Triwathon toyed with his empty wine cup, balancing it on its base while spinning his finger around the lip. The last drink had been almost enough, but one more might be… too much.

To say it had not been an easy day was an understatement. It had been hard, meeting Elladan again, under these circumstances, harder yet to renew his acquaintance with Lindir, hardest of all to accept Melpomaen's offered peace… but really, as if anyone had shares in Glorfindel, as if either of them had the right…

They both knew it, of course. Both knew the pain of the other, both were trying not to prod the wounds caused by the loss of him.

The worst, the very worst of it was that Mel was just so… likeable. Nice, empathic, caring. And the way he was with Lindir, so gentle and understanding while the minstrel grieved more like a lover than a friend; even with Melpomaen's offered explanation he did not understand it, not any of it…

He stopped playing with the goblet, lifted the wine bottle instead. Not enough left to save, so that settled it; no good letting reasonable wine turn sour.

He was still drinking, sipping the dregs, when the knock came at his door. Still wide awake and far from ready to retire for the night, alone with his bitter dregs of memories spoiling the taste of the good, sweet moments...

'Captain Hannith, is all well?'

'I am sorry to intrude, Commander, but one of the visitors… Master Melpomaen – has been stopped at the gates, trying to leave the building.'

'No, I am glad of the distraction, in fact. Did he say why?'

'He wants to go into the forest, he says, to the place where his friend is laid to rest. It has to be tonight, he says, but, of course, we have no authority to permit it…'

Triwathon tried to turn a sigh into a thinking breath. Well, he wasn't tired, and sleep was not looking particularly enticing tonight in any case…

'Where is he?'

'We sat him down in the duty office with some mulled wine and Captain Canadion for company. Sir, he wasn't trying to sneak out, or anything, he just… didn't seem to expect to be stopped.'

'He wouldn't realise we were under curfew, of course, and our king has said the Imladris elves can go anywhere they wish… well, let me get my cloak. I'll be there directly.'

'Sir?' Hannith's tone was startled. 'You're considering going out into the forest? At this hour?'

'I will take my bow, never fear. We won't be far from the watch-flets; if you're worried, send a brace of archers after us, in the canopy.'

'No, sir, I didn't mean… I hope you don't think I doubt your skill… and besides, the forest is quiet, at present… it's just, it's late, and… well.'

He nodded and smiled, reassuring her.

'You can be held excused for asking. If you want to go ahead, tell Melpomaen I'll be there directly. I have an errand to run first.'

Canadion had been offering gentle sympathy in the softest of voices when Triwathon entered the room; it reminded him abruptly of the warrior's kindness to himself, following the attack upon him by the messenger, and he recognised the wisdom that had put him in the same room with Melpomaen.

Canadion looked up, smiling.

'Mel here was saying how like we are as a family, me to my brother and all to our father; he met Baudh at the Old Palace. Of course, I am the only one to be in the guard, so there the likeness is less true. Well, if you will excuse me, Commander, I will leave my new friend with you now. I've been explaining that of course he isn't in any trouble.'

'Thank you, Canadion. He's right, of course,' Triwathon said, taking a seat and looking Mel over. He was wearing a tunic over a shirt, leggings and boots. 'You know, for an elf going on a night walk in the forest, you're very under-dressed for the weather...'

'Oh. I suppose I am. You see, I didn't intend… that is… Canadion's nice, isn't he? Married, I know, I just meant…'

'He is, he is nice,' Triwathon agreed. 'He lost a very dear friend in battle once, so he knows the grief of losing someone he loved.'

'I thought about going to the Quiet Room,' Melpomaen began in a rush. 'But that it might be locked. But I need… I must, I… and it has to be tonight. And outside is better.'

'Come with me, then.' Triwathon led the way from the room, paused by a rack of warrior cloaks. 'Here, borrow this; it should keep the chill out, I know, we are elves, we're not hurt by the cold. Doesn't mean we don't feel it. Can you shoot?'

'Wh…? Oh, a little. Not too badly.'

'Spare bow and quiver. This is Eryn Lasgalen, Mel, it's not as dangerous as it used to be, but there's snow lying, and wolves in the northern mountains sometimes come south to hunt. Good. We're ready.' He set off towards the outer doors, nodding to the wardens. 'Don't expect us back within the next two hours or so. If we're out longer than four, send someone out; I'll signal the perimeter flets on the way.'

'Yes, Commander. Goodnight, sir.'

*
Outside was cold, crisp with frost over the lying snow, the skies clear and brilliant in their starry blackness.

'Ecthelion's hair,' Melpomaen said as he gathered the cloak around his shoulders and they began walking. 'That's what Findel said about nights like this. And then he would laugh and say Ecthelion had loved clear stones, crystals or diamonds, and sometimes Findel would braid them into his hair. Then he would grow sad, and find an excuse to go out to Asfaloth's stable.'

'He didn't talk much to me of Ecthelion, not really,' Triwathon said. 'I suppose he might have thought I'd mind.'

'Or might it be that when you knew him, he still couldn't see the end of his days in Imladris? I think, by the end, he just wanted to go home, properly, really home.'

'Yes; I got the feeling when I was last in Imladris that he was looking forward to quieter days. And then we had dragons…'

'To be fair, you didn't send him the dream of them, though; that was down to the Lord of Mandos.' Melpomaen shivered, or shuddered; he didn't quite know which. 'He was so sad that morning, and pretending so hard everything would be well. But we knew, I think.'

'We had the warning late ourselves; a message went awry… so many things came together at the time to bring him here, to our aid, when we needed him, ai, it has haunted me since I knew it, the message came too late…'

'It was not your fault, Triwathon,' Mel said. 'It was nobody's fault. Thank you for coming out with me tonight, I hadn't realised I would cause a stir…'

'I told you, anywhere you wish to go, I am here to help. It was not as if I were seeking sleep…'

'No, but it is late, and I am grateful. I thought this morning would be enough, but… and Lindir and I have spent hours with the gem this afternoon, talking our hearts into it, but…'

'There is something about the Starlight Gemstones,' Triw said. 'Sometimes one can talk and talk, and never have said enough; some say if that happens, it's because we're saying the wrong thing.'

'Have you had your time with the stone, yet?' Mel's voice was shy.

Triwathon stared ahead along the path, shook his head. His errand on the way to speak to Melpomaen had been to the Quiet Room, to take the stone from its setting and place it in the pocket of his tunic, close to his heart. He thought of it now, nestling there, an idea he'd had that might help.

'Just the garrison session. Warrior observances are a little different from personal memories. I will have time, before the stone goes back.'

'Time,' Melpomaen said, unconsciously picking up his pace. 'I was talking at the Old Palace with someone, he said, there is never as much time left as you think.'

'It's not always so,' Triw said. 'But… well, I have a friend, I'd not seen him in far too long, although it didn't seem to matter; we would have forever to catch up, now the world is safer. But then he came to see me, with news that he's sailing. And suddenly there was no time except two days to say, hello, and farewell, and… I wish him well. But it is one more loss to us among many.'

They continued in silence for a time, then, passing near a watch-flet, a whistled signal rang out. Triw answered it easily.

'It's nothing to worry about, Mel,' he said. 'Just the guard letting me know the forest is quiet tonight.'

'It's good to know there's a watch. When does the stone go back?'

'It leaves the New Palace tomorrow, after the day meal, and pauses overnight at the largest of the three villages east of here. So you're right, there isn't as much time as I might have thought.'

Half a mile further on, they turned off the main trail to the side trail that led towards the earth-cave beneath the beech. Soon they neared its low, sloping mound and came to a halt.

Melpomaen sighed.

'See how the trunk glimmers in the starlight! I almost wish Lindir could see it so!'

'I was going to ask what you'd done with him tonight…'

'Ah. Yes, I am ashamed to admit, it is more what I have done to him… although… it began as a thought that it was for his own good. We were given rooms with a shared door, and tonight, I heard him sorrowing. I went in, and tried to calm him so that he could sleep, for he was very tired, tired as no elf normally should be… I bespoke hot milk and honey for him, and added a little something from my healer's pouch, sweet spices to bring sleep. He succumbed, and I left him looking very peaceful. It was then I realised that this was my chance, and so I asked Elladan to sit with him, lest he wake.'

'It seems very reasonable, your friend did look exhausted from it all. But,' Triwathon went on, 'what did you mean, your chance?'

'To… oh, it sounds selfish, and foolish, and… to come here and mourn my friend alone.'

'Well, alone is dangerous, but I can go and sit in the branches of the tree, if you like, and keep watch from there…'

'Oh, no, not alone in that sense. It is more… without Lindir. It is not that his grief is not equally valid to mine, or yours, or anyone's but it… when he is so sad, I need to take care of him, and so although we support each other, it is not…'

'Yet if you're always worrying about him, you can't concentrate on your own feelings…'

'Well, that is mostly it. But more: I love him, although he does not see me, but so close does my fëa walk with his that I feel his moods in my own heart; his present grief makes it difficult to mourn on my own behalf.'

Triwathon gave a sharp sort of half-laugh. 'I can imagine. Ah, but if you love him, that must be… difficult, at least?'

'It is not his fault; he has been brought up in an environment that tells him love between an ellon and an elleth is the natural order of things, and so he does not wonder if perhaps he could care for an ellon. Instead, he has had one or two affairs which have never quite lasted. The human lady he cares so much for, I think it is different, but until he seeks her he will not know… and then she will die in a handful of decades, and he will be sad once more. But do not blame him, and do not feel sorry for me; I am content as I am, this has been my life for so long now that I am used to it. I expect nothing more. But… to be able to grieve my Findel, not Lindir's version of him… that is what I need now. Do you…? Does any of that make sense, do you think?'

Triwathon dropped down into a crouch, picked up one of the yellow silk flowers. He twirled it in his fingers as he spoke.

'During the Night of the Names, I… we have a tradition, here. The Elf-in-Charge of the Palace Office and the Garrison Commander, after the public observances begin, retire to commemorate their dead together. But this last year, I was invited by Lord Arveldir to join him, and so I did so. It was… at first, all was well. But then Erestor, who was also sharing the ritual with us, grew distressed. He, of course, had known your Findel longer than any of us; his first friend in Imladris, his staunch supporter against Elrond at need, his ally and confidant. Next to such loss as that, my own heartache was revealed to me as foolish, and needless, and selfish, and so I left to allow Erestor to remember as he needed. Later that night, the Elf-in-Charge sought me, and we returned to our custom, and, as he was not particularly close to my Iphant, he allowed me to speak my heart and purge myself of the pent-up grief I had stifled in the face of Erestor's distress. Now I can smile at the memory, for my friend the Chief Elf acknowledged my loss as equally valid, to me, as Erestor's was to him and so I say yes, your loss is not Lindir's loss, and it seems unfair you have to feel both sorts of pain.'

'Unfair is perhaps not quite, but… I loved him, he was my friend as well as more, so that I loved him in a friendly sort of way, not really in love with him. But I could see him, every day, talk to him and laugh with him. Share meals in the hall, share jokes. Some nights we spent together, and they were sweet for us both, but mostly… it was not so much the nights as sharing our days, oh, I do not know how I will ever…'

Melpomaen gasped and sat down in the snow, hiding his face as he began to release his personal, individual grief. Triwathon kept watch, although the forest was quiet; it was more that he could not bear to look at Mel's sorrow since it too nearly reflected his own.

…he was my friend… not the nights as much as our days… the shared jokes and shared meals…

Triwathon swallowed, finding sorrow and love welling up in his heart. He stared at the graceful lines of the beech and thought, yes. Yes. That he understood, how really, really awful it was to look for someone in the dining hall, and they were not there, for the knock on the door, the elf outside not the one you had become used to…

…and Melpomaen had nobody, no-one he could share this grief with, there was nobody to hold him as Lindir was held, nobody to tell him that, unbelievably, it was somehow going to be all right…

'Here.' Triwathon knelt at Mel's side, stroked the hair back from his face, put his arms around him, held him gently close. 'I know, it's dreadful. But it passes, Mel, it passes, and after, you will be able to share his jokes with others, keep him alive in your heart. You can spend time with Asfaloth, stand where your Findel used to stand, if you must, cry into his horse's mane like he used to. It will pass, and it will be all right. Somehow, one day, you will wake up and it won't be as awful, and then later, it will be bearable, and then one day, you will be able to think of him without sadness, just the… the joy of him. Because he was joyous, and silly, and full of fun. And you loved him, and I loved him, and he loved us. And that's all right, because he will always, always be loved by someone. Only we have to let him go, now, and let other people take care of him. It was my turn, and then it was your turn, and now, Mel, now it's Ecthelion's turn.'

Melpomaen shuddered, leaned in and gave Triwathon a gentle squeeze before easing away; Triw loosened his hold, allowing Mel to sit back and look at him. The elf wiped his face and managed a smile.

'Thank you,' he said. 'You're very kind, and very wise, and very sweet. It's no wonder he loved you.'

He leaned forward and kissed Triwathon's cheek softly, keeping his eyes open and nodding as he sat back.

'Feel better for that?' Triwathon asked.

'Much, thank you. I feel… for the first time since the news, I feel calm.'

'I… don't know if this will help, or make things worse. I stopped off on the way to meet you to get this…' Triwathon drew the Starlight Gemstone from his tunic. 'I was there when it was chosen, I would have picked something bright and pure and clear, but the one whose job it was selected this one. And he's right, I knew as soon as… You were saying before, you'd said so much to the stone. What I want to say is… my Iphant, I loved you, I miss you, I will remember you… I am grateful to you for believing in me when I did not even believe in myself…' He rubbed the stone with his thumb, pressed it to his lips and then rubbed it again. 'If you've any other thoughts you'd like to add…'

Mel took the stone from him, and smiled.

'Kind, he was kind. That's what I remember, this great, big, strong warrior-elf being soft and gentle and silly with elflings and horses. How, when Lord Celeborn was ill, he was so patient with him.' He sniffed. 'And everyone. And the hobbit, when he was with us, so polite and nice to him, even recounting his fight with the Balrog for him… The night he… sometime around when he died, I dreamed he was there, he kissed me and said, have a lovely life, Mel, and… oh, I didn't tell anyone he said that, but I will, Findel, I will have the best life I can, in memory of you. Will you take this, Triwathon?' He rose to his feet, lithe and fluid, and held out his hand to Triwathon, dropping the stone into his upturned palm. 'Should we head back? I am sure Lindir will not wake, but still, it is late.'

'Indeed it is. You will want to come again, no doubt?'

'Probably. Lindir will, I think, and if so, I will come too.' Melpomaen smiled, a free, relaxed smile and Triwathon was struck with how lovely he was, how fair of face. 'But thank you for tonight; I thought I needed to be alone here, but, in fact, what I needed was the right sort of friend.'