It had been a fine evening, even though Parvon hadn't stayed long in Triwathon's rooms.

He smiled to himself as he wheeled the trolley back along the corridor towards the servant's room, his thoughts on Triwathon's last words to him: 'So, I come to you tomorrow, after the meal, yes? After all, we had arranged it.'

And, of course, Parvon had said, yes, after all, it was all arranged, he would look forward to it… especially as he thought he might have a difficult day ahead… an early meeting with the king in the Hall of Audience – formal, then, matters of palace business – and perhaps Triwathon's awkward situation would be discussed.

As Parvon understood, it, there was nothing for his friend to officially worry about; Thranduil had been furious that Gomben had ignored his instructions, and enough had been in the day reports from the villages to show Triwathon hadn't actually been at Oak when Gomben's accident had taken place. It was still a mess, of course; too much was going to have to be left unexplored in order to protect the as-yet unnamed individual who had been… participating… in the Galadhrim ritual, and it might require some convoluted reasoning… but as the king seemed content not to press for too many details, all should be well.

So although Parvon wasn't anticipating the swiftest of meetings, and while he fully expected to find his work load doubled as Thranduil responded to Gomben's disobedience and Lumormen's ritual activity, it really wasn't the meeting he thought he would have.

'No doubt you have been party to events at Oak Village yesterday,' the king began in slowly languid tones. 'Elder Gomben's injury precluding his removal from the New Palace for a time, other measures to silence his pernicious tongue have become necessary.'

'Sire, I have been apprised of the circumstances of the elder's accident,' Parvon began. 'I am sure whatever your majesty requires can be instigated promptly.'

'Yes. We have already decided upon a course of action. It will require a change of plan.'

Something about Thranduil's tone brought a return of Parvon's anxiety. The king's expression didn't change as he continued.

'This will necessitate your return to duties in the Old Palace. You will join the convoy which leaves at first light tomorrow.'

It took a moment for this to sink in, for Parvon to realise that his entire world was being torn down without warning.

'S…sire? My king, I… I do not know what to say, but…'

'There is nothing to say. This is what I require of you.'

'I am not sure I understand?'

'It is really not complicated. You will stand down from Palace Office duties immediately and recommence work as a scribe and advisor in the Old Palace once you arrive there.'

'But my work is here, sire!' Parvon blurted the words, aware that speaking to the king in this way, and in these most formal surroundings of the Hall of Audience, was tantamount to rebellion. 'All I have is here, I must to stay, I…'

'No, Parvon. You must obey your king. Return to your rooms, pack your belongings, and avoid contact with as many persons as possible for the rest of the day; meals will be brought to you there. You will be escorted the convey in the morning.'

'But, your majesty! The Palace Office cannot be left unpeopled…'

'Faerveren will take over. I know he is comparatively new to responsibility, but all your reports show he has been an exemplary assistant during the recent crisis and you have been forever praising him; I do not doubt he will do well.'

'But, sire, he was promised he could spend time with his family!' Parvon was grasping for excuses now. 'It would be most unfair…'

'In fact, he will still do so.' Thranduil lifted a minimal hand and Merenor stepped forward from the shadows, an apologetic expression in his bright-ringed eyes. 'Master Merenor and his spouse will stay, and Captains Canadion and Thiriston reassigned to local duty at once. Thus Faerveren will have two blood kin and two honour-relatives to support him. Dismissed, Parvon. You have work to do.'

'My king?' Merenor stepped forward and bowed. 'My grandson is a little young, yet, to know all the workings of the offices here. Might I request Master Parvon's time this morning to show me the systems himself?'

Thranduil's face settled into a fractional frown.

'If you deem it necessary, very well. But remember; Master Parvon is unavailable to anyone else.'

'As my king desires.' Merenor bowed again, deeply and slowly, rising to back away and turn so that he could wink at Parvon. 'Master Parvon, if you will lead the way?'

'I…' Parvon shook his head to clear it, swallowed to make sure he had a voice and tried again. 'I shall endeavour to serve.'

The king waved him away, but even as Parvon slumped towards the doorway the king called him back.

'Oh, Parvon? You could always undertake a long sea voyage, should my orders not be to your liking. It might prove more advantageous to your health than this constant complaining...'

The breath caught in Parvon's throat and he inclined his head, as cold and formal as his king.

'I will give the matter due consideration, sire,' he said. 'Particularly if the air in the Old Palace does not suit me.'

Thranduil's usually calm gaze, for a moment, was astonished, but Parvon, bowing and retreating from the Hall of Audience, didn't see.

He didn't speak as he led the way to the Palace Office, Merenor at his side respecting the silence. But once in the Palace Office, Parvon shut the door behind himself, narrowly missing catching Merenor's robes of office as he did so, and took a breath.

'What is he thinking! My life is here, everything I have worked towards and done of any worth is in this place, and our king will just… just… break it all down on a whim?'

'…it's not a whim, as such…'

'And I am expected to agree? Oh, I had accepted his decree that the New Palace must close, because of these dreadful events, but to wrench me away from seeing it done, it is hard, too hard, and…'

'Parvon. Parvon, lad, calm yourself, it's not as bad as…'

'Not as bad? Master Merenor…' He gestured about him at the desks and coffers. 'This is everything to me! My work and life here is as close to happiness as I can hope for, and now it is…I am wrenched away from my work, my home, my… my friends?' Parvon inhaled, breath ragged. 'I… oh, this is impossible, I cannot…!'

Merenor looked through the drawers until he found the emergency spirits and poured a hefty measure into a beaker, passing it to Parvon.

'Come through to the inner office, sit down, take a moment and think it through…'

'Think it…?'

'Talk it out. Don't just rail at me, lad. You're too good at your job just to let emotion take over. Come, process this like a King's Royal Scribe…'

Parvon shook his head and went through, dropping into a chair and covering his face with his hand as he tried to compose himself. The sense of panic that threatened to engulf him at the thought of leaving began to subside.

'I… The New Palace will be abandoned, I know that. It was hard to hear when our king decided, because so much of myself is in this place, but I could see ahead, to be part of closing things down, to be part of the unmaking as I was in the making, and that seemed fitting, but this is…'

He broke off to sip at the strong spirits.

'So it's not that, then,' Merenor put in, 'that's got you so distressed. I didn't think it was. There's more going on here, Parvon, that the king saw fit to tell you.' Merenor took a seat on the edge of a table, gestured across the room towards the outer corridors. 'In a perfect world, Thranduil intended hauling Gomben off to the Old Palace and offering him a place in Ithilien… well, threatening him with such. But Gomben can't go anywhere for at least a week, Healer Mae says. She sighed when she told me, so it's my guess she'd quite like to be rid of him, but I digress… And he's talking. Won't shut up. Embellishing the facts, not that I know the facts, nor anyone except for one of the Galadhrim and an unnamed member of the garrison, neither of whom are offering their version of events, the Galadhrim because he doesn't see what business it is of ours what rituals he performs on the trees, and the garrison member because… possibly nobody's found him to ask him yet.'

'People are talking about anything these days,' Parvon acknowledged. 'Anything to take their minds off what's happened to us.'

'Thranduil doesn't mind elves talking, but he does want to control what they're talking about. Granted, the main story is, forgive me, Triwathon and Lumormen's affair…'

'There isn't an affair. They're only friends.'

'Ah, Parvon, we've touched on this, and while I respected your opinion at the time, you have to admit, it looks like more now…' Merenor made his voice gentler, kinder. 'I am sorry if this hurts you; and I think that is the main reason Thranduil is sending you away, so you don't have to see…'

Parvon shook his head and smiled for the first time since he'd entered the Hall of Audience.

'No, I know how it looks. But that's not how it feels. Merenor, you know how it is for me; I feel it in my fëa when Triwathon is in danger, or happy, or… even when he was in Imladris with his Balrog-slayer, I knew when they were reunited, I felt his fëa sing. So, no, there is only friendship between Triwathon and the Galadhrim.'

Merenor tipped his head.

'Yes, when I first met you, it was him you were looking for. Well, I do not think it is something I would like to say to the king, but I will accept your judgement in this. However… it does not alter the fact that most of the palace believe our good commander has found more than friendship. This, coupled with Gomben's accident and accusations, does not sit well with his majesty…' Merenor gave a shrug, and tried for a disinterested expression as he went on. 'Moreover, it is known that you, Master Parvon, had two corridor servants reassigned to more menial duties elsewhere for gossiping in the corridors, but not a peep can anyone get out of them as to whom their subject might have been… Now, his majesty has given me to understand that if, perhaps, you could remember the names of those discussed, the subsequent work created – filing and such, he understands – could make it imperative that you stay here, after all…'

Silence. Merenor didn't meet Parvon's gaze, instead sat picking at imaginary lint on his robes of office.

'But, Master Merenor, given that the corridor servants appear to have mended their ways, surely to pass on such information would undermine them, and discourage their new-found discretion? Much though I would love to capitulate, I do have my self-respect to consider.'

A laugh, and Merenor relaxed.

'Ai, it is good to hear you say so! I really did not wish to offer his majesty's suggestion, but our king is our king, and if you disobey him too openly…'

'…you risk being assigned away from those you love.' Parvon shook his head. 'But surely that can't be the only reason I am to be banished?'

'In fact, there is another matter… there is talk of the Chief Advisor spending rather a lot of time with his underscribe, which our king has noted seems to fit with the timing of the removal of servants from that part of the New Palace…'

Parvon gasped.

'Master Merenor! Never would I uproot the servants to hide something so despicable as such a thing would be! I am most fond of Faerveren, but I assure you, I have not ever thought of him in that way, nor would I! Not only because it goes against all my principles, to entangle anyone when I know my fëa looks to someone else, but because I hold my position, and his, in too much respect! He is young, and very appealing, and I can understand why people might make assumptions, but I…'

He broke off, aware that Merenor was grinning at him and shaking his head.

'And you know this, of course.'

'My grandson told me in slightly sad tones that Master Parvon was very kind, and very helpful, and had advised him that saving himself for his true love – as himself was – would be the best thing. We agreed that you are a one-elf elf, and your advice was very wise. Although I think, perhaps, he does rather admire you, you know.'

'That's most flattering. As for the inventive minds of the populace, apparently the tale of Faerveren and Parvon is a recurrent one.'

'This time, however, it has come to the notice of the king. And so when you return to the Old Palace, it will appear that Faerveren is being supported safely in the bosom of his family, while Master Parvon is sent away in apparent, but unsubstantiated, disgrace…'

'Why?'

'Is it not obvious, Parvon? If you are removed from the New Palace, then obviously Triwathon has done nothing wrong, and the garrison elf who is really involved with an unscrupulous Galadhrim does not have to be named… and Gomben can bluster and we can say, if it is true, why did not the king banish him?'

Parvon shook his head, bewildered.

'So this is to protect Triwathon and Faerveren, then?'

'Ultimately, yes.'

'Then why did our king not say so? He must know that to help my friends I would go without demur.'

'Ah, but Thranduil wanted demur. There's always someone manages to overhear what happens in private audiences with the king, and word usually gets out.' Merenor laughed briefly. 'Do you know, I used to worry about it, back in my early days in the King's Office. I spent a lot of my personal hours trying to track down the source… and discovered, to my shock, that it was quite often the king himself.'

'That does not surprise me,' Parvon said. 'Now, Master Merenor, you wanted me to talk you through the systems?'

'No, I wanted to get you away from the king and give you an excuse not to go into hiding just yet. Of course, I am the King's servant, just as you are, and so if you were to wish to put your time to good use… to meet friends… better not to tell me, nor could I, for example, pass on messages to, should you wish it, the garrison personnel. But Lord Arveldir is not employed by the king, and if I might happen to walk past his door and give him a knock, you would not mind a visit from him, perhaps? Especially as he is also a friend of Commander Triwathon, who might otherwise get some garbled tale…?'

'You've learned all the tricks, haven't you, Master Merenor?'

'I like to think so, Master Parvon.'