'The messages are in, Commander,' Celeguel said, sliding a folder across Triwathon's desk. 'You seem popular today!'

'I… have you been at the missives before the Palace Office sees them? Do we usually do that?'

'I have it on very good authority that Master Melion has strict notions about what communications are deemed appropriate, and that he takes out those that fail his standards.' Celeguel shrugged. 'Master Merenor didn't quite phrase it like that. In fact he said, "Watch that lad of mine, he's got some funny ideas, and if you all want your love-letters, tell him the garrison gets the mail first and passes it on to the Palace Office afterwards…" So, I'm on my way to deliver the missives to Healer Maereth next, and then the official documents to our newest official. Enjoy your letters, sir.'

'Letters…?'

But she was gone, and Triwathon was left contemplating the package on his desk.

Idly breaking the seal – there was never anything that was not work-related, these days – he contemplated the letter he intended writing to Parvon. Perhaps he'd better do that later today, and find some way of sidestepping Master Melion's apparent rules…

Oh. That wasn't an official communication, that was… that was in Thindorion's hand…

Triwathon shoved that one to the bottom of the stack, guiltily aware that he hadn't answered the last one from Thindo yet…

One marked from the King's Office… he wasn't entirely sure, but he thought it might be Faerveren's hand. Thanks and apologies, no doubt…

Better start there, then.

'To: Triwathon, Garrison Commander, from Faerveren, Joint-Elf-in-Charge,

'Greetings,

'Dear Commander Triwathon,

'Forgive me for writing to you in such a fashion, but it is the general consensus of the King's Office, that you ought to know, and it is my sad duty to inform you that instead of serving with Master Parvon, my Joint-Chief is now Master Hanben, because Master Parvon has left the Old Palace and is going to Ithilien with the Starlight Gemstone, and says he will not come back, but will instead take ship and…'

'No!' Triwathon dropped the letter and rose to his feet, glaring at the traitorous words. 'Impossible, he wouldn't, he said he would never…'

He reached down and scrunched the missive into a messy ball. More words came into focus, folding into each other and corrupting the order of the words.

'…quite a shock, and … misses his brother, and I understand, he has… sad, though he wants…'

With a growl Triwathon swept the letter aside and almost tore into the one from Thindorion instead.

'Hello, Little-Elkling,

'I know I wrote before, but have since found out that not all the friendly letters get through, so I have asked my friends in the guard to take particular care of this one for you.

'By the time you get this, I will have left for my adventure in Valinor and I wanted to say thank you, again, and goodbye. At least I won't be alone on the road, or the ship, for that matter… you remember I said I would try to befriend the elf in the King's Office who was so helpful, Parvon? Well, I was successful and what's more, he's taking a berth on the ship as well, so we will be company for each other. He has no family left here, he says, and so…'

'You can't!' Triwathon shouted at the elegant script. 'He's mine, Parvon's mine, you can't…'

A knock at his door and he fell silent, dropped into his chair, and swept the letters off his desk.

'Come… come in…'

'Commander?' Melpomaen, with his friendly smile, behind him Lindir. They slid into his office. 'I hope we're not intruding, you sounded… busy. But, you see, we've had a letter from Master Parvon, and, well, it seems he's been sad… and we wondered if you knew, because… well.'

Triwathon dropped his head and swallowed, trying to find something to say.

'Yes,' he said, lifting his gaze and suddenly finding the simplest of words choking him. 'I… Faerveren wrote to me. Parvon's sailing.'

'We know.' Melpomaen nodded, and came over to pat Triwathon kindly on the shoulder. 'It must be a shock. There is another thing, and I don't know how it could happen, but he seems to think you and I are… well, I am flattered he thinks such an elf as you would even glance at me, and I hope you are not offended…'

'I… what do you mean? I haven't… that is, you're a very good sort of elf, and kind and very lovely… but you're still sad over our friend, and I hope I haven't done anything to…'

'Oh, not at all, Commander, you have been perfectly friendly but not overly so, I don't know what has happened…'

Another disturbance, a tapping at the open door, and Healer Mae's assistant was there.

'Forgive me, Commander, I hate to intrude, but Healer Maereth has asked if you can come with me back to her Healing Rooms? She says it will take but a moment, but that she must speak to you right away…'

Triwathon seized on the interruption as an opportunity to flee from the horrid thought that maybe Parvon was sailing because he thought him and Mel…

'Very well. Melpomaen, Lindir, I am grateful for your visit. Please excuse me.'

Ten minutes later he was seated in Mae's study, a glass of strong spirits in his hand and the Healer apologising for the summons.

'For I have had a letter from my dear friend Nestoril; she often writes with little bits of news and entertaining gossip for me… however, this is neither entertaining, nor gossip, and you will forgive my forwardness, but Nestoril says that our good friend Parvon is sailing…'

Triwathon remembered the spirits in his glass and took a gulp. It wasn't a mistake then; not from four independent sources.

'I know. My friend Thindo wrote to me, and Master Faerveren wrote me, and even Mel and Lindir have come to tell me he's going…'

'Yes. So…' Maereth tilted her head and smiled at him. 'What are you going to do about it?'

'Do? What can I do? He is old enough to make his own choices, and he's obviously not happy, he misses his family, and…'

'And you're just going to let him go?'

'Well, I can't just chase after him and ask him not to!'

'Why not?' Mae said calmly.

'What?'

'He's your friend, and you are his, and it's such a pity you were parted and on such a flimsy excuse, too! Why can't you go after him?'

'What could I say, what reason could I give? And anyway, he's got three days head start on me, not to mention that he set out from the Old Palace and…'

'He's travelling with a wagon, a large party of elves, which includes families with elflings. They're not going to be the fastest travellers in the forest! Think, Commander; if you leave soon and run the canopy, you can be in the Old Palace two days hence at the latest, possibly before tomorrow night if the trees are friendly and the weather kind. There you can rest, collect supplies. Going forward, you should be able to cover the same distance in two days that the company will do in three, or longer. You'll have plenty of time to catch them up.'

'But… I…' Triwathon gulped again at the spirits. 'Mae…'

'You need to sort out the command chain while you're gone, of course. I suggest Celeguel for temporary command, she knows Melion's little foibles well enough and is liked and respected. While you do that, I'll sort out enough supplies to get you to the Old Palace. You can be ready before you know it, Commander.'

'I…' Triwathon shook his head. 'This is ridiculous! Even if I do catch up to him, what am I going to say?'

'Why, tell him how you feel about him, of course.' Mae rose from her seat. 'Now, we both have things to do. Come back in an hour and I'll see you out through the Healer's Gate. I am sure you won't want to publicise your going.'

An hour.

He went to his rooms first and packed what he thought he'd need; his letters from Parvon, a spare set of clothes, an extra cloak and left his backpack inside the door while he went to Celeguel and explained briefly.

'…so I am going to the Old Palace to find out the truth,' he said.

'Of course you are,' Celeguel said with her friendly grin. 'And then you're going to run all the way to Ithilien if you have to! Or if that's not your plan, then it should be. You can't just let him go, Triwathon, not without a farewell at least! But if Melion asks, you've been recalled to the Old Palace as far as I know.'

'You're overdue a promotion anyway,' Triwathon went on. 'So I know the New Palace will be in good hands.'

'Go with my best wishes, sir. And don't worry about Mel and Lindir; I'll explain. Once you're long gone, of course. They do like to chatter!'

'They do so,' he agreed, and went to collect his bow and quiver, making sure he had plenty of arrows; the road to the Old Palace was usually safe, but it was still in the forest. After that, he hefted his pack, hiding it under his cloak, and went back to find Healer Maereth.

'I have emergency rations, a water bottle, a bedroll and a healer's pack for you,' she said, handing them over. 'Now, come to the doors, I'll see you off.'

She did so with a hug and a tear-filled smile – Healer Mae was like that, tender-hearted and gentle – and waved as he slid into the forest and up into the canopy.

The trees stirred in sleep, acknowledging him, too winter-locked to really be helpful, but he found his way easily through the branches, and if the trees did not quite reach out to make a pathway for him, well, he still found his way almost effortlessly towards the Old Palace. In the canopy, he could cut a shorter path than the trails followed by the wagons, saving at least two hours of running.

And run he did, flashing through the treetops, leaping from elm to oak to birch to sycamore, heading always south and east of south. As he ran, he was full of doubt and fear and love… on one level he had no real idea why he was doing this; Parvon was able to make his own choices – but, still shocked with his own realisation – that Parvon was who he loved and would forever be who he loved from now on – Triwathon could not simply let him go without at least trying… yet if this was what Parvon wanted, if Triw really loved him, wouldn't he let him do what would make him happiest?

Darkness came, and he paused to sip water and bite into a wafer of lembas, feeling the strength and determination flow back into his limbs. No. If there was a chance, just a chance, that Parvon might look at him, and forgive all the folly of his youth, the adventures of his time with Glorfindel, and the neglect of recent weeks, then surely he had to try, however hopeless?

Around midnight he halted, tucking himself into a notch between the branching trunks of a sweet chestnut; not the tallest of trees, but it had a soft way about it, and was not quite as deep into slumber as the surrounding oaks and birch. It soothed him with its slow, gentle song so that he almost believed all would be well as he drifted into a brief reverie.

Awake again, the smell of the air telling him he'd slept for three hours, perhaps less. It was enough, and he took another sip of water, stretched, and set off once more.

By mid-morning he was overcome once more with hopelessness and slowed to a stop. Possibly he was just tired from the… the swiftness of events, how rapidly things had seemed to be changing, firstly in his favour, only for that now to seem a broken hope. For if Parvon truly believed Triwathon and Melpomaen had connected, then how to convince him otherwise? Where had the notion come from, to start with? Had it simply been that they shared grief for a lost lover? Surely Parvon knew him better than that?

Still, from what he could tell, he was now more than halfway to the Old Palace; it would be foolish to turn back now, and if nothing else, at least he might find answers there.

He went more slowly now, his first mad impetus fading as he struggled with his thoughts. The trees shivered as he passed, aware of him, of the darkening despair of his mood, and that, more than anything – his awareness of the trees' distress, made him try to lift his head and find the courage to continue.

Dusk was falling as he neared the outer perimeter and was hailed by the watch flet. He sent his signal back and accepted their invitation to come to the flet. Well, it wasn't really an invitation, not to a surprise traveller where none was expected, it was more of an order, framed as a polite request, but one which could be backed up by the bows of two lieutenant archers and their flet captain.

'Well met,' he said as he approached along the branch of an adjacent oak. 'Triwathon, Commander from the New Palace. I have urgent business at the Old Palace.'

'Greetings, Commander, we know you, of course. With whom is your business there?'

Good question. Strictly speaking, Triwathon had abandoned his post, disobeyed the direct command of his king, and to compound those transgressions, was headed to the one place he was expressly forbidden, and it would be more than proper for him to be taken in charge by these elves for any of those reasons.

'Healer Nestoril,' he said firmly. 'Urgent correspondence has passed between her and Healer Maereth, in charge of the New Palace Healers' Rooms. I think you will find I am expected.'

He said it with confidence, but it was a guess, really, from what he knew of Nestoril. Since she had written to Mae about Parvon (knowing as she did how close he and Triwathon had been), she must be expecting some sort of response. Certain was it that if the guard dragged him into her presence, though, she would probably ask why the guards had delayed him; she was a good friend.

'Got time for a drink before you head off?' the flet captain asked. 'You look like you could do with one.'

Triwathon hesitated, and the captain shook his head.

'Sorry, if the message is urgent…'

'I would like to stay, but perhaps it is best I do not. I am grateful, however.'

He tipped his head in courtesy and bid them farewell, their voices softly following him across into the canopy trails as he hurried on, eager to reach his destination and hoping that Nestoril would give him, if not a welcome, at least sanctuary and information.

He need not have worried. Entering the garden attached to the Healer's Halls and tapping on the window, he was met with a startled welcome from Healer Gaelbes.

'Commander, come in, sit down! Healer Nestoril said you might be arriving, but we hardly expected you before midnight…'

'I… Healer Gaelbes, my thanks.' Triwathon found his knees weakening as he realised how far he had run, how swiftly. He sank into the nearest chair. 'I'm expected?'

'Well, not across the entire palace, but when dear Master Parvon left, Nestoril said you should be told, and so she wrote to Maereth. Someone from the King's Office was going to write…'

'They did. And my friend Thindo. Everyone, I think.'

'Oh, dear, you do sound glum!' Gaelbes patted his shoulder gently. 'I will send word to Nestoril and we'll find you some supper.'

'No, that's not necessary.'

But she patted his shoulder again and left him there while she went to seek Nestoril.

'Commander?' Healer Nestoril smiled from the corridor that led to her office, beckoning. 'Come and sit with me, I have refreshments coming.'

Triwathon rose and bowed before crossing to follow her. 'Thank you,' he said.

'You're welcome. It's good to see you again, Triwathon, just such a shame it's under these circumstances. Now, come along in, take off your cloak – and your boots, if you like, be comfortable – and take a seat near the fire.'

Soon he was settled, divested of cloak – but not boots – a mug of hot, spiced wine to hand and a plate of freshly-made toast beside him. Nestoril spread a slice with butter and took it for herself.

'There is much to be said for hot toast, is there not?'

Triwathon nodded as Nestoril pushed the plate at him. He began to eat.

'Good, you look hungry, and cold, and tired, but I hope we can soon have you feeling better. Now, I expect you are here because of the letter I wrote Maereth…' She waited for Triwathon to nod. 'Well, I did hint I wished someone would tell you about your friend…'

'I see. No, I don't, I really do not understand… Faerveren wrote to me, and Thindorion, and then Mel and Lindir, Parvon had told them, it seems it is only me he…'

'Yes, well, I did suggest to Master Parvon that he write to you himself, but he said it might seem as if he was doing it for attention, or to make you feel guilty. He did promise to write from Ithilien…'

'Oh.'

'He meant it only kindly, and I think he found leaving… difficult.'

'Could not Thranduil have sent someone else? That is, if Parvon hadn't been ordered to go, do you think he might not have thought of leaving?'

'In fact, Parvon attempted first to resign his post,' a new voice, Thranduil's voice said from the inner doorway as the king himself emerged into the room.

Triwathon rose from his chair and bowed hastily.

'My king, I had not expected to see you here; I… forgive me, sire.'

'For what, Commander Triwathon? For abandoning your post? Or for disobeying my orders to keep away from Master Parvon? Or for speaking out of turn? And do sit down!'

Experience had shown Triwathon that cowering before the king did not go down well; he gathered his courage and considered the accusations as calmly as he could.

'For the last of the three, sire. My post has been taken over by Captain Celeguel, an admirable officer, and strictly speaking, I am now further away from Parvon than ever.' He said it with a sigh he could not prevent. 'However, if my words sounded at all disrespectful, my king, I apologise.'

Thranduil waved acceptance of the apology and seated himself on the other side of the fireplace.

'Having done all in my power to provide Parvon a good working environment – I brought his apprentice home, I sent Master Melion away when it became apparent they did not mesh well – it had been my intention to send word to the New Palace that I required the presence of Elder Gomben. Since he is in custody there, I would have insisted that the Garrison Commander bring him before me in chains. However before I could do this, Parvon came to me in considerable distress.' He gave a sideways glance at Nestoril beside him. 'I was advised that, as unhappy as he seemed, making him stay might provoke him into foolishness. Rather than accept Parvon's resignation and free him from service, I found a task for him which made his journey to Ithilien… plausible. I confess I also hope to give him time to reconsider; the forest needs Master Parvon, he is the last of his ilk and while his apprentice Faerveren looks to be shaping well, he is still lacking in the polish both Lord Arveldir and Master Parvon brought to the King's Office.'

The king rose from his seat and crossed to a small table which held a decanter of red wine and glasses. He served himself and, his back still towards Triwathon, turned to look over his shoulder at him.

'Master Oldor at the King's Office is keeper of the documents regarding the journey to Ithilien and beyond to Valinor. In the morning, he will bring you all the information you need for your forthcoming travels. The Healers' Hall will provide you with a bed for the night, and as far as I am concerned, you were never here. Good luck, Commander. I will not see you before you go.'

The king raised his glass and drank down the contents. With a nod to Nestoril, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Triwathon shook his head and reached for his spiced wine.

'If I'd known the king would be here…'

'Don't worry. He thought speaking to you this way was the best way of keeping your visit as private as possible.' Nestoril smiled, reached across to pat his hand. 'Now, I have had a nice room made ready for you, so if you have finished your drink, let me show you through. You will go all the faster tomorrow after a good night's rest.'