Back in their room, settled for the night, Parvon could simply not sleep.

At his side, Triw lay abandoned to reverie, stretched out on his back across the bed, lips a little apart and the breath coasting out and in with soothing regularity. He looked utterly relaxed and at peace, and Parvon focused his attention, listening for his mood, perhaps to catch a glimpse of his dreams, but, possibly because of the amount of alcohol Triw had consumed earlier, his beloved husband was beyond the depth for dreams at present.

There was no reason to be wakeful, but Parvon's mind kept running back and forth across recent events. Triw's comment about never escaping Ithilien, for example; it had been said with a jesting laugh, but when he had spoken of the hunters' understanding of loss, he had given a sigh that was so soft as to almost pass as a breath. Parvon had heard it nevertheless.

The fact of the matter was, he was becoming increasingly concerned about his fëa-mate. As they had drawn nearer and nearer to Ithilien, Triwathon's mood had become more determinedly cheery, and although they loved and lay together, talked and were silent at appropriate moments, had times full of joy, still, Parvon could sense the dip of Triw's spirits in the spaces between the moments… he knew what it was, of course, it was the thought of sailing.

Moreover, Parvon had come to realise, and more lately to accept, that Triw really, really did not want to sail, but seemed determined not to say anything about it. It had almost cut Parvon's heart out to hear that quiet determination when Triwathon had told the hunters why Parvon needed to sail: '…my place is at his side…' Triw had said, binding himself to the voyage, to his husband. Yet Parvon had felt the surge of regret that had welled up even as Triw committed himself publicly to the ship, to Parvon…

The decision to sail had made so much sense, though, at the time! And even when sure of Triw's love, still, knowing how much loss he had suffered, not wanting to bind to him if his beloved would later regret it… Parvon had really, really, forced himself to put Triw first and not cleave to him for all time by taking short vows only, and it had been so hard to do that it intrinsically felt like the right thing to do…

But Triw had committed himself now, and without sharing his qualms, so what could Parvon do now? How could he possibly appear so fickle as to say, Oh, by the way, Triw, I don't want to sail yet…

The irony of it was, that Parvon had had a plan, a way to backtrack, or, at least, to start a conversation whereby Triw could admit his misgivings and Parvon could find a way through the situation without anybody losing face, or feeling badly done by, but it had all hinged on Thindorion. Thindo, their friend who, all unknowing, had innocently wrecked and shattered those half-made plans so thoroughly that they were simply no longer fit-for-purpose…

For Parvon had intended to wait until they were about to board the ship, thinking that to do so would encourage Triwathon to share his misgivings… then he would have said something about how good it was that Thindorion was there, to share the journey. He'd planned to sigh and say he hoped it would not be difficult for their mutual friend because, well, he was that; the friend of them both. Close to Triwathon, he had been a good, kind friend, solace, to him, when Triw had needed it… and then he had befriended Parvon, too, albeit differently, and, well, wouldn't it be a bit uncomfortable with them? Not that Thindo would begrudge them their love – he'd been happy to act as their Witness, had he not…? But, what about his feelings? Would he not, on some level… mind…? Not to be jealous, no, but… envious, perhaps, that they had each other and he had… he had just their friendship?

…and then, ah, then, he'd planned on saying, but, Triw, I've been thinking… it might hurt him, or make him sad, and he has been such a good friend… shall we…? Should we…? What do you think, if…? Would it be kinder, to Thindorion's fëa, if we were to wait for the next ship…?

Parvon sighed. Yes, it would have been enough of an opening for Triwathon to start talking…

Except Parvon couldn't do that now, for that particular line of reasoning had been obliterated, his carefully-planned words rendered obsolete because Thindo – Thindorion had fallen in love with an elf who fully returned his feelings, he would not be lonely, not envious that he had nobody, because he now had Mago…

Which was all very well for Thindo, but was really very inconsiderate…

The thought almost made Parvon smile… in fact, he rather wondered whether, (had Thindo known he would form part of Parvon's escape-with-dignity-from-sailing plan) the dyer would not have been actively helpful; certainly, Parvon was in no doubt that Thindorion knew Triw's heart was not in the voyage…

…and no, Parvon wouldn't insist Triw take the ship, had never intended to make his husband choose to sail, but… but he just wanted Triw to talk to him, to trust him enough, to trust the love between them enough, to recognise that he could tell him anything, everything, if he wanted, but he certainly could tell him this…

As it was, well. Parvon would just have to find another opening, another opportunity for his beloved husband to speak out. He felt a brief pang of sharp, bitter grief; if he were successful in his bid to encourage Triw to speak, if he were to suggest they defer sailing for time while Triwathon adjusted to the idea, so that the idea of following after Thindo would have more appeal, then that would defer his own hoped-for reconnection with his brother… although, as Abonnessel had pointed out, Fonor was most probably still in Mandos…

And as Parvon had no idea how long it took for a good-hearted, honest and kind elf to recover from death and be ready to face life once more, really, what was the point of sailing now, if Fonor would not be there yet?

Triw stirred in his sleep, his breath whiffling around unshaped words. He looked so peaceful, so relaxed, and Parvon felt the stirrings of guilt wrapped around his love for him.

As quietly as possible, he rearranged himself around his husband, curling into him.

'Sorry, my love,' he said softly. 'I will find a way for us both to be where we need to be, wherever that might prove. By my love for you, I promise this.'

At breakfast next morning, Parvon and Triw had just begun to eat when Saelchanorion and Daehel entered the hall, she heading straight towards their table and he, perforce, following. Both were clad in their strange formal robes. As they drew near, Parvon thought he heard, although so soft he could have imagined it, a drifting sigh from his husband.

'May we join you?' Saelchanorion asked, despite the fact that Daehel had already took up a place opposite Parvon.

'Please do.' Parvon inclined his head and continued his meal. 'Do you generally arrive early to the meal?'

'Yes, it is the only way we get to eat if Commander Govon steals our toast. Legolas will come later this morning, he says, so we'll make notes as he speaks.'

'You may find it profitable to brief him first in future, and tell him what announcements he will be making before he makes them. You can suggest it saves time, and that way he will not suspect that you are managing his pronouncements.'

Daehel laughed. 'Ai, you sound so serious! I could almost believe you mean it!'

'But I do,' Parvon said. 'You cannot have your prince running around saying what he wants, not to the entire population! Were you able to mention to him about the letter he needs you to draft?'

'Oh…' From Daehel's blank expression, it looked as if she'd forgotten all about it. 'Perhaps we can talk about it later, in the office?'

Parvon shook his head, belatedly realising that Daehel had expectations…

'Daehel, you are in charge of the Office of the Prince in Ithilien. I agreed to help you become organised, but I am only here for a very short time and I have other matters to attend to. I have already made other arrangements for the morning.'

'But… I thought… you… I did not realise…'

Parvon gestured to himself.

'I am not wearing formal robes. I think we discussed yesterday the importance of intention, that formal robes demonstrate one's office. Today I am dressed in other garments, to indicate I have other matters on hand. I am sorry if you thought otherwise.'

'It isn't just me, Master Parvon,' Daehel said. 'Our prince said something about wanting to talk to you after his day report.'

'In that case, when you tell him I am busy elsewhere, you can also take the opportunity to remind him that he needs to send a letter stating that Master Thindorion is the sole liaison point for allocation of berths on the ship. When you draft it, take a fair copy, and then get him to sign it so it can go to the ship immediately it is done,' Parvon said, rising to his feet and placing a hunk of bread and a piece of cheese from the main dishes before him onto his plate and removing it from the table. 'Now, Triw and I need to be getting along, it is already later than we realised. Have a pleasant morning, mellyn-nin. Should I find I have time later, I will look in on you. Triw?'

Triwathon picked up his plate and loaded it with fruit.

'I am ready,' he said. 'Lead on!'

Shut in their rooms, they finished eating with furtive haste. Presently, Parvon set down his cup and laughed.

'Ai, did I really run away from two good-hearted scribes?'

'You did, and from your prince also. Yet I am glad of it. But had you not told them you'd plans for this morning? Or did you just not tell me that you expected they would want your help today?'

'Both,' Parvon admitted. 'Neither. But I didn't want to spend another morning in an office that is not mine just because it was assumed I would; I've done enough of that, Triw! And I want to shoot with you and the hunters. Perhaps, if I had been asked, I would have explained more gently; as it is, this is an important part of their scribal training, not to make assumptions, and so I will say if I am questioned about it later. Now, is it too early to head over to the grounds?'

It was not too early, but it was early enough, for there were a few familiar faces present, some of their former escort guard taking the chance of practice along with several hunters. Friendly greetings, and gestures towards free target stations made for an easy way to start up conversations.

'For we have been invited to practice with the present home company, and neither of us has done much work of late,' Triwathon explained.

'Ai, then you will be sure of an audience, mellyn-nin! For while we are all friends, still we do like to compete, and you are honorary members of our company!'

'Are we so?' Parvon grinned. 'And have we the honour of hunter names?'

The elf laughed. 'Yes, but you may not like it! You we name Stern, while your husband already has a name from the long-ago…'

'…which I am still trying to outrun!' Triwathon laughed in turn. 'So remember that, if you please, Frond!'

Parvon smiled as he readied his bow. In fact, his was a kinder name than some had to bear, and on contemplation, he rather liked the honour of being named amongst the hunters, and to be known for his seriousness of manner was not a bad thing.

'And does Commander Govon have a name, amongst you?' he asked as he selected his first arrow.

'He does, but not one we use in front of him!' an elf two targets along called out.

This caused general laughter.

'No, we like him well enough,' Parvon's neighbour, Frond, said. 'It is just that, for all he spent so many years on a flet in the forest, he has been a warrior of the guard for so long that he has lost his way amongst us. But as Commander of the Regular Company, he does very well.'

'I can imagine he is in a difficult position,' Parvon said. 'I have been in similar myself, leaving one place to work elsewhere, and then finding myself amongst former comrades to realise they have changed, and I have not – or perhaps I was the one changed, and they were as ever they were. I hope all settles for you, and him too, of course.'

'Well, we will see. Would you like first draw, Master Stern?'

Parvon laughed, anything but stern in that moment.

'You honour me, Captain Frond! Let me see if I have remembered which end of the bow is 'up'… and I aim the pointy bit of the arrow towards that round thing, yes…?'

First draw was a courtesy, but it also meant the eyes of the assembled elves were on him, and more had arrived while he had chatted and laughed with his neighbour. At his other side, Triwathon exuded confidence, smiling and nodding.

Well, then. The honour of the King's Office might not be at stake, but perhaps now he was married to Triw, the honour of his husband was entangled with his own…

…but he had done this so many times in his life, sight, nock, sight again, breathe, draw, connect along the line to the target, and free the arrow to its fate…

For a moment his perceptions faltered, he was in the space between present and past, he was long ago and far away, just come of age and with his first full size bow, and Fonor was at his side, cupping his elbow, shifting his stance…

'Like so, little brother! And remember – what you aim at, you stand a much better chance of hitting, so do not fear, and send your intention with your arrow…'

Grief was a huge, biting pain twisting his heart suddenly, but he rode it with the same courage that Fonor had always carried under his laughing spirit…

'Come, penneth! Make me proud! Ah, but I already am proud…! My brother, the King's Elf, a better shot than half the archers in the Royal Guard…'

His arrow fled straight to the heart of the inner red, a fraction higher than he had intended, but very respectable for all that. Certainly, the murmur of appreciation from around him sounded unfeigned. He lowered his bow and glanced behind him, startled, almost, to find Fonor not there, but instead the hunters he had met last night had arrived, bringing more with them.

'Who is next?' he asked, remembering where he was, letting go of the memory with reluctance. 'Or do you wish to see me empty my quiver alone, first?'

This drew laughter, for the phrase could be misconstrued to mean something other. In fact, Triwathon blushed as he laughed, and he shook his head.

'Not alone, my Parvon! You are married now!' he said.

'Well, you take your shot, then, Captain Follow!' Cýrion called out from the audience. 'And let's see if your aim is as true as your fëa-mate's!'

Triw's shot sang out in the bright air, thunking into the line of the inner red and outer gold.

'Better, but not so much so to embarrass me,' Parvon said. 'Most kind, husband!'

'Who is next?' Triw asked generally. 'Or is this now a free-to-all?'

'First quiver of twelve is practice,' Cýrion said as he and others sought places in the line. 'Then we pause and shoot again, this time for our honour!'

All told, it was a pleasant hour or two. After emptying two quivers each, Triw and Parvon sat on the sawn logs that served as audience seating, and watched the mingled hunter companies competing and practicing.

'We did not disgrace ourselves!' Triwathon said, taking Parvon's hand. 'You outshot me, the second round.'

'And you me on the first.'

'No – a draw! But, look – these elves here, they are not scoring as highly as those we drew against. I think they sought to trounce us, pitting us against their best, while instead, I do believe we held them very close to it.'

'We did, indeed. A good morning's work.'

'Talking of which, if you want, we could head back to the caverns. Your acolytes will be fretting, perhaps. Or devising inappropriate systems for note-taking…'

'Ah, you may have a point! I did offer my help, and instead, I have run away from them! But if you want to stay here, perhaps talk with your friends, or work some more with your bow, I would not mind; we could meet for the daymeal…?'

'Or perhaps you would permit us to share our daymeal with your husband?' The hunter known as Hind took a seat next to Parvon and smiled with her sharp little teeth. 'If you have other work, or plans?'

'I am trying very hard not to have plans, or work, whilst I am here, Hunter Abonnessel.' Parvon smiled in return. 'But it is a fact that I offered my aid to the scribes, and they were bewildered when I did not appear at the breakfast hall table in my crow robes…'

She laughed.

'If I say to you, then, that your husband will not be left lonely while you avoid work, but still do what you seem to feel is your duty, will that settle you?'

'I will say, thank you, that is kind, if it is what Triw would like.' He squeezed Triw's hand surreptitiously, released the contact. 'Should you finish early, and wish to seek me, if I am not in the room, I will be at the end of the first passage to the right, beyond the room where the stone will sit.'

Triwathon nodded. 'Don't let them work you too hard, my pen-pusher! I'll see you later.'