At the archery butts, Triwathon didn't wait for Govon to announce him; rather, he whistled off his identifying signal towards the archers. A hail in return, almost an automatic response, and bows were lowered, heads turned.

One elf amongst them lifted his hand in recognition, a hunter Triw remembered from the days of the War.

'Captain, come over, why not?'

Thus invited, Triw loped over. The hunter stood back from the targets to greet him with an arm clasp.

'Greetings to you; Cýrion, is it not?'

The elf nodded. 'Triwathon, well met.'

'I've not seen you since before the Battle Under the Trees; it's good to know your name can be spoken… How do you fare in Ithilien?'

'Ah, not too badly. We had some trouble…' The hunter shrugged, one shoulder moving less freely than the other. 'I am just working my way back to fitness after a skirmish…'

'Knife to the shoulder, was it?'

'An orc blade. Well, I know you know what that's like…'

Triwathon nodded, began to wander as if idly to a felled tree trunk which served as seating. Cýrion lowered himself to it, hunching into the memory.

'I had heard you've had a bit of trouble with orcs recently,' Triw said softly, allowing Cýrion to reply or not, as he chose.

'And we heard you'd had a little bother in the north with dragons of late?'

Triw almost laughed.

'Yes, you could say that. Just when you think the dangers have gone and the fighting is done, you find out there's something more to face.'

'Did you lose anyone? Who mattered, that is?'

'I did. Each village has names they cannot speak freely now. Personally, I lost an old and very dear friend. He was not from our forest, though; we lost no hunters or warriors, since the attack came to the villages where we had no presence; the people there had not wanted us watching over them, they felt it impinged on their freedom, so while our response was immediate, we were too far from them… they would not even permit hunters to live amongst them, said they were looking all the time…! Sadly, some paid for their freedom with their lives… It is wrong, always, when those who do not fight are caught up in destruction and death.'

'We all lost friends in orc-skirmish. Amongst us, the bonds are close, more so than in the guard…'

'So I have always understood.'

'Govon tries to understand, he does, but for all he spent so many years on a flet, the prince is more hunter than he is; I do not criticise, you understand, it is but a statement…'

'Yes, I know what you mean. I've been travelling with the hunters who came down from Eryn Lasgalen; the way each looked to the other first and the over-commander second… it was natural amongst them, and the over-commander trusted them with that. It is a burden, as one in charge, to have everyone look to you; if a company can look to each of its members, then all are stronger.'

'Until one dies, and then it breaks all our hearts.'

'The commander says, two from your company were lost?'

The elf nodded, rubbing his hands together, his gaze intent on his fingertips, blinking more often that was usual for elves.

'Friends to us all, comrades, trusted shots, laughter in all our hearts… one was my other knife, my second bow, and I was his.'

The turn of phrase – my other knife, my second bow, could refer to the hunters' practice of having one in particular amongst the troop to train with and fight beside in combat stance. But and I was his suggested to Triw more than that, it intimated a closeness… bed-friends, lovers, something deeper than troop-friendship and trust, something more personal, but not to be admitted amongst the company lest it cause an imbalance of the troop dynamic.

'That's hard, then.'

'Govon doesn't know. My friends in the troop, none of them know. It is a pain I nurse privately… but you will understand. You, your first friend died.'

'Yes. Three dragons, we all had been given our orders, but… then he died. We were under open skies, there was no hiding.'

'It does not always pay to leave the forest.'

'You're right, Cýrion. And none know it better than the hunters, however much training is given.'

'Govon, now,' Cýrion went on. 'He doesn't understand what it is to be a hunter. He thinks he does, he tries, but… that is worse than admitting he doesn't know, and allowing us to tell him. He wants us to be led like warriors. It does not always suit.'

'There are formal guards here, though? One of the companies is made up of the regulars?'

'That's true, and they understand Govon, and he them. We… it is hard to express. We are right for Ithilien, for trees and wildlife and the paths. We are not right for formal drills and marching and precision stances and… and impressing Men we do not know. We are not sword fighters, we are knife-skilled and bow-keen. Govon… he brings an ill-fitting formal helm to our mere hunter's garb. For all that he honours the old ways, for all that he tries.'

'I understand Govon faced our king once, in warrior paint, to fight for his fëa-mate with twin blades,' Triwathon said cautiously, not wanting to offend, but feeling that the commander needed some sort of support. 'His father taught him; I had thought them traditional to us?'

'That's so.' Cýrion nodded. 'I realise, too, that you have worked with twin blades. But you also want to protect the forest, and keep safe the silly villagers in spite of their resistance. It is a hunter's heart you have, Triwathon.'

'You honour me indeed!'

'You are also a fine shot. Govon would set us all to work with twin blades, yet swords are hard for hunters to carry, knives and bows are easier, so what use are they to us? Twin swords are not done amongst the hunters and we do not wish to learn.'

From him…

The words, though unvoiced, were loud in Triwathon's mind. He wondered what else Govon had done to alienate or offend the hunters.

'It is difficult, sometimes, to command,' he said. 'I had never thought it would come to me, and Govon was a long time on a flet…'

'Yes. In all those decades, though, he never lost anyone he cared for, did he?'

'I… had not thought. Well, his father, of course, Govon was just a little too young for Dagorlad, so I heard…'

'I heard he could have gone, had his father supported him. But his mother begged for him to stay. They say there was foresight, and she knew if her son went, neither would return.' Cýrion shrugged. 'I do not doubt Govon's courage or willingness to fight, for I have seen it. But in battle, he never lost a lover, never saw a brother or sister fall.'

'It is a grief of its own.' Triwathon reached out with all his empathy and understanding, for there was something important here, something vital setting Govon apart from the hunters, and if he just held his patience a little longer, perhaps it would come out…

'He never cradled a dying friend, or sat in the circle speaking politely to the stone in front of parents and siblings of the one you grieve from the bottom of your soul… How can he know how our heart has been ripped out by our loss, who never wept over a dead comrade?

…and there it was! Cýrion, all the hunters, had lost an important part of their family when their two friends had fallen, and it was a bitter taste, a rending grief in which the commander could not share…

'The one who died for the forest… the outsider…' Cýrion abruptly shifted his focus. 'Is he the one the gemstone has been brought for? The lord from Gondolin?'

Triw nodded, suddenly wary.

'Where did he die? How? Alone, or…?'

'In the forest with the bodies of two slain dragons around him, burned by fire and ripped by talons. And my arms, in fact.' Triw bit down on the words, stunned at how tears still wanted to well up in his eyes. 'We were not alone; his other friends were near. Long before – after the Three Dragons, before the lone dragon Smaug – we were…'

Cýrion reached across to touch Triwathon's wrist.

'He was the clasps to your braids. Come to the memory-speaking tonight,' he said. 'Remember him with us.'

'He was not… we were no longer… it had become friendship between us. He left a lover behind in Imladris to mourn him, and I… I am lately married, so I…'

'So you need to let him go in order to turn away from him, and towards your new love.' Cýrion kept his gaze on his moving hands. 'I have no new lover, but that is as it should be, how it was for us. Who do you hold, now? Who is your other knife? A warrior? A hunter? He would be bold, to follow the Hero of Gondolin!'

Triwathon smiled to himself.

'He is the beat of my heart, the hands in my hair, the string to my bow. And he is a King's Elf.'

'Ah, then bold, indeed, then, to speak to and for and before our Elvenking! But how comes it, that you, a warrior, a commander, a survivor of the Battle Under the Trees and a King's Elf…?'

'He saw me in my youth and his, and knew he loved me. At that time, my eyes were on my first lover, and I never knew. Then, when he looked at me again, I had just found joy with the Hero of Gondolin, so I did not see him then, either. Circumstance took us apart, but then brought us together in the New Palace; I commanded the garrison, he led the organisation of the court. Working together made us friends, but even then, I did not see my love for him, not until he turned is face to the west and decided to take ship… and then, then I knew I could not be without him.' Triwathon smiled to himself, feeling the truth of it. 'His name is Parvon. But he is far more than just a King's Elf; he is a forest elf, for the night of the dragons, he came out to fight, and to bring our people home safely. Later, he argued with our king for us, raged at him, for making us leave.'

'Bold, indeed, then.' Cýrion looked up abruptly. 'The commander approaches. Will you shoot with me? I do not feel like long speech with him.'

'Gladly.' Triwathon rose and followed his new friend across to the archery butts. The hunters made way for him, hailing Cýrion and asking who he'd brought, a new hunter for try-outs, or what?

'Triwathon, formerly of the Dragon Guard for the Elvenking, lately stationed at the New Palace,' he said, introducing himself. 'Cýrion says I may show you how badly I shoot and you will not laugh too hard?'

'Ah, fresh blood at last!' one laughed. 'We know each other too well, you see, so new competition is always good to have!'

Govon wandered up, calling out from the side-lines.

'Triwathon, they have a vacancy, if you're interested?'

He said it laughingly, meaning to be friendly, but it felt to Triwathon as if the hunters closed ranks against the commander.

'I don't have the skills, Commander,' he called across lightly. 'Besides, I have a husband to consider…'

'Well, take a shot, if you're going to!' someone said, voice tense, terse.

With a smile, Triwathon unslung his bow and nocked an arrow, trying for a slow fluidity of motion to cover the fact that he'd not practised for a few days and was a little nervous lest he shoot wide under these not-quite-friendly eyes… breathe in, hold, sight, feel at one with the earth, the bow, the arrow, the target, and release…

A good, solid 'thunk!' as the arrow landed in the target, edging the gold but really more of it in the red. It was enough, though, for Cýrion to cheer and a few kind words to come from the gathered hunters.

'Mind, it takes more than one shot to impress these fellows!' Govon called.

Triw turned towards him, bowed.

'I would expect no less, Commander; these are hunters, they do not shoot for acclaim, but to live.'

A murmur of surprise came from around the edges of the group. Well, it was good to see he still remembered some of the things that had been shared around the campfires; Celeguel in particular had used to talk about her time in the hunters, long before the presses of war encouraged her to join the formal army.

Setting that aside for the moment, Triw nocked another arrow, trying to make all his motions swift and sure and fluid, not pausing between shots but putting another five arrows into the target. He made the gold twice and the red three times, but was never too far from the inner ring.

'That's fair work,' someone said. 'Cýrion, you might like to ask your friend to shoot with us in the morning.'

'Will you, Triwathon?' Cýrion asked.

'I'd like to. But I must see if my husband has any plans…'

'Bring him, he can watch,' another of the elves suggested.

'In fact, he is a better shot than I, on his day,' he said, almost apologetically. 'Sitting and watching would not be easy for him. But I thank you for this courtesy. Now, though, I think I am wanted.'

'Then bring him, let him take a turn. But you will come tonight?' Cýrion asked, walking him over to where Govon waited. 'It's for all the barracks, so don't fear intruding. Bring your husband, if you want, if you can share before him. But… we will all welcome you. My friends like you.'

'I'd like that,' Triw said, finding, to his astonishment, that he really did think another night of speaking memories about Glorfindel would be pleasant, after all. 'If I can, I will.'

'How did you do that?' Govon asked, once they were out of the woodland boundary and heading back to the cave settlement. 'I thought they'd eat you alive! It must have helped that you introduced yourself; probably better than coming from me. I cannot for the life of me understand what I have done to earn their disapproval, but there it is; they simply do not want or need my leadership… However, did you see if there were any who felt out of place with them, who might want to change? You were a long time with one in particular…'

'I know Cýrion from before.' Triwathon shook his head. Much though he wanted to explain the hunters to Govon as he had tried to support Govon to Cýrion, it suddenly felt as if it would be a betrayal… 'As to anything more, I could not say.'

Parvon was not in their room when Triwathon returned there, but he had not had time to do more than take off his coat and boots and wish his fëa-mate were back when he felt a brightening of mood, and the door opened, bringing Parvon home.

'Triw!' he exclaimed as he walked towards him with open arms. 'There you are, how has your day passed? I hope you were not bored or lonely?'

Triwathon hugged him, felt the soothe of his fëa as he was cuddled close.

'No, I've just returned, my pen-pusher! Govon found me some hunters to shoot with; I did not quite disgrace myself, but said my husband was better; so will you come tomorrow to shoot with me, and them?'

Parvon nestled for a moment, kissed Triw's cheek.

'I would love to, if…' he said, and then fell silent as if thinking about something. 'Yes, that would be wonderful; I've not had chance to practise for a few days. What are they like, these friends?'

'Well, only one is a friend, and then really just someone I know from around the forest companies, so more that we were friendly faces to each other, I think…' Triw took Parvon's hand and pulled him to sit on the side of the bed. 'They've had losses, so they know how we feel, love. But how was your meeting with the scribes? You seem happy, did you have fun?'

Parvon laughed. 'Yes, strange as it may sound, yes, I did! This morning, Legolas had a coffer stuffed with random papers and two scribes trying to run after him with things for him to do and sign, and now he has his own administrative wing, the two scribes have titles, desks and a filing system, and there is even a notice, and a curtain across the corridor; it has been a very successful first morning, and I am sure they will do well. But you? This matter on which Govon wanted your help, is it secret?'

Triw laughed.

'It is not. Unless he has another purpose than the one which he asks for aid with. Mago's intention to sail has left a space in the ranks for a captain, so that Govon can promote up through the ranks and appoint a Second-in-Command from them. He wanted my thoughts on whom amongst them stood out to me. Of course, he is quite capable of managing his own companies, but I think he wanted an objective opinion… I do not think Tawon, should he return, will find himself advancing any time soon, though.'

'Ah, poor Tawon! And yet, he could not even lead four other elves without one of them nearly getting hurt.'

'True. And, unfortunately for Govon, most of his elves are fairly equal in skills, from what I can see. He was thinking about promoting from the hunter group, but I do not think any would choose to leave; you know enough of hunters to know they are as close as family! Govon does not need a Second there, he needs a liaison captain!'

'Well, I am glad you have had a good morning; it has been strange to be apart from you, but somehow it makes being back together nicer.' Parvon hesitated, trying to find the right words for what he would say. 'We have been fortunate, I suppose, that duty has not taken us apart since we took our vows. It is not so for many couples. Yet there may come a time… we will have to have something to keep ourselves busy in Valinor, we must make our way… and so time apart will happen… and although…'

'…although that is usual, to me it feels that I have wasted so many years, when I could have been with you, that any time not spent with you, loving you, making up to you, Parvon, is wasted… and yet…'

'Don't think that, love! For it seems to me, that, long though I waited, it makes the present all the sweeter. And I think, earlier would not have been right for you. Time spent regretting is time wasted, especially if it makes you feel unhappy for the past, when we have now, and tomorrow, and all our days ahead. No, time apart makes time together better.'

Triwathon smiled down to himself and reached to take Parvon's hand.

'So,' he began, 'is now a good time to say I've been invited to the barracks tonight…?'

Parvon laughed.

'Love, if you wish to spend time at the barracks, that's fine. Will we eat together first?'

'Of course. And… other things before the day meal, and then, they are not expecting me until after supper, if… if it pleases you…'

'I think you know it pleases me very well.' Parvon's smile was shy, suddenly. 'I never imagined anything could be as wonderful as you, and me, together in such a way.'

'Nor I, never did I think anything could be better than…'

Triwathon broke off with a gulp, flushing with shame, and Parvon hastened to kiss him, hoping that by so doing, he would distract his husband from the realisation that he'd almost spoken of previous encounters and lead him to believe that Parvon hadn't noticed. Certainly, Triw responded eagerly enough…

Presently, afterwards, long after the call for the day meal had come and gone, and later again, Parvon lifted his head from Triwathon's shoulder and smiled into his eyes.

'It's lovely to have privacy,' he said. 'Real privacy, that is, to have solid walls and doors between us and the world.'

'It does mean we cannot see the stars…'

'Lightwells. They are for the next stage. The main room of the new Office of His Highness, Legolas, Prince in Ithilien...'

'The what? The who?'

'The new administrative division. Anyway, that has a lightwell. It will make a very good effect when one sits beneath it to impress and daunt visitors…'

'You really did enjoy your morning, didn't you, if you're still talking about it…?'

'I've enjoyed the afternoon more, love. But yes, it felt… easy, to be showing elves how to manage their royals and their records…'

'And me, it was good to talk – to listen to the hunters. That's why I want to go to the barracks tonight, they're welcoming the gemstone…' He swallowed. 'Parvon, I hope you don't mind, I know we said… we'd remembered enough, but… and you are invited, too, if you'd like to come.'

'I think it's different, remembering amongst different people. When I oversaw the hunters, at the waystation, the morning I refused the boat… it was different from any of the other occasions. Of course you should go, if you've been asked, if you don't mind it. I'll gladly bear you company.'

'You are very kind. Very good to me, Parvon, I… am so grateful…!'

'You don't need to be, you know.' Parvon pushed himself up onto his elbow, drifting a stray strand of his husband's hair out of the way for him. 'It's getting late, love. We need to dress, it's almost time for the meal. And you, my love, have made me work up quite an appetite.'

Triw sighed, and squirmed, and appealed with his eyes and hips, but Parvon smiled.

'Now, what shall I say? That my appetite for you is undimmed, which is true, but makes it sound as if our joining was not perfect and fulfilling… or that we really must get dressed, which makes me seem cold…? Or that your hunger may just be down to not taking the day meal… Yet if we move now, there is the promise of later as enticement and spice to the evening…'

'My diplomat! My pen-pushing politician! You know how there is this tale that Men and other races say, 'do not go to the elves for counsel, for they will say both No and Yes'?'

'I have heard as much.' Parvon extricated himself from his husband and reached for his garments.

'I have a theory. I think it is because they spoke to a King's Elf.'

Parvon was still laughing when he tied off his lacings and passed Triwathon his shirt.

'Oh, love, you know, you could be right? Now, can I help you with anything?'

'That would entail getting out of your shirt again… you're not… not going to wear your King's Elf crow robes tonight, are you?'

'Crow…? Ai, Canadion and his jokes; the term will stick, now you have used it with me! No. I've done my duty, I've passed the gemstone out of my keeping and into the prince's care, so there's no need. Tonight I am not on duty, I am just as you see me now.'

He spread his arms, indicating the shirt, tunic, leggings and soft boots he'd pulled on while Triw was navigating his own shirt.

'And a delight for my eyes, indeed!' Triwathon smiled, eyes appreciating him. 'You show up much more to advantage out of your formal robes.'

A blush spread across Parvon's face; he felt as if he were on fire with it, still unused to Triw's admiration. To cover his sudden sense of being almost shy again, he extended his hand.

'Come, love. Let's to the dining hall; the sooner we arrive, the sooner we can leave.'