It was, indeed, pleasant to just stop being Master Parvon, King's Office Elf, and be Thindo's friend at the lunch table. They found a quiet corner and talked as they ate, Thindorion keeping to neutral topics; his morning work, his discussions with Narudorion about dye recipes. He broke off with a sigh, waved a chunk of bread.

'And I was going to add something about things to be done before my journey, but it was so pleasant just to talk and now the thought is there and I can't unthink it!'

Parvon laughed.

'I know. But at least for a little while we were not talking about serious matters. I have my elves, and you have your dye books… And how are things with Naru, away from work?'

'Ah.' Thindorion grinned, looking silly and shy at the same time. 'Well, we are past the misunderstandings, and he's seen that there isn't much time, so spending it arguing and being possessive about time I share with actual friends and work is just wasteful… but you probably don't want to know the details.'

'It is enough to know that you are content with each other; details are none of my business.'

'We are, and perhaps it is better because there is no real time to get attached. I think I have a week, or thereabouts?'

'As far as we can establish. The elves go back with the wagons tomorrow – we envisage three days, not two, for the trip, and the gemstone will be in Healer Maereth's Memory Room for two days. Then the elves returning must be gathered, so, if the weather holds, eight days is a reasonable assumption.' Parvon paused, thinking of Faerveren and Merenor, perhaps coming to say farewell to Mistress Cullasbes. Yes. There would need to be time for last-minute reunions. 'It is possible some of the returning elves will have friends amongst your companions on the road, and so will need a little time to say farewell. But the guard is on a tight schedule for their march to relieve the Ithilien Garrison, so it will not give much extra time.'

'Well, it's good to have some idea. I'm sure I will be ready; if not, I shall just have to go unready, shall I not?'

The soft strains of a harp, gently plucked, floated into the tranquillity of the Memory Room. Parvon, on duty for an hour during which a score of elves had been in to bow and murmur words towards the Starlight Gemstone, found the melodies a welcome distraction.

The mood in the Memory Room was sombre, of course; it was only to be expected. But something about the heavy silence had felt cloying, almost claustrophobic, and the sweet sounds were a reminder that not all was solemn and redolent of death.

Yet it was too early, really, for the gathering Healer Nestoril had planned; indeed, she had set the time of it so that Parvon would be free of duty and able to attend, so the reason for the beautiful harmonies was a mystery.

Not for long, however. Healer Gaelbes entered the room and dropped a curtsey towards the gemstone.

'Master Parvon, is this not fitting? Lindir, the minstrel of Imladris, is playing the songs of Gondolin, and those the Lord of Gondolin loved to hear. If I leave open the door, the music will make a memory of its own, will it not?'

Parvon nodded from his station.

'Lindir plays beautifully,' Gaelbes went on. 'And this is only his little travel-harp. Oh, hear – that is a tune I have heard myself, many times!'

Louder now the door was open, played in soft and gentle harmonies, the tune of 'Heroes Coming Home' permeated the Memory Room. Usually a raucous marching song, traditionally performed loudly as a company reached the last half mile home, it had as many verses as there were warriors in the guard, could be turned to any occasion, and played in a minor key as now, softened by harpstrings, it keened a melancholic threnody that brought a lump to Parvon's throat, for there were times it was performed in just such a way…

'Heroes coming home,
Heroes coming home
To heal their hurts in Mandos
The Heroes have come home…'

It had not been sung so at Glorfindel's interment in the earth cave under the beech tree, but it was a verse that sang many a fallen warrior to their rest, and just for a moment, just for a fraction of a heartbeat, Parvon felt all the grief and sorrow of his brother Fonor's death once more, reminding him how the song had been sung for him, and for all those who had died in that particular battle, and tears unexpectedly filled his eyes and overflowed down his cheeks.

Gaelbes nodded.

'We will remember him, my friend,' she said. 'We will remember them all, and on the Night of the Names, we will speak of them again. Now, I am going to bring you some herbal tea which you will take, even though you are on duty, because you need it.'

'I am grateful. And… I apologise, this is most unprofessional…'

'But entirely to be expected, given all that has happened, Master Parvon.'

'Heroes Coming Home' was followed by a lively, spritely tune, something that sounded as if it could be a drinking song, and by the time it was played out, Gaelbes' tea had arrived and Parvon had recovered his composure. He still felt the weight of loss, but it faded as he thought of how Fonor had been one to laugh and sing and how he loved music and a good drinking song to go with a good drink. He had been the sort of elf who had seemed entirely innocent, who had lived life to the utmost and rejoiced in the forest and his place there; he had died protecting it, its people, and he was at peace in the Halls of Waiting, if he were not already free of it and released re-embodied into Valinor. Reunions beyond the Sundering Seas were possible, but, of course, one had to sail first.

The music continued outside. Elves came, bowed, spoke memories, left again. After another hour or so, two hunters entered, bowed shyly to Parvon.

'Sir, we are come to take the watch.'

'He passed beneath our flet once.'

'He wore a kilt as blue as his eyes.'

'And he sang our songs with laughter and joy. We remember him.'

'I am grateful, Hunters,' Parvon said, bowing in turn. 'He would be honoured by your vigil.'

Outside, Parvon followed the music. He encountered Melpomaen first, on his way along the same corridor.

'Master Parvon, I was seeking you! Come and listen to the music now your watch is done; Lindir is playing for the first time since we had the news of our friend's death, and I am sure it is doing him good!'

'I am pleased to hear it. And, indeed, from inside the Memory Room, the music sounded wonderful, a fitting tribute; I have heard much of Lindir's talent.'

'He would deny it, of course, and claim this is but a small harp, and he has not practised enough, but I have always loved to hear him play.'

Lindir was seated with his back to one of the windows, so that the light fell over his shoulders and onto the harp, highlighting the delicate, strong motions of his hands as he plucked and swept the strings, intent on the music. Like this, the sorrow gone from his face to be replaced by a look of concentration, he was transformed, ethereally beautiful, and Parvon heard the softest of sighs from Melpomaen.

'You must see him like this often, in Imladris,' he said.

'I have, and always I am moved. For long enough, I thought it was his music I was in love with. Then I grew to know him as a person, and realised it had not been simply that. It is good to see him so, no longer a thrall to grief. It will pass, I know this. After we visit the place where our friend died, and see where his body lies, we will be better.'

Where he died…? They surely would not want to see the place where Glorfindel fell, the stark, silent, scorched forest, the remains of the beast that killed him perhaps still there…? Did the king know of their intent? Would he permit it, given the standing orders to keep elves from that part of the forest…?

'Perhaps you do not know,' Parvon began, feeling he had to say something, even if it was not his responsibility to do so, 'but our king gave orders that the area where our people died, the villages that burned, the forest was to be left alone to heal and only those elves involved in restoration and reclamation are allowed access currently. As far as I know, the area so demarcated includes the place where the Lord of Gondolin died.'

'Oh. But, surely…? That is, I know Lindir wants to know, to see all he can, even if it does distress him.'

'I understand, I assure you, and while I was still at the New Palace I had many elves who wanted to return to where their loved ones fell, and we had to refuse them. If this is something you greatly desire to do, I suggest you speak to those who came with you, and ask them to petition the king on your behalf. It is not something I am in a position to do for you, I am afraid.'

'Parvon, you have been so very helpful, we would not expect… I will ask Lord Celeborn, I am sure he will speak for us. I will not mention it yet to Lindir; he is having so much better a day today, it would be a shame to mar it.'

Lindir reached the end of his song, stilled his hands on the strings and looked up, lifting a hand to wave Melpomaen and Parvon across. When they reached him, he was smiling.

'There you are! Parvon, I thought about your words; the memories for Silvans are housed in the gemstone and yes, mine are in my heart. But also, they are in my music, and so this is how I am sharing my memories of our mutual friend; the songs he loved, the songs he hated, the songs he sang, sometimes badly and just to annoy me, for I have heard him sing well. He was fond of simple tunes, drinking songs and the like.'

'Even they sound beautiful when played on your harp, Master Lindir,' Parvon said. 'Your music reached me in the Memory Room, and made something special of my vigil. Thank you.'

'Ah, but it is nothing, I just… well, I am glad you liked my music. I will pause now, as I will be playing later for Nestoril and her friends. You are staying, I think?'

'Yes, my duty is finished now. I understand Master Melion will take charge of the gemstone this evening, so if you wanted to visit once more…'

To Parvon's surprise, Lindir shook his head.

'With respect, Master Parvon, and with grateful thanks, I find that now I am more comfortable with the memories of him my music brings. The Starlight Gemstone was a boon and a comfort at first, and on the way here, but I see now, it is more Silvan than am I. I have moved beyond your rituals into releasing memories of my own.'

At Parvon's side, Melpomaen gave a small, stifled sigh of relief. Parvon smiled, taking a seat near the minstrel.

'I think that is very wise, Lindir; remember him how you wish, in the way that brings most comfort to you, and share your grief with those who understand him the same way you did.'

'I am not sure I will feel the same tomorrow, or the day after, but for today, I am content.'

At that moment, Healer Nestoril entered the room, and the entrance doors were opened wide.

'Our friends will be here in a moment,' she said, coming across and smiling. 'So we will take refreshments and talk together in the large gathering room, and then I shall bother you to play again, Lindir!'

The minstrel smiled.

'It has been no bother, Healer! But you must let me know what you would like to hear; I would rather move on to happy tunes, I think.'

'I think happy tunes is an excellent idea! Come, bring your harp,' Nestoril said. 'Let's go through.'

Before the happy tunes, however, came eating and drinking. The Healers' Hall's famous honey cakes were present, along with other delicacies, tea and cordials, and the participants of the day's archery session, arriving almost together, soon spread out amongst the tables, talking and grazing.

Parvon kept company with Lindir and Melpomaen, and when Thindorion arrived, it was natural for the dyer to join them. Talk soon turned to the topic of journeys, to the New Palace, and to Ithilien.

'It's a pleasant road to the New Palace,' Thindorion said. 'I was there lately, just for two nights, to say goodbye to those friends I have there. And a much shorter journey than the next one I undertake!'

'Yes; I have considered sailing myself, at some point,' Melpomaen said. 'But not until my work here is done and as yet, I cannot see an end to it.'

'That is always the way with work,' Thindo said, smiling. 'If you really want to sail, you should train up an apprentice, and then leave the work for them!'

The words 'sailing' and 'sail' seemed to carry through the room and more than one elf looked up from his or her conversation, noted Parvon in the group, and bethought them of questions. Several headed over, all with a query in their eyes.

Parvon stifled a groan.

'No, you are off duty!' Thindorion said. He stood up and waved away the hopeful elves. 'No, no! We are talking, good friends, not discussing matters of public note! Go ask Master Oldor, if you have questions about the trip!'