By morning, the snow had stopped, at least. It lay a couple of hand's breadth deep across the forest floor, mounding and rounding in uneven conglomerations of whiteness, drifted across the trees, speckling the branches and capping the undergrowth.

It was not the best of days to lead a party of visiting dignitaries into the forest, but Commander Triwathon's orders were to accommodate the wishes of said visiting dignitaries, however inconvenient. So here he was, dressed in his formal uniform of fighting kilt, boots, tunic and cloak, waiting at the gates with two warriors who had volunteered themselves as honour guard.

The commander was not entirely sure their motives were, as stated with innocent eyes and fervent sincerity 'simply to be of assistance, Commander, at this difficult time', for he happened to know that both Captain Celeguel and Captain Amathel had once formed personal friendships with two of the visiting elves from Imladris. In his opinion, though, since all had parted on friendly terms, this could only make his task less fraught, and so he had accepted their offer of service while pointing out that they were officially on duty, and not to overstep the bounds.

'Don't worry, Commander, we all spoke last night and there was only gladness at seeing more familiar faces here,' Amathel said. 'Besides, mine's got another sweetheart now, far, far away where she can't get in the way of his minstrelsy…'

Celeguel laughed at this, but Triwathon shook his head.

'I am sure that's not quite the case,' he said. 'But that you can still be friends is good. Ah. Here they come, I think.'

Around the corner of the corridor came a cluster of elves; the four visitors, accompanied by Masters Faerveren and Melion in full King's Office robes; he reflected that it was a good thing elves could walk over snow, or they would soon be hampered by their garments.

'Good morning, Commander Triwathon,' Faerveren said with polite formality. 'I hope we have not kept you waiting?'

'Not at all; it is good to look out on the forest, it is looking lovely this morning.' He bowed a greeting to the visitors. 'If you will follow me, Captains Celeguel and Amathel will form our rear-guard and keep us to the path; it can be difficult to follow at the best of times.'

'Commander, it is all right, I hope?' Melpomaen spoke up. 'That is, we were given the choice of waiting for the thaw, but who can say how long the snow will last?'

'Yes, Master Melpomaen, it's perfectly fine,' Triwathon said with as friendly a smile as he could. 'We will be walking for less than an hour, it is not really far. But best to get started, if you wish to then visit your friend's earth-cave as well this morning.'

One good thing, he thought as he led the way, the company following behind him, the snow would soften… everything. The untidy heap of dragon bones, covered with earth and canvas initially, would now be gentled by snow. The place where Glorfindel had bled and died would not be dark and bleak; instead it would be a soft, white bed where any hero might rest, the horror of the place mantled, the starkness of death blanketed over with a semblance of purity.

At least this part of the forest had escaped the flames, so the trees didn't carry the same burden as those around the three damaged villages did… privately, Triwathon hoped the visitors wouldn't want to see those as well, and determined that if they did, he'd foist them off onto Narunir or Hannith…

The voices of the visiting elves, the replies from Faerveren and Melion were soft at his back, intermittent, discussing the weather, the slumber of the trees, the air of the forest. Since he was at the head of the group, he wasn't required to make conversation – which was one reason he'd arranged them in this order. Hard enough to be here, to have to point out the place where he'd knelt, cradled Glorfindel's head in his lap, watched him die…

…too soon they were at the warning marker on the main trail, and he lifted his hand to call a halt, turning to face the company.

'We're very near now,' he said. 'I… you will already know, from Arveldir, from elves at the Old Palace, exactly what… and how… so, I will go through it again for you, once we are there, if you wish.'

'Perhaps if you could reprise the events of the night, as far as is possible, that would help us all,' Master Melion said. 'For I only had the tale at second and third hand myself.'

'Very well.' Now Triwathon found himself with elves either side of him, not quite crowding, but certainly close as he proceeded towards the glade where Glorfindel had died. 'On the night of the attack, we had been welcoming warriors come to celebrate the season with us; Captains Celeguel and Amathel had arrived that evening.'

'All was well on our trails,' Celeguel said. 'We were looking forward to the celebrations, and to the commemorations too. We arrived at dusk, and settled in swiftly.'

Triwathon paused on the trail to continue his account.

'During the night, the alarms rang. We woke, responded. There are coded signals, but these were confused and panicky; the villages had been settled too far out for our liking, but the inhabitants insisted on their right to settle there… it made it harder to get to them, but we set out, two companies; our third remaining to bring in the refugees as they arrived at the perimeter. There was smoke on the wind, so we knew fire was one of the dangers. As we neared the villages, we realised there were dragons in the sky… we split into several parties to be most effective, and then came word there were other elves in the forest who were fighting on our behalf. We had no time to do more than be grateful just then, but undoubtedly their unseen aid was terribly important.'

He set off walking again, trying not to let the horror and grief of the night overwhelm him. At his back, Amathel took up the tale.

'All of us visiting had offered to help, of course,' she said, 'and so I found myself in a clearing, my shoulder injured, my arm broken, trying to shield an elflings while I was unable to fire my bow. I sent out signals for help, and was answered. The dragons that were targeting me withdrew, and I had to keep watch and shout a warning as the commander arrived. Others came too; elves of Imladris. The dragons set the underbrush ablaze, trying to surround us with flame and pick us off. Erestor helped me get the elflings to safety and… and your friend attacked the largest dragon, drawing its fury so we could escape. It… it caught him up in its talons, and then Erestor was pushing us away from the flames and I lost sight of him…'

'We gave chase, of course,' Triwathon said. 'He was still alive, and fighting…'

He broke off, not willing to tell how Glorfindel had been so-casually dropped for a dragonet to snatch at. He beckoned vaguely behind him, led off to the clearing.

…Oh, sweet Lord Eru! Lady Nienna who weeps for us…!

Someone had visited the clearing already that morning, and placed a scattering of golden flowers exactly where Glorfindel had lain. Around a dozen fragile fabric blossoms marked the spot, each glistening with a crystal at its heart, beautiful and somehow more heart-breaking than even seeing Glorfindel there dead had been…

'You can see, here… this is where… where I – we found him. He was not alone, at the end, he had friends with him, he was in no pain. I supported him, my friend Parvon with me. Then Arveldir arrived, and your Galadhrim friends. We comforted him and consoled him as much as we could, and then he… he smiled, and he was… was freed.'

Around him Triwathon could hear the soft sounds of muted grief. Once sure his own emotions were not going to betray him, he looked up, glanced around the party. Amathel and Melpomaen both were consoling Lindir, sobbing brokenly on Amathel's shoulder. Elladan was wiping tears, Celeguel silent support at his side. Lord Celeborn's face was drawn; elves did not look old, but suddenly, the weight of all his years seemed to have found him. Faerveren and Melion kept sombre faces, but Faerveren reached out, touched Triwathon's shoulder lightly.

'We will remember him,' he said, just for the commander's hearing. 'At the Night of the Names, we will honour him always.'

Triwathon nodded, took a breath, braced himself, addressed the Imladris elves.

'If you wish to remain here for a little while, we will wait for you on the main trail. But…'

'But he is not here,' Melpomaen said, his voice heavy and somehow beautiful with sorrow. 'This is but where he fell… lead on, if you will, I would leave this place now. I did not think it would help, but I am – we are grateful that you permitted us to find out for ourselves.'

Triwathon bowed to the spot where he had held his friend as he died, then led the way from the glade. After a moment or two, the rest of the company joined him.

Faerveren stepped forward.

'If you are willing, we should now see the place where he was laid to rest. Master Melpomaen, you are right; he is not here. Only distress and sorrow are here, but where he lies… it may bring a measure of comfort. Commander, if you do not mind, I know the way and can lead the company from here.'

Faerveren's face was neutral, enquiring, but Triwathon saw the concern in the amber-tinted eyes and nodded.

'Very well. Take the lead, Palace Office, Captains, find places where you will. I'll keep us on the trail from the back.'

It was with relief he stood back and took up his self-appointed place; it was a breathing-space, no more, but at least others could attest to the manner of Glorfindel's laying-to-rest; he had borne the burden of recalling his death alone.

More walking through the snow-dressed trails. He noted with surprise that Elladan, rather than passing lightly over the surface of the snow, left indentations; not significant, heavy treads, to be sure; his boots kept dry – but still the human blood in his family was enough to weigh him down to make slight footprints, at least. He wondered if Glorfindel had ever noticed, had perhaps remarked upon it, and was sure he must have done; the thought of it amused him…

Thinking of Glorfindel in happier times was a comfort, he realised, and tried turning his mind back, deliberately, to when he had first known him, those first, heady weeks when he'd been mourning his Red and recovering from his foolish mistake with Esgaron, to how he had been both comforted and comfort. For a time, the memories warmed him, sustained him, but before he had done with them, the path took its last turn and joined the trail to the rise on which stood the stately beech where Glorfindel had been sung to rest.

They came to a halt before it, arranging themselves in a loose semi-circle. The same hand had been at work around the tree; the same gentle scatter of golden silk flowers. Celeguel stepped forwards, bending to lift one with careful reverence, and smiled through tears.

'These were a… a gift from elves in the Old Palace, Merlinith and Araspen, who knew …him, too. The flowers were conveyed amongst the escort guard, privately, and placed with love and memory. The ladies say, if anyone wishes to carry a flower away, for thought, from here, there are plenty.' She placed the flower down and stepped back. 'But I will leave this one to lie.'

Triwathon breathed in to speak… and found his voice suspended by threat of tears. Once more it was Faerveren who took charge.

'Dear friends of our friend and rescuer,' he began in gentle tones. 'This is the most beautiful beech in all the forest, and it was donated by one who wished to honour so great a sacrifice, but who wishes to remain unknown for the deed. Asfaloth consented to draw the bier hence, and all who were able followed to do your friend honour. Those too hurt to walk stood respectfully as we left the New Palace, and watched us on our way. With love he was laid to rest, and speeches many and fair made then. We sang him to his rest as the hero he was.'

Not only Triwathon now wept, only Melion and Lord Celeborn seemed controlled. Melpomaen and Lindir clung together, Elladan dropped to the snow and buried his face in his hands, Celeguel stroking his shoulders through her own tears. Amathel sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand, coming to stand by Triwathon for companionship.

Presently, Celeborn lifted his head and sighed.

'Farewell, old friend,' he said. 'May the forest shield you ever.'

Feeling lost, Triwathon looked around; what now? Were they to stay, or could they return, or what would these elves do now?

Amathel gave him a little nudge, caught his eye, looked across to Celeguel with a nod. On the next breath, the two captains began singing, and Triwathon, as soon as he realised, joined in with a refrain of 'Heroes Coming Home'. By the end of the first line, Elladan had picked up the tune, Lindir lifted his head and, still weeping and clinging to Melpomaen, took a breath and added his voice to the song.

Presently, they ran out of words. Celeborn bowed to Triwathon.

'Commander we are grateful for the honour you do our friend. I would return now to shelter, to remember him in my heart.'

'Of course, my lord. If you will permit, I will allow Captains Celeguel and Amathel to escort you and Masters Faerveren and Melion to the New Palace.'

'May we stay?' Melpomaen said. 'Lindir and I need… longer.'

Triwathon nodded. 'If you will permit me to wait and escort you back, certainly.'

'It is very beautiful,' Lindir said softly, when the three of them were alone. 'The flowers, and the tree, and the forest. And yet I wish it were autumn. In autumn, the trees show us how lovely it can be to release the dead. But just now, it feels hard.'

'But in winter, look!' Melpomaen said. 'The trees are unclad, they do not need their leaves, and they are ready for their new awakening, and the golden flowers hint at the beauty to come.'

'I did not mean it is not a lovely spot,' Lindir went on. 'I meant only… and I am sure he will rest well here… except… he is not here.'

'No. He is with his Ecthelion now,' Melpomaen said. 'What is here is… memory, and gratitude, and the last of his hröa. I think… I think it means that he will be absorbed by the tree, and become part of the forest, somehow, while still being… him?'

'We do not really understand it ourselves,' Triwathon said, smiling and shrugging. 'But his essence will be spread through the forest in memory and for as long as there are trees, he will be part of us.'

'I do not think I believed it,' Lindir said. 'Not… not really. It happened so far from home, when Asfaloth returned without him, at first I thought… we thought… he had stayed with you.'

Triwathon swallowed, shook his head. 'We had… we had become friends, after being more than friends. But he had his Melpomaen, and I… have moved on. We had no time to do other than be glad to see each other, and then he was taken and… I am honoured to have shared his last moments.'

Melpomaen reached out to touch Triwathon's arm.

'He spoke often of you, privately to me, although he pretended he didn't think overmuch about you to the others. You were dear to him, but not in any way that was hurtful to me; I do hope you know that?'

It hurt to nod, to agree, but Triwathon made himself smile as he did. 'And we both know he was always going back to his forever-love. We were just… fortunate that he allowed us to draw close, while he was with us.'

'It is so very sad,' Lindir said. 'We will miss him so…'

'Do not grieve overmuch!' Melpomaen reached out to grasp Lindir's arm for a moment. 'Remember, he is with his beloved, and will walk again in fair, far Valinor!'

'Let's hope Ecthelion is the forgiving sort,' Triwathon murmured. 'Were I to sail, I would be treading carefully else…'

Melpomaen coughed out a sound, half-laugh, half-weeping, and the tension lifted.

'Ah, he always said he was free of his vows, but that did not mean he was free with his favours. He lived a very restrained life, in that way. Until you, Triwathon, and I am glad it meant that after you, I was fortunate to share his nights, sometimes. I doubt Ecthelion will hold much of a grudge against any who could ease his beloved's loneliness; I know I would not begrudge comfort to my fëa-mate, wherever he might be.'

'May I touch the tree?' Lindir asked. 'It is not forbidden?'

'You may indeed touch the tree. You may climb it, sit in its branches, whatever you wish. Only it is forbidden for any to enter in.'

'Thank you,' Lindir said, and walked carefully up to the tree. He laid his hand on the bark, reached his arms around it, finally lowered himself to sit with his back to it. His arms he folded across his body, hugging himself, and he dipped his head. It seemed he was weeping again.

Triwathon looked across at Melpomaen, who shook his head, and walked away to pause at the edge of the clearing, beckoning the commander over.

'Poor Lindir suffers our friend's loss greatly, Commander.'

'I have seen. And yet… as I remember, they were not particularly close, at least, not when I was at Imladris?'

'That's true.' Melpomaen nodded. 'I had my own circle of friends, too, at the time. Our seneschal, and our minstrel, were both distant figures of hero-worship to me. But as to Lindir… well, it is his tale really, so I will not tell it in full. Our lord included him on a diplomatic mission to one of the southern lands. Something went awry, Lindir was kidnapped, and our friend was one of those who rescued him. Afterwards, he was kind, supporting him through the aftermath of the shock, and they drew close. Returning to Imladris, Lindir came into my care – I was a junior healer there – and this brought me to friendship with Findel, too.'

'I begin to see, I think. But how terrible! One thing for warriors and those who expect to be in danger, but for an elf who, I think, has been used only to sing about dreadful events…'

'Yes, and during the War of the Ring we had been sheltered by Imladris. But still, it was not all bad for him – it was then that he met the lady he now loves.'

'Amathel mentioned something…?'

'Yes. A human woman, and Lindir has not yet decided whether it is better to seek her, or to leave her to her life. Whichever he chooses, it will be difficult for him, for she will die one day.'

'So perhaps the loss of his friend is more than simply that – perhaps it is a reminder of her mortality, also?'

'I have wondered as much,' Melpomaen said, nodding. 'Well, it may seem harsh, but I think he has wept in the snow for long enough; it will do him no good to stay here and weep in the snow.'

'If it must be done, then better done by the fireside, with a glass of wine and a friend or two at hand, perhaps,' Triwathon said. 'I'll give him a moment, then interrupt. No – let me do this,' he went on, seeing
Melpomaen start to shake his head. 'Let me be the unkind villain who interrupts his thoughts. Thus you can sympathise and be his kind friend, still.'

Triwathon took his time, walking around the tree until he came close to where Lindir still sat. He bent to pick one of the golden flowers, and cleared his throat.

'Lindir,' he began softly, 'I wonder if you would do something for me?'

The minstrel looked up, wiped his eyes.

'W…what service can I offer, Commander?'

'Well, call me Triwathon, to start,' he said, approaching nearer with a smile. 'It is a small service, but one I think you can do. This flower… I am sure my former mentor Arveldir's husband Erestor would like one. Would you keep this safe, and carry it away to Imladris for him?'

'I… of course, Com… Triwathon, yes, I can do that, and gladly. This is a special place, is it not? I am sure our friend would approve.'

'Around the time of the New Year, there are real flowers of gold around this tree,' Triwathon said, reaching down an arm to help Lindir rise – the minstrel accepted the aid without realising he had not meant to stand yet. 'It is even lovelier then. But come, Melpomaen must be feeling the cold by now, I should get you both back to shelter. The sky looks like to drop more snow upon us shortly.'

'Very well, yes. We should get back. Mel! I am charged to take a blossom home for Erestor, is that not a kind thought?'

'Indeed, very kind,' Melpomaen said, smiling. 'One thing… may we come again, at some point?'

'Yes, of course you may. Our king has sent word that you are to see whatever you wish, whenever you need to. The only thing I would say is that you must be escorted.'

'But we know the way now,' Melpomaen said. 'It is an imposition…'

'No, it is not, I am at your service, and plenty of my garrison would volunteer, if I am myself unavailable. But, please – in memory of one who was dear to us all, believe I will be glad to escort you whenever you wish. And so, this trail here is the way back to the New Palace. Shall we?'