Parvon lingered for a moment before Parvon taking Triw's hand and leading him away from the starlight gemstone and back to their previous seats to sit and drink and to permit their fëar to settle after the lingering emotion of remembering. To Parvon it seemed as if people were keeping away from them, for the common room was full of guards and hunters remembering, drinking, talking, except for their corner, but whether that was out of respect for Triwathon's connection to the dead hero, or from uncertainty as to how, after such emotive words to the stone, to approach them, he was unsure. But soon Parvon felt the light of Triw's fëa begin to glow once more as his husband recovered himself, he smiled again, and looked around to lift a hand in recognition to someone, and presently an elf in relaxed hunter-style garb came to offer greetings.

He hailed Triwathon in easy tones and offered a cautiously friendly greeting to Parvon.

'I am Cýrion, of the Ash Grove hunter clan. You are Master Parvon? Your husband shot a little with us today, and we invited him, and you, for the morrow's practice bout, if that is well with you?'

'Hunter Cýrion, well met. Yes, I am grateful, I find I am looking forward to it very much. Although it has been a few days since I worked with my bow.'

'Ai, that is what your husband said, and he outshot many of us! He warned us it would not be in your nature to sit and watch! I think I shall fear you!'

'It will be a pleasure to match shots with you.'

'I shall look forward to it.' Cýrion bowed, spoke to Triwathon. 'Some of my friends have asked me to invite you – both – to join the Ash Grove hunters for conversation and drinking, if it pleases you. We are curious about your recent problems with dragons, I will be honest, since we have had losses amongst our own number; there are still orcs at large here and there.'

'It grieves me to hear that you have suffered,' Parvon said. 'The world is not as safe as it promised to be, for all the Dark Lord is fallen.'

'These are the dregs, we hope,' Cýrion said. 'The last evils to be cleared away. But for what? For whom? Not for elvenkind, for this will be the age of Men. Perhaps we could talk also about your plans to sail? For some of us wonder if it might be good, while others fear there will be no welcome…'

'We will gladly come and talk with you,' Triwathon said. 'That is, Parvon?'

'Of course,' Parvon said, rising to show his willingness to follow. 'For myself, I have been curious about Ithilien, how you have settled in a forest where you were not born. Perhaps we can each learn of each other?'

Although he did rather wonder, at first, as if he'd been invited purely because he was attached to Triwathon, the hunters were welcoming, friendly and were indeed curious about sailing, so that Parvon almost automatically fell into his former role of laying out clearly all the ramifications of travelling to the Undying Lands, laying everything out for the hunters as he had for those who had chosen to sail, explainging that Silvans were welcome (and, indeed, the hero they had been honouring tonight, he had said so himself), that it was not usually an onerous journey. He added that his own parents had sailed, after the end of the War of the Ring, and noted that it would be easier, in fact, for them, since they were in Ithilien already, close to where the ships were building.

'True, it is not a decision to be taken lightly,' he finished. 'But if several were travelling together, friends, then they would not be alone when they landed, and it might make the arrival seem less daunting.'

'Is that why you are going now, Master Parvon?' one asked. 'So that you and your husband, and Master Thindorion and Captain Magorion will have friends for the trip, and when you arrive?'

Parvon smiled over the laughter.

'They have each other, I do not think they will need us! Are there many of you who might wish to take ship?'

Everyone looked at one another, as if unwilling to admit to such a thing, and Parvon felt almost as if they were drawing away.

'Forgive me,' he said hastily, 'do not think I am prying, nor that I think you should sail, or stay, or what you should do, for that is for each and every individual to consider; I meant only that Ithilien seems beautiful to me, and I think will be more so, with your work here.'

'Ah, well, it is not the Greenwood.' Cýrion chose to answer on the others' behalf. 'Yet it is a fair land, and the voices of the trees are friendly. The Men, though… we did not realise we would have to interact with so many of them, nor that they would step where they are forbidden by their laws and our treaty. But that is for our prince to sort out, of course.'

'Of course. Also, I can suppose perhaps it would feel awkward, having followed the prince, if one were to then realise that life is not as one may have hoped. Even I have noticed that the woods here have a pleasant air. In spring they will be even more beautiful.'

'Yes, it is a pity you will not see it for yourself,' Cýrion said. 'South of Osgiliath, the woodlands are deep and rich and private, and we hope to relocate there, once the immediate woods are healed. Why did you say you are sailing?'

Before Parvon could point out that, in fact, he had not mentioned his reasons, Triwathon laughed his way into to the conversation.

'Ah, Cýrion! We are going because it is time for Parvon to sail!' he said, filling drinking cups around with rich red wine. 'He and I, our life's work was in the New Palace, and now that is gone, and my husband has no kin here, he misses his brother dearly, and so we sail, for my place is at his side.'

'If our prince sails, we would likely go with him,' Cýrion said. 'If it was his wish. But meanwhile, we are here, for good or ill. Ithilien is beautiful, yet at times, it is hard. It is not really home, yet.'

'The New Palace and its trees became home to us swiftly,' Triwathon said. 'We were making what was to be the new seat of governance for the kingdom. But after the attack, our king decided that it was not safe for us after all, that it was too near dwarves, and so he commanded that the settlement be disbanded. Thus we are displaced, unhoused, our plans in disarray, because of his wishes.' He turned to Parvon suddenly, laying a hand on his arm. 'I know, Parvon, I know, it goes against the grain to say so. The king is acting in our best interests, for our safety, but… we did not seek to be safe, my love, did we? When did you or I ever seek safety over duty? We chose to face the dangers and make something for ourselves.' He gestured around. 'And that is why I honour you so much, Hunters of Ithilien, that despite your losses and the dangers you have faced, you are still here, you have not returned north to the sanctuary of the Elvenking.'

'Mind, he will not have had the report yet,' Cýrion said, looking round at his hunter companions. 'But what would we choose, if he were to summon us home as he did our new friends here?'

A murmur went up from the group.

'He would not…'

'He could not…'

'We would not hear him…'

'We are for the prince…'

'We could not commit treason and refuse our king, not even for our Legolas…'

'But if our king demanded our return, and our prince as well, what then?'

'Then we could choose, follow our prince or we could sail as an alternative…'

'But all this is… it is so… not what we thought might…'

Triwathon looked across at Cýrion with an apology before catching Parvon's eye. For a moment, the hunters were engaged completely with the debate and paid no attention.

'Ah, should I have kept silent, do you think, Parvon? But I needed to speak! Some of these elves would be less happy in Valinor than even… I… they can imagine!'

'No, I think you are right; all sides need to be voiced, and you have an informed opinion. And these elves – you care about them.'

'What they suffered – it is like what we went through, only worse, because they lost friends from their hunter clan. They feel it more because they are so close-knit.'

'Not worse than your loss, love.' He turned to Cýrion who was once more listening, and tilted his head in acknowledgement. 'Let us hope that our king will not order you and your friends home because of your losses, Hunter Cýrion.'

'Master Parvon, he is our king, after all. Yet who likes to be told what to do?' Cýrion said. 'Shout is over there, I'll call him over; he has served for so long, he will have thoughts on this, I am sure, and hunters and guard alike respect his opinions. He will bring Petals, no doubt.'

'Who?' Parvon asked, for he had not heard of anyone by that name amongst the company.

One of the other hunters laughed, and came to sit nearer to Parvon.

'His spouse. You may know them by other names, perhaps,' she said. 'But amongst ourselves, we choose short names, easier and quicker to say and to signal. I am Abonnessel, but to my friends in the group, I am Hind, for I saw a doe give birth on my walkabout. Captain Thiriston is Shout, because he used to shout warnings whenever he threw his practice knives, and his husband is Petals, because in celebration times, Thiriston draws many-petalled flowers on his face.'

Cýrion came back, bringing with him Thiriston and Canadion. Room was made for them to sit, wine cups passed to them and filled.

'Shout, we had not thought before, but the fate of Master Parvon and Triwathon's homes has got us thinking… what do you believe our king will do, when he learns of the skirmish we had? Will he summon us home, or leave us be? And what of our prince and the colony here?'

Thiriston shrugged.

'Not sure. Though, I think he was right, about the New Palace.' He grimaced at Parvon and Triw. 'Sorry. But… stubborn people, they didn't listen when you said, live nearer, I know, and they paid for it. Didn't lose warriors or hunters, just people who thought they was safe. Here's different. Hunters, trained for it. Meant to protect the home talain, the trails, the people. Think the king'd let us choose for ourselves, myself. Not that I'm here for more than two months at a time, mind.'

'Adar Hanben does not like to be so near Men,' Canadion said sadly. 'Else he and Adar might come down, and then, it would be nice to settle here.'

'But family is important,' Parvon agreed, trying not to ponder on how well the hunter's name 'Petals' might or might not suit the elf who he knew could be a vicious fighter, despite his outward gentleness. 'So you do your best to be everywhere at once! Do not tire yourself out, mellon-nin, trying to be too much for too many people!'

'I might say that to you,' Triwathon said, interrupting with a laugh. 'Well, it has been pleasant to share the evening here, but perhaps it is time for us to go, especially if we are shooting against you on the morrow, Cýrion!'

'Ah, but if you stay here drinking, and you lose tomorrow, then there is your reason for it! But I wanted to make you known to others of our friends, if you will come, Triwathon? Hunters of the Rowan Vale clan, they are good fellows…'

Cyrion already had his hand on Triw's arm, pulling him up. He looked at his husband with longing and uncertainty.

'I… Parvon…?'

'I'll keep your husband company, never fear,' Abonnessel put in. 'And you know he'll be safe with me! Master Parvon, shall we go back to where you were seated earlier? You still have almost a full bottle of wine there!'

'Why not?' he replied, smiling, and rose to follow her back to where he had sat with Triw.

From here there was a clear view of the starlight gemstone at its table; occasionally one or two would wander over and speak softly together, hunters and guards talking their memories out.

Abonnessel poured wine and eased herself comfortable on the bench and slid a goblet over to Parvon; he was put in mind of some coiled predator relaxing, but she smiled, and for a time they talked of Ithilien, its fauna and flora, the song of its trees, how it was in pain and required healing.

'Much as your part of the forest will now, after the dragons,' she said. 'It will heal, in time.'

'It had only just begun to recover after the Battle Under the Trees. Triw worked so hard there, and to have dragons after that is a cruel fate.'

'I heard the one who has been honoured with the gemstone was mighty against them. But I have no memories of him. Was he very special?'

Parvon nodded, trying not to let his disbelief show; it was possible that Abonnessel, Silvan hunter down to her fëa, may well not have heard of Glorfindel of Gondolin. Unlikely, but possible, and so he tried to answer fairly.

'Amongst his people, he was. One of the Firstborn, he sacrificed himself for…'

He broke off as he saw laughter in her eyes.

'Forgive me,' she said. 'My meaning was that I didn't know him, but I knew of him. I heard he had been known at the Old Palace, and, especially, to your husband… I wondered what he might be to you, that is all!'

'Ah, I see! To me, the Lord of Gondolin was someone who arrived in the Old Palace following the Battle of the Three Dragons, one who befriended Triwathon when he needed it. Now, I am indebted to him for his efforts to protect the elves of the New Palace.'

'You are kind, to know Triwathon's past with this hero, and not to mind it.'

'I wouldn't say that I don't mind it – but I have learned to accept that the past is unchangeable. As for kind – well, Triw was kind to me when I loved him in vain – when the feelings were new to me, if he laughed at my foolishness, he never did so to my face, or to any who would repeat it – and when my emotions had matured and I had learned to manage them, Triw allowed me to become his friend.'

Parvon glanced across to where his husband had moved to a different, larger table and seemed to be deeply engaged in a drinking ritual with Cýrion. He looked utterly at home, comfortable and confident, and even as he was glad his husband was happy, he winced inside at the thought of taking Triw away from Ithilien and onto a ship… how was that 'kind'? he wondered…

'Don't mind them,' Abonnessel said, misreading his focus on the drinking party. 'Cýrion lost a friend. He needs to get utterly drunk, but he knows us too well to let go amongst us. Your husband is a chance to unlock his grief.'

'Triw deserves a chance to relax.' Parvon nodded towards the gemstone. 'He is still in pain from the loss of his friend, at times.'

'I thought the sadness in his eyes was must be for the hero, the why of it is explained, now. But what of the sorrow in your own?'

'I… Hunter Abonnessel…?'

'It is there, I see it, I hear it, it is part of your song. Is it for the brother Triwathon mentioned? Your parents sailed, you told us, but your brother? Did he sail with them?'

'He died.' Unable to meet her eyes, Parvon brought out the words to explain. 'The Battle Under the Trees, he was part of the king's bodyguard. Thranduil brought me the news in person, with the gemstone allotted my brother. He… it was meant to help.'

Briefly an arm went about his shoulders, a gentle hug. 'I think I know who your brother was. Very tall, taller than you are not, with hair lighter but the same eyes, his fëa full of laughter. One to dance across the hall at breakfast and make people smile, not scold.'

Parvon smiled, eyes still downcast. 'That was him. They would say, together we made a good average; he had my height, I had his solemnity.'

'And you miss him, so would sail to meet again?'

'Amongst other reasons.'

'But, even were he the most blameless elf to have lived, he will not be done in the Halls, yet, surely?'

A frown drew Parvon's brows together and he raised his head, considering. It had never crossed his mind that Fonor would still be in Námo's keeping…

'He was why my parents sailed,' he said. 'At the time, I did not think if they had left early; I was busy trying to establish the New Palace, and I hid from my loss in work. But you are right, he may not be reborn yet.'

She nodded and rose from her place.

'Come, let's fetch your husband. The drinking game with Cýrion has progressed. Now both look to be playing to lose…'

Following, Parvon soon saw what she meant; several empty bottles stood between Triwathon and the hunter, and as he watched he noted Triw's deliberately steady hand as he lifted a cup and drank swiftly. His hand and the cup dropped to his side, the cup angled awkwardly, before he shook his head and swept his arm up, setting the empty goblet down hard on the table with a clatter. Cýrion raised his own drinking cup, but only managed to wave it in the air before he set it down again.

'Not enough room f'r the wine 'n there…' he said. 'Need… need bigger cups…'

'No, Cýrion, what you need is to allow Master Parvon's husband to take him home,' Abonnessel said, laughter in her voice as she slid a hand under Triw's elbow to lift him up. 'Come along, you need to go home. Good Master Parvon has been drinking with me, and needs your arm!'

'Mellyn-nin, it has been very…' Triwathon trailed off, nodding and smiling. 'Parvon! My lovely crow! We need to go home, it's late, and we're shooting tomorrow against hunters… You need your rest…!'

'Believe me, I would not find it shameful to lose to hunters, whether I was rested or no. But that does not mean we should make it easy for them!' Parvon agreed. 'And so, goodnight all!'

Laughter and called goodnights followed as he took Triwathon's arm, and steered him from the barracks. Outside, the night was glittering bright with stars against the midnight velvet of clear skies, the air brittle with cold, their breath pluming. Triw sobered up in the fresh air.

'Sorry, my crow, my love,' he said. 'I just… relaxed. Maybe a touch too much, do you mind?'

'No, of course I do not mind. As long as you have had a good evening. Although I do not think you are as drunk as you would have had Cýrion and his friends believe…'

'I hope not, or I'll not be able to stand up tomorrow, let alone shoot straight!' Triw gave a huge grin of a smile. 'Red was one for drinking games, and I could not match him, so I learned to dissemble, to get drunk enough for him to believe me in my cups, but not so drunk I became ill.' He shuddered, as if at some memory. 'There is rather a lot of wine in a jug beneath where I sat, but I did drink a little too deep! It was good to feel so much at ease. And you?'

'Well, it was interesting,' Parvon said. 'Although I seem not to have the knack of speaking to pure hunters quite yet.'

'It would come, if you were to spend time around them.'

'I am sure it would. What Abonnessel said, of the tradition of short names amongst them, it interested me. I wonder what you would be? Bright, because of your eyes, perhaps, or Glow, because your fëa shines so…?'

'They already have a name for me. And no, it is not Little Elkling – it is Follow.'

'That's… unusual. Is there a reason?'

'Because I used to be silly, and would always follow where Red would lead me.' He sighed. 'It is not something I care to remember. Perhaps I would earn a new name, in time.'

'Perhaps so,' Parvon agreed, wondering why Triw thought he might wish for a name at all in the hunter style. He turned the subject a little. 'I wonder whether our king knows how difficult things are here?'

'Parvon, it is up to the prince to tell him, not you. You will never escape Ithilien if you allow yourself to become involved…'

Triwathon laughed as he said it, but there was an edge of near-hysteria to his tone and Parvon hastened to turn the subject yet further.

'It was kind of them to invite me to talk with them, for I think it was your company they really wished for. I am quite looking forward to testing my bow against them in the morning.'

'They were welcoming, were they not? I like them, I had a fine evening. They understand – about loss, about… oh, all manner of things. But with you I agree; tomorrow will be fun, I am certain.'