! We know of the deceased's habit of annoying decent elves, and it would be just like him to seize the chance to prey on a vulnerable elf; it is widely known that Commander Triwathon was close to Glorfindel; I am sure he was quite distraught which would have made him less watchful than usual.' The king paused. 'It was well done of you to bring this to my attention. No doubt there are formal records?'

'Yes, my king. Healer Maereth examined both Commander Triwathon and the body of the deceased. Moreover, Lord Arveldir is currently visiting, and he went to examine the room for himself. While there he received an account from a most dependable, if unusual source.'

'And now you have made me curious, Master Parvon. But no doubt Arveldir will tell me for himself when the moment comes. Very well. I am sure you must have other work to be doing?'

It was as polite a dismissal as one was like to get from Thranduil. Parvon bowed.

'I do, of course, sire, but before I go, if I may offer some thought to an appropriate punishment for my part in this untimely death… in the wake of the destruction of the villages, some elves are now beginning to talk of taking ship. This being so, I offer my services…'

'To facilitate their departure? This would be part of your normal duties, and not a punishment, Parvon, surely?'

'Indeed, but I meant to… to accompany them.'

'Ah. Now I think I see.' Thranduil lazily lifted an eyebrow and may have given the smallest of smiles; it was difficult to tell. 'But I am not sure how Lord Cirdan would react to the implication that the Grey Havens are a fitting destination as punishment…'

'I meant… across the seas.' Suddenly, now he had begun to talk about actually leaving the forest and all he had known no longer seemed such a good idea and Parvon's voice grew sharp with dread. 'I offer myself up for banishment, in short.'

'That will not be necessary. Moreover, you do see that it is most unusual for a felon to suggest his own punishment, do you not? I must have time to learn all the facts, but, Master Parvon, allowing you to leave these shores would not only punish you, but also us. We would be much poorer without your service. And now, I thank you for the honour of your confidence, we will reconvene for formal reports after the day meal, at which I shall be present. Therefore you have a hall to ready, you may go.'

Parvon bowed his way out, not quite sure what had just happened other than that he was left feeling more like to a naughty elfling than a murdering kinslayer. He hadn't gone far down the corridor when Triwathon stepped out of the shadows.

'Are you all right? How was the king?'

'Impossible, he is just… I can no longer read him, he seemed almost to be… to be laughing at me… not at all shocked, but I killed… and…'

'It seems he already knew. I didn't ask too closely, but I gather what happened was that Merenor may have got a message to our king on the road. He'd deny it, I think, if pressed, but something Nestoril said made me think Thranduil knows a lot more than we sent in the messages… so either someone has been using their initiative, or the trees have been gossiping about things they couldn't have seen, or our king has ways of reading our minds and hearts…'

'Which really would not surprise me.' Parvon sighed. 'It is just… I think I would feel better if I were made to pay for the messenger's death, somehow…'

'I understand that completely! It helps with the guilt, I know. Even when there isn't anything to feel guilty about. Parvon, I have to go – there will be an inspection of the garrison, no doubt, and I want to have everything sharp. But if you need me…'

Parvon nodded. 'I am grateful. As for me, I have the hall to oversee; his majesty is going to take the day meal with us.'

'Are not we blessed?' Triwathon murmured. 'Try not to worry; I have told you, if you are culpable, then so also am I and I will stand with you.'

Word having spread that his majesty the Elvenking would be eating the day meal in the hall, everyone who was able, it seemed, decided to do the same; the hall was as near full as Parvon had ever seen it. Servers did their best to keep up, and for the most part, managed well and the food was plentiful, not least because the three wagons Thranduil had brought contained a considerable quantity of comestibles.

As Thranduil took his seat, a murmur ran around the hall and he lifted an eyebrow towards Master Parvon at his side.

'While it is gratifying that my subjects are so interested in my doings, I hardly think my sitting down to the middle day meal is an occasion for such intense attention,' Thranduil said. 'They surely do not expect speeches?'

'I think, sire, if you would just acknowledge them…'

'Oh, very well! But I had intended speeches for tonight.' Thranduil rose to his feet and lifted his wineglass. 'My Silvans,' he began. 'Guests from Imladris and beyond, be welcome amongst us. It was with great sorrow that I learned of the destruction of so much, the deaths of so many. The names having been conveyed to me by messenger hawk, we remembered them during the Night of the Names, and we will continue to remember them, their needless deaths. But for the moment, we must secure what we have and look to the future. During my stay I intend to visit the three damaged villages and their associated sites. Meanwhile, we are grateful for your welcome and I shall speak further in days to come.'

He drained his glass, set it down, and addressed himself to the food before, not looking up or attempting conversation around him. As soon as he had eaten, and without ceremony, he rose and left the hall, leaving Parvon to restore order while simultaneously trying to extricate himself and follow the king.

'No, as yet, I do not know what our king intends… the time of his visit to the damaged villages has not yet been arranged… where the homeless will be rehomed and how has yet to be ascertained… in short, he's been here for barely two hours, I know he is our king, but he has not had time for half of the things you seem to think he ought to have done!' Parvon was as near to losing his temper as he could ever remember. 'If you will excuse me, there is a formal meeting I must attend and it is not you who will be held to account if I am late…'