Returning to his workroom and settling behind his desk, Parvon prepared writing materials and began a somewhat clandestine letter, intended to look perfectly ordinary and ingenuous. In the wake of his morning's investigations, it seemed to him that perhaps Master Faerveren might not yet know of his grandmother's plans, perhaps by oversight, or possibly because Master Melion intended to speak of it in person.

Yet it seemed to Parvon that the news might not even be passed on; Melion had been out of sorts, and it was possible that, in the business of arriving and settling in his charges, he might not think to say until it was too late. In part, this was why Parvon had put his apparently innocent question to Melion earlier; what could have been easier than for Melion to acknowledge his intention to break the news to his kin?

But that had not happened, and so now Parvon was resorting to subterfuge to make sure that Faerveren was kept informed. Doubting whether a letter from himself, whomever it might be addressed to, would find its way past Melion and into the despatches bag, he had needed to find another courier, and that, in fact, was the matter he wished to privately breach with the Imladris elves.

That being so, he had better get on with the letter.

'Dear Faerveren,' he began.

'Since this is not, strictly speaking, an official communication, I have taken the liberty of asking my friends to pass this on to you, and so I am able to add a personal note and say, I hope you are well, and inform you that all those who arrive here in the Old Palace speak warmly of your helpfulness and kindness in preparing them for their journey to their new homes.'

'By now you will have heard that your grandmother is to sail to Valinor and start a new life there; I hope this news is not too distressing for you and your Daerada…'

Parvon paused. If, as he suspected, Faerveren had been kept in the dark about his grandmother's plans, at this point he would most likely be dropping the letter and going in search of his Daerada, to ask if he knew anything about this, or even to his father…

He thought for a moment, then continued.

'In order to make things as easy as possible, I would suggest that there is room for you to journey with the company, at least part of the way, should you wish. You would then be able to spend more time with Mistress Cullasbes.'

…No, Faerveren would go to Merenor first, Parvon was certain. Given Melion's mood of late, and his responsibilities, real or perceived, towards the Imladris elves and the gemstone, Melion would not make himself easily available even to his son – in fact, he would consider it a dereliction of his King's Office duty to put family first… and Merenor had ever been a doting Daerada so that Faerveren would be sure of a listening ear…

He moved his letter on.

'I hope all is well there, and that the Garrison and Palace Office are working smoothly together. Please give my kind regards to the commander; he has had much to do in difficult times and is often in my thoughts. My kindest thoughts, too, to Healer Maereth and her friends, who work so tirelessly to help and heal us all.

'Be well,'

'Parvon, Advisor to the King, and your friend.'

He sealed the letter and sat back, satisfied with his words. He would, from tomorrow, have the king's meetings in his care, and it occurred to him that while it was possible for Melion to reject the notion of Faerveren taking a leave of absence, Parvon could suggest to the king that a formal recall for Faerveren would be helpful, thus almost necessitating Melion remaining at the New Palace…

A very small part of his fëa delighted in the events that would be set in motion by his letter, always assuming, of course, that Melion had not mentioned Cullasbes' intended departure. But even so, there was nothing in Parvon's words that smacked of him going behind Melion's back, or of attempting to do anything in the least subversive; only one who knew Parvon well would spot the machinations behind the words and, if they knew him that well, they would probably applaud.

Well.

Another letter, this time to his friend and erstwhile mentor Arveldir; it would be much simpler and there was no need whatsoever for politics; he could simply write as he felt.

'My dear friend Arveldir,' he began.

'Your friends (and now my friends) Lindir and Melpomaen tell me you are well, and that Erestor is recovering from your strenuous journey. I hope he is by now healed, and that you are both recovering a little from the sorrow and sadness in which we all share to some degree or another. We are bringing elves home to the Old Palace, and the New will soon be no more, and so much for our bright hopes of a new centre for the kingdom. Some of those caught up in events have decided to sail, and the first shipload of elves will be leaving soon for Ithilien, where a vessel is waiting for them. For some, the forest, and the world, is now too much changed. As for me, I am well, thank you, finding work and duty may be different, but it is still service.

'I find our recent losses remind me how much I miss my brother; of course any death reminds us of those we have loved and lost, and I will grow used to this again. Master Oldor, whom you may have met at the New Palace, is now a member of the King's Office; I am trying to train him to the manner in which you trained me; the style here has become a little too informal for his majesty's taste, although he hides it well.

'Be well, Arveldir, and be happy. My best wishes to Master Erestor, and my thanks to him again for his courage and aid during the attack.

'Your friend,

'Parvon.'

The letters written and sealed, Parvon folded them into his robes and went about his other duties until it was time for his meeting with Lindir and Melpomaen.

Collecting his cloak and archery equipment on the way, he knocked on the door of the day rooms; it was Lindir who answered. He invited Parvon in and gestured towards the chairs, then stood around, looking forlorn, lost.

'I am sorry, Master Parvon, Melpomaen is not here, he… Elladan came, and they have gone for a walk. They will both meet us at the range, if we are still to practice, for Elladan thinks he would like to participate. I would have gone to the Memory Room, but… but it occurred to us – to me – that when we are there, other people seem to wait, I do not know why, if they think we will not want them there, or if we will intrude on their memories, if it is because we are not Silvan…'

'It is more from respect, Lindir, just from that, from an awareness that your friend gave his life for their kin.' Parvon gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. 'I think some of us feel a little guilty, perhaps even responsible. And, knowing your grief for him to be more personal, they do not wish to intrude upon that.'

Lindir sat down, a hasty jumble of limbs suddenly not properly co-ordinated.

'You were right, when you said, he is not in the stone, he is in our hearts, Master Parvon. But sometimes, it feels as if he speaks through the stone… or I hear the echoes of what has been said to it already… I am not explaining it properly, and how silly, for I am one in whom words are meant to flourish… but…'

'One loss reminds us of others, I think,' Parvon suggested. 'It minds me of my brother, but also of the loss of my place, my previous home… perhaps there are other losses that add to your grief at this time.'

'Perhaps. I… felt less alone, when he was alive. Since… since I parted from my mortal lady, that is. I find I am thinking of her more, these last few weeks.'

'Her mortality resonates with you, I assume? Lindir, mortals are brief, it is said, and it is true that they are fragile things at times. But they are not unhappy to live as they do, it is their fate, just as the fate of the elves is to outlive their world and any human friends they make. I would say, if I may presume to advise you, keep in mind that time is short only when we compare our lives with theirs. But still, it is short, and while you have a chance to seek her again, to find her, you owe it to yourself to try. Because one day, all the time will have run out and it will be too late.'

Lindir's shoulders sagged. 'I know, but… it is so easy to think, I will write next time a courier goes to Gondolin, and then five years has passed in a flutter of leaves… well. I will think on what you say.' He sighed and stirred. 'Now, Melpomaen reminded me to ask you about the request you mentioned…?'

'Indeed, yes. Would you be so kind, you and Melpomaen, to convey a letter from me to Lord Arveldir, in reply to his?'

'Of course, we would be glad to! When you have written it, just bring it to one of us.'

'In fact, I have it here, already prepared. And another, for Master Faerveren, the Elf-in-Charge at the New Palace; it is not strictly a matter of business, you see, and so it would not be accepted in the formal despatches bag… I trained him to his post, and, much as Arveldir was my mentor, so I was his. It forms a bond.'

'I shall be glad to. Do you… is he nice?'

'He is a very able, and pleasant individual, clever and helpful, resourceful and keen. He may seem a little young at time, but that is merely his manner. You will find him very approachable and helpful.'

'No, I meant… is it that you like him? It was impertinent, forgive me, but…'

'I see. No, not in the way you mean; I do not seek romantic engagement, Lindir, only to serve my king with as few distractions as possible.' Parvon smiled over the half-truth. 'Well, here are the letters. Best not to worry Master Melion with the one for Faerveren, he might wonder why I did not ask him, when, really, he has so much to do already…'

'I understand,' Lindir said, taking the folded missives and placing them with care in a travel case on the table. 'I will see it is done with discretion.'

'Thank you. And now, I do not think it too soon for us to leave for the range. You will need your cloak, I think, for it is cold today. Do you have a bow, or would you like to borrow one?'

'Ah. I packed a harp, rather than a bow. Perhaps I should have brought both.'

'You were right!' Lindir said as they emerged from the palace into the sharpness of the day. 'It is cold! I had not noticed, within your halls. Even in Imladris, draughts blow along the corridors and one cannot escape the knowledge of cold weather!'

'Whereas we are sheltered by our stone, unnatural though it may seem,' Parvon took a breath of the cold, brittle air. 'I forget, sometimes, that it is good to simply go out and breathe blowing air, to stand under the sky. Too long a palace elf, I fear.'

'But I thought the settlements in the New Palace were all in talain?' Lindir asked as Parvon gestured the correct path and they set off. 'And that was why the attack was so terrible…'

'In part. Elves petitioned very hard to be allowed to live in the forest, and their wish was granted. But they settled too far away from the New Palace for the garrison to easily and swiftly reach them… and now our king wishes everyone under the safety of stone again, with the exception of the talain inside the first perimeter, between the palace and the watch-flets.'

'Sometimes elves from Imladris would set up talain in the trees, but we very much felt it was just because we could, rather than because we felt we must. I am not sure whether anyone really enjoyed it. Your forest is so very beautiful, though, so much more alive than the trees in our valley, I can understand why you would want to live amongst them.'

Parvon nodded. 'And as I have said, I spend too much time indoors, making arrangements for other elves to be outside! But for archery practice, I would have not seen the sky, other than through a skylight for days! See, there is our range, and the elves are gathering.'

'Yes; I think I see your friend Thindorion. And there is the Healer! Do many elves come to these ranges?'

'There is always space to practice, and it is important for all of us. But the organised sessions I have been running are for those elves who are taking ship, so around a score, although more are sailing. Healer Nestoril and I excepted, of course; I am here because I am organising the journey, and preparing the elves, and it was felt archery practice was an important preparation. Healer Nestoril attends because she is a wonderful shot, and when we started, we set up our range in the gardens of her Halls. Now she encourages us and outshoots us, more often than not. There is spare equipment in the barrel, there; do you wish to select a bow?'

Presently, the gathered elves moved towards the targets in little groups. One thing the regular practice had done – as well as honing the archer skills of the elves – was to enable them to socialise. Most of those sailing knew each other, at least by sight, but with different commitments to work and home and preparing for the trip, actually getting to know each other as travelling companions would perhaps not have happened so readily without the regular archery sessions. So now they split into almost natural groupings, three or four elves to a butt, sharing the target.

It was almost natural, then, to find himself teamed with Lindir and Thindorion, Melpomaen having not yet arrived. Nestoril, arriving herself late, joined them.

'For if I tag along on your team, it will not look like favouritism.'

'Besides, Healer,' Thindorion said, 'your talent will balance my skills and we will not lose so abjectly.'

'Is someone keeping score? Are there prizes? What fun!' Nestoril said. 'I have not shot competitively for some time, I always enjoyed it!'

'Then perhaps you should start, Healer, and lead the way. We are playing three rounds, six shots each, discarding the highest and lowest, and averaging the score,' Thindo said. 'Winner are guests of the losers at a table in Mistresses Araspen and Merlinith's Friendly Room later today.'

Melpomaen and Elladan arrived halfway through the bout, too late to take part competitively, so hung back and watched the shooting until the last shots of the third round were fired and a hasty tally taken of scores. The results were not in doubt, though; Lindir had proved himself a good shot with a keen eye and steady hand, a way of finessing the arrow so that it sped forth straight and true. Nestoril had raised an eyebrow, and her game, and promptly outshot him, leaving Parvon a respectable third in the group and Thindorion claiming he'd been glad 'just to hit the target.'

'Nonsense, Master Thindo, you are much improved from when you started, and that is the point, is it not?' Nestoril said. 'And, goodness me, we seem to have won! Everybody!'

She beckoned and gathered the archers round.

'It would not be right to force you all to host us in the Friendly Rooms, not when Master Lindir here was sprung upon you will his excellent aim! So instead, as he has promised to play for my healers before he leaves for the New Palace, I invite you all for afternoon tea in the Healers' Hall, and Lindir will perhaps share his music with us then… if you don't mind, that is?'

'I will need a little time to practice first,' Lindir said as he bowed. 'But it would be an honour.'

'Good, that's settled! Well… who hasn't had a proper go, yet? Master Melpomaen, and you there, Elladan, is it? Come and take a turn…'

Parvon slid towards the edge of the group, hoping to extricate himself without being noticed. He had failed, however, to take Thindorion into account, for just as he was about to take the step that would separate him from participant to observer, he found himself not alone.

'I'm glad we're having a guard company with us on the march,' Thindorion said. 'Some of my fellow travellers are quite good, but some of them are like me, too. Were you going somewhere, Parvon?'

'I was trying to flee unnoticed,' Parvon said. 'I have too many tasks and not enough time to fit them in around the demands of escort duty.'

'Well, come for the day meal with me. You have to eat, and we can leave word with someone. Or not, let's just not tell anyone and assume they will realise – meal time means elves go to eat and mostly in the Feasting Hall. It doesn't take that much working out, does it?'

Parvon laughed, shaking his head.

'Ai, you are right, of course! Yes, I think it would do me good to stop work for a half hour and just take time for nourishment; I have honour duty in the Memory Room later, and so my paperwork must wait… Come, before we are apprehended.'