As the days passed, it did seem to Parvon that he and the king had moved on to a better understanding. Since Thranduil's return, Parvon had successfully presided for the king in the Feasting Hall and been invited to sit in on a breakfast meeting.

'Not that you will be expected to take the day meetings,' Melion had told him. 'But just in case the order of running has changed since you were last here…'

The only difference that Parvon could see was that Melion brought a friendlier touch; meetings with him involved had a lighter, less formal air, and his bright smile was frequent as he considered the list of items under discussion, moving on when he considered enough time spent, whether the king had finished or no. If Thranduil's mouth seemed to Parvon set in a displeased line at what could be seen as interruption, it didn't show in the king's tone, although he thought he detected a sigh now and then.

At the end of the meeting, Thranduil dismissed Melion with a nod, but waved to Parvon.

'Stay a moment. I have a question for you, Master Parvon…'

'Yes, my king?'

Thranduil waited unto Melion had closed the door behind him.

'Tell me, Parvon, do you think, perhaps, Arveldir would like his former position back?'

Parvon hid a smile.

'I think he is happy as he is, sire, with his husband and his work in Rivendell. I understand, too, that he does not intend riding back with the starlight gemstone used to honour the late Seneschal of Imladris…'

A sigh. 'I thought as much. Parvon, it is some comfort to me that you, at least, are single.'

'I do not quite see… yet that my loneliness is of service to you must be of solace to me, sire, I suppose. But Master Baudh is equally unattached…'

'Presently so.' Thranduil bit out the words. 'Baudh is… unsettling. And Master Melion smiles too much; breakfast is far too early in the day to be constantly grinning while one sweeps away any due consideration for the matter in hand. It may be that you find yourself required to take on more duties.'

'As my king desires.'

'What I desire is for Arveldir to miss his old home so much that he return to the forest, bringing his spouse with him if he must. This conversation is confidential, do you understand?'

'Yes, my king.'

'…I have been thinking,' Melion said a day or two later. 'Talking things over with our king. He reminded me that you used to oversee the order of the public audiences. You did, did you not, after Arveldir retired to Imladris?'

'Indeed so, when they were held monthly,' Parvon had replied cautiously, for he could see where this was leading. 'And Master Merenor took over from me when I began at the New Palace… and I gather it was then decided to make them weekly events so they did not last as long…'

'That's good, because – and this comes from the king himself, not that I do not think you are more than suited to the task… perhaps you would take up the responsibility…? Not all the time, just… it seems at present, most of the querents wish to discuss matters of the New Palace, of settling in here… things with which you are already familiar and so you may be able to persuade more of them not to bother him but to bother the King's Office instead…'

'I think I could do that,' Parvon agreed cautiously; he knew, for he could see, and hear, what went on in the outer office, that Melion was working just as hard as he was, had also had extra work loaded onto him from the king's decision to remain at the Old Palace and deconstruct the New, and so was not surprised that the extra, extra work -which of course had to go somewhere – had alighted on his desk. He was more surprised, and flattered even, that he was thought able to take on so much. 'Will they return to monthly audiences, as was in my day, or…?'

'Oh, I do wish!' Melion grinned. 'No, our king likes this new arrangement, he says it means he is in more immediate contact with his subjects… or, if you like, they don't have weeks to allow things to rankle so they are not in such fraught condition when they finally get to see him… of course, because he's been away, I expect a lot of elves will just want to make sure he's home, and while they could do that quite easily in the Feasting Hall, for some, it's not enough; tomorrow, our king says, we will start then, and I will work with you so that together we will get them sorted out in good time…'

It was almost, but not quite, a melee. It was certainly a bit of a scrum. Scores of elves were present outside the Hall of Audience, and all pressed forward with their urgent need to speak to the king. Melion calmed them, brought Parvon to their notice. He, taking stern hold of his King's Office persona, lifted his head to survey them with all the authority of his status.

'If it is to do with sailing – come and see me afterwards. If it is about settling in Ithilien – leave word with Master Feren in the King's Office. If it is to do with new accommodations – see me afterwards, unless it is about an issue or fault with the fabric of the rooms, in which case, see Master Baudh. If it is just that you want to know your king is well, come to the Feasting Hall tonight and use your eyes… is there anything else…?'

At the end of the session, by which time only four elves had actually stayed to speak to the king, Melion threw a companionable arm across Parvon's shoulders.

'Admirably done, mellon-nin! All is done, and there is still an hour and more until the day-meal! You see, you have still all the authority of the office and they attended to you first time, while with me, it takes a few attempts…'

'Ah, well, that's what happens when you're as friendly and approachable as are you,' Parvon said, smiling. 'When you're remote and formal, people take fewer liberties…'

'But you learned from the master, Lord Arveldir himself; my training was much kinder! Well, and we are done here. Back to the office?'

Back to the office.

Parvon riffled through the papers on his desk and began, in his mind, to idly wonder when, exactly, the next convoy would arrive; if they'd left according to plan, and made steady progress, it should be some time later that day… potentially towards evening, which seemed to be typical… or maybe sooner, if the trails were good and the injured weren't in too much discomfort… this should be the last convoy with wounded, though, he thought, and as Healer Nestoril hadn't been part of the king's convoy, perhaps she would be travelling with them this time… anyway, either today or tomorrow he ought to have a letter from Triwathon to keep him company…

At present, there was an inevitable ebb and flow to his workload; a convoy arrived, he settled the elves in, the wagons went back… the level of activity in his day gradually diminished as the elves amalgamated with the Old Palace again and then surged with the next arrivals, so activities such as overseeing the public audience would, at least, fill some of the slow time.

A knock at his open door and he looked up to see an elf smiling at him.

'Master Parvon? I am told you are the elf to speak to about taking ship…?'

Broader than some, taller than most with shining pale hair that harked back to Sinda blood, a confident expression and an assured stance; not warrior build, nor an archer's frame… but there were many elves in the Old Palace and Parvon had been away for two decades; he sought for a name, but it didn't spring to mind.

'That's right.' Parvon continued talking in the hopes he would remember this elf, who he was sure he ought to recognise… 'At present we are really just taking names, finding out who wishes to go and for what reason… there is no intent to dissuade, you understand, but it might have bearing on future policy… now, will you take a seat…?' Ah, that was it! He had him now; formerly a friend of Triwathon's first lover, the poacher… not the way to phrase it to his elf, of course, but… 'Master Thindorion, is it not?'

The elf smiled warmly.

'It is so, and you know me!'

'I know of you, rather. Now, you wish to take ship…?'

Thindorion nodded.

'Yes – since the Battle Under the Trees, I have felt the forest is distancing itself from me, somehow; I do not know, maybe it is I am retreating. But they say this is the Age of Men, and as I have more people waiting across the Sundering Seas than I do here, and as I have heard others are contemplating the same journey, it seems a good time to consider it.'

'What do you do here, Thindorion, of late?'

'Of late?' The elf exhaled, thinking. 'Attached to one of the sewing rooms that makes warrior garb – I dye the fabrics and leathers for some of the uniform components. Before that, I was just a dyer of cloth, worked out along by the river. So I am not worried by the thought of water.'

Parvon made a note of this. No elf who wished to sail would be refused a ship, but it was important to log what talents were sailing with their owners to the Undying Lands so that knowledge and skills would not be lost; dyers, he understood, were not exactly common.

'Have you, by chance, an apprentice who knows your trade…?'

'I've taught three in my time, good fellows all, able to pass on the knowledge, don't worry. It's not as if we're archers, thick as leaves on the home tree, but there's enough of us.'

'That's good to know. It may be a little time, you understand, before a ship is ready; we have written to Ithilien to ask them to prepare a vessel but…'

'Ithilien? But… do not the ships go from the Grey Havens?

'Ah… did you not know?' Parvon frowned; he had thought it common knowledge… but then, the matter of sailing wasn't exactly a common topic so perhaps that was why… 'The vessels in which we sail are made in Ithilien, and launch from there, running down the Anduin and out across the seas...'

'But I had expected to leave from the Grey Havens…'

'It may be possible still to use that route, of course; I understand there are elves who still use Imladris as a way-point, but with Prince Legolas and his company so close to the Great River, it seems needlessly complicated. Of course, if you really wished to sail from Lindon, I doubt anyone would seek to prevent you; there would be a welcome for you at Rivendell, I am sure, but you would likely travel alone across the mountains first…'

'No, it is simply… well, I've a friend in the New Palace, I was expecting to be able to wish him well on my way west. I… no, Ithilien is not a problem; it would be easier. But… will our king indulge my wish to visit the New Palace? I understand people are being brought home… back, that is, to the Old Palace…' Thindorion shook his head. 'And I wished to see my friend first, we have known each other for such a long time…'

'How soon could you be ready?' Parvon asked, ready to be sympathetic to any who wished to say farewell to a friend long missed. 'That is, there is a convoy expected and the wagons rest for a day and then return. If you were part of the return crew – and I think all you would need to do is offer your services and you would be taken on – then I see no problems. You could then return with the following convoy, if it suited you.'

Relief on the elf's face.

'Thank you, you are very kind! Whom should I seek?'

Parvon shook his head.

'Come back tomorrow; I will have letter of recommendation written for you to give to the escort guard. Of course, I hope you can either care for horses or shoot straight; there will be little need for a dyer on the wagons.'

'I can; in my young days, I had a friend who was a keen archer, he showed me a few tricks. Sadly, I can't name him for you, but he was good. Well, my thanks; I will go out to the practice ranges this afternoon and see if I can brush up my skills indeed.'