Parvon sat up, gasping, almost sobbing for breath, trying to make sense of the images that had crowded into his sleep. They had all but pushed him out of reverie with the intensity of emotion connected with them; Triwathon reaching out, drawing someone close, a mingling of grief that changed to a sweet, sweet warmth, a sort of pain-tinted love, and then there was another known face – Melpomaen, his lovely eyes tragic and heart-breaking as he leaned in to kiss…

…the scene shifting, staring as if through Triwathon's eyes at the beech tree where Glorfindel was interred, the aching loneliness…

I love you… I miss you…

…and an upwelling of warm, gentle, genuine love that would have been beautiful had it not been for the echoes of pain, or that it was Triwathon feeling it for someone else…

Parvon clutched at the place where his heart used to be; now he felt only bleak, broken emptiness… but the sense of connectedness had been so extreme, anguishing, poignantly moving at the last…

He rose hastily, needing to do something to try and shake off the emotions that battered at him. This was intolerable! How could he continue on if even in his sleep he was to be assaulted by emotions not his own? And why, how could it happen that after a little space of relative calm, now his peace of mind was under attack once again?

How many more times could he manage to drag the splintered, shattered shards of himself back into some semblance of normality?

With shaking hands he found the last of the winter-wine from which he'd made Thindo's gift. He poured a measure, sipped at it, tried to find something to make sense of these disturbing, distressing dreams…

Well.

It was possible that the evening, Thindo's friendly embrace had followed him into his dreams; if so, once there it had simply mutated, driven by his concerns for Triwathon and his deep-seated anxieties of how he might cope should Triw find love again. It would pass, it would fade, he would find his balance again.

Would not he?

Of course he would, if that were all it was. In which case, he needed to shake off this dream, harden himself to thoughts of it, refuse to allow the emotions to take hold of him, go and do something to distract himself until he was in control once more.

Well, he had intended reorganising the seating arrangements in the King's Office, had he not?

Four hours later, he had dragged the large table from his workroom into the room of filing cabinets, where it would not be in the way. All matters pertaining to the sailing elves had also been relocated thence, and the documents relevant to elves resettling in the Old Palace had been taken through into Melion's office where he had piled them in a corner while he found and requisitioned a desk from the storeroom; it was smaller than the one he'd used in Master Hanben's workroom, and easier to manage round the corners as he relocated it to one end of Melion's office, after which it was a small matter to fill the drawers in similar order to his previous system.

Good.

(But the anguish of his heart, while numbed as he worked, was no less.)

He leaned back in his seat, allowing his eyes to widen and his mind to drift, trying to steer his thoughts away from the disturbing dream and troubling emotions. Perhaps here, surrounded by the trappings of his work, he might find some surcease from anguish…

…there were low voices, muttering as if in conference together; it occurred to Parvon through the mists of sleep that perhaps they wished to talk privately, hence the softness of tone, and yet they ought to be made aware that he was present and able to hear. He blinked his eyes awake and stirred.

'Forgive me, I was not trying to overhear, but…'

'Oh, good, Master Parvon, you were only sleeping!' Mistress Merlinith said in her brisk tones. 'You see, Araspen, he was not deceased or unconscious… Whatever have you been up to, may I ask?'

'I… simply preparing for… Good morning, Mistress Araspen. I don't suppose either of you noticed whether the corridor servant was up, on your way past?'

'If that's a request for tea, I'll bespeak some at once,' Merlinith said. 'But you haven't answered my question; what are you doing here? Did you go to your bed at all last night?'

'Indeed I did, but woke early and decided to use the time… ah, I have the breakfast meeting to oversee…'

'You have time, Master Parvon. Tea and something to eat first, I would suggest; Master Melion used to complain about how much he managed to eat, he used to say the only way to get a decent breakfast, with the king, was to ask for something his majesty disliked…'

'That probably explains the porridge, I expect. Merlinith, I'm grateful for your discretion. I only really meant to sit for a few moments… I must have been more tired than I realised.'

When the tea arrived, accompanied by a stack of freshly made toast with pots of butter and honey on the tray, he allowed himself to be talked into eating a little. In truth, the tea was more welcome than the food, and by the time he was due to ready himself for his breakfast meeting with the king, he was awake and alert, dressed in his spare set of official robes and determined to be ready for anything his king might expect of him.

In fact, the breakfast meeting was not as bad as Parvon had feared; he found that if he kept all his attention focussed very, very tightly on what was passing, on all the detail of the king's expression, turn of phrase, gesture, on the sights and smells and sounds of the meal, then he could largely ignore the despair and misplaced love that seemed to fight for possession of his fëa; he was even able to join in the subtle fight for the cheese as if there were nothing wrong.

He doubted whether or not his king was fooled, for Thranduil's eye was keen and his comments barbed, but they got through the business of the meeting satisfactorily.

'Although it is the first public audience with Mistresses Merlinith and Araspen presiding later today,' Thranduil noted with a weary sigh. 'It is to be hoped they are adequate…'

'Indeed, sire, I rather hope they are not,' Parvon said. 'Adequate would be not nearly good enough for Mistress Merlinith; she would be mortified to learn your expectations are at such a level…'

'We would rather be pleasantly surprised than proved correct, of course,' the king said. 'Moving on from matters of business, and talking of the ladies, however, I understand they attended a social event at Master Thindorion's last night which looked set to run until all hours?'

Alert to the nuances of Thranduil's question and rapidly moving from wondering how the king had heard of the party, to realising exactly who must have been gossiping, Parvon gave a nod.

'As did I, my king. However, I arrived some goodly time after Healer Nestoril had departed…' He paused for a second to give Thranduil chance to assimilate his recognition of who the king's informant had been before continuing. 'Of course, I left with Araspen and Merlinith so I have no idea how late the party ran. But I did not stay overlong, since I have much to organise in the King's Office to provide a suitable welcome for the returning King's Elves…'

'Not a celebration, Parvon, surely?'

'Indeed no, sire. Merely desks at which they may sit, and work. I am sure, if such a celebration is required, Master Merenor would delight in the organisation of it.'

'True. Any other matters? You seem… preoccupied this morning.'

'Nothing that presently requires my king's attention, my thanks. And so, if there is nothing else, the meeting ends. Good morning, sire.'

Mid-morning, and Parvon had talked his fellow-advisors and scribes though the practical changes he'd made and the ones he intended making. He was privately congratulating himself on keeping his mood at bay when a sudden upsurge of grief and loneliness washed over him, causing him to break off part way through a reply to Oldor.

'Ah… where were we?'

'Sir? The maps?'

'Yes, I was saying, the maps are stored, rolled now, in a large container in the filing room, near to the table… and now, if you will excuse me, I must…'

Parvon fled. He kept a decorous enough pace in the office proper, but once out in the corridor, he broke into a run, ignoring the fact that everyone he passed stopped and stared at him. He reached the calm of his room and secured the door before dropping onto a chair and trying once more to sort out the emotional carnage of his fëa…

Words came unbidden, connected to the anguish he felt at some deep level of his being.

I miss him. I love him, I…

It was no good; he could not possibly continue in this manner; his days would be continually difficult, his nights intolerable; there was only one honourable solution open to him.

'Really?' he asked of the room in general. 'Must it be so? Is there no other way?'

But having reached the conclusion, suddenly, somehow, it felt… inevitable.

In which case, there was no point in delaying.

He left his rooms and hurried through the network of corridors until he arrived at the antechamber where the elves seeking audience were gathered.

'Why, Master Parvon!' Merlinith exclaimed, swapping looks with Araspen. 'You are here in response to his majesty's summons? Then you are well met indeed; one elf has been through, and another is in, as we did not expect you quite so swiftly. I am sure he will not be long.'

Parvon nodded abruptly, unwilling to speak just at present but grateful for Merlinith's perspicacity and quick-thinking, enabling him to get this done without more delay. A moment later, the door opened, and the supplicatory elf emerged. Merlinith stood before the doors, her eyes stern on the waiting elves, defying any of them to suggest they go next.

'Good. There you are, I hope all was well…? Master Parvon, please go in now. His majesty will be surprised you are so prompt…'

Parvon raised an eyebrow at her aplomb, nodded as he passed her and braced his shoulders as he strode into the Hall of Audience. Thranduil, who had been reclining with every appearance of idle boredom, sat rather straighter as he saw who had marched into the room.

'Sire.' Parvon bowed as required of a supplicant, deeply and slowly, bending the knee, waiting for the command required before he could stand and state his business.

'Master Parvon. Do get up,' Thranduil said with a lazy wave of the hand. 'I see you have decided to take advantage of your position and usurp the undoubtedly convoluted order of presentations?'

Parvon rose and bowed deeply.

'Indeed, my king, it is one of the few privileges of my position.'

'Aha, ha. You are still attempting to hone your sense of humour, I see. It is improving, I think. Certainly, it is better than earlier this morning, you were positively dour at the breakfast meeting. Very well, Parvon; what is it?'

'Some little while ago, my lord king was so good as to suggest an extended sea voyage would be conducive to my health, should I find the air in the Old Palace not to my liking.' Parvon swallowed, suddenly finding his mouth dry and the words too big to leave his throat. 'With your gracious consent, sire, I have decided to accept your most generous offer; I wish to sail to the Undying Lands.'