The next morning, Galion unlocked an irate king.

"If you were anyone else," warned an already dressed Thranduil, who stormed past his butler as soon as the door was opened, "you would be packing your bags and walking off into oblivion! What right do you claim to have to do such a thing to your king?" Galion hurriedly unlocked the doors onto the balcony before running after his king.

"I love you as a brother," he replied as he followed Thranduil along the corridor towards his office, "which gives me not just the right but the obligation to look after you."

Thranduil opened the door to his office before turning to Galion: "I don't need looking after." Then he slammed the door in his friend's face. Galion sighed and leant against the doorframe and rested his fingers on the handle.

"Thranduil?"

There was a small click as the key turned in the lock. Galion tested the handle but the door didn't open.

"Thranduil, talk to me!" No answer. "Oh, please, don't sulk like this!" Still no answer. Anger suddenly welled up inside him and he struck the door with his fist: "Dammit, Sinda; why must you throw everything I do for you back in my face?

"'I don't need looking after'," Galion muttered as he gave up and made his way downstairs, "He doesn't realise just how poisoned his tongue is."

Thranduil heard Galion through the door but didn't pay any attention. He was still seething and, despite what Galion thought, hadn't slept at all well. Just the knowledge that he couldn't get out if he needed to had kept him awake. He returned to his map but gradually became aware of two eyes watching him. He raised his head and saw a seated figure half shrouded in shadows. Its ankle was resting on its other knee and its chin was on its hand.

"You're late," Nenros said, "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever reappear."

"What are you doing here?" Thranduil asked, curbing his anger. It wasn't Nenros' fault that Galion had overstepped the mark.

Nenros put both feet on the floor and sat up straighter. His clear gaze fell on the map and he put two and two together, "Let me save you a lot of trouble; the Noldor are close now. Far closer than I anticipated."

Thranduil blinked; "Man?"

"I tracked them yesterday; they're just on the other side of the river. They're looking for an alternative way across apart from the bridge." There was a pause in which Nenros wrinkled his nose, "I got too close and only just got away. They know about me and quite possibly that I've been talking to you. They'll strike much quicker now than before and they are already organised; I'm sorry."

"How have they got so close?" Thranduil asked, shocked into near silence.

Nenros shrugged, "They are crafty, and they are Elves. I don't think Elves are on your wardens' watch list."

"Everything is on their watch list!" Thranduil snapped. He moved round the desk, deep in thought, then regarded Nenros from under his eyelids, "No matter. There is no other crossing than the bridge."

"But these are Noldor; Noldor have a knack for getting across water." Nenros looked up at the Sinda apologetically; "I'm so sorry. I've failed you."

Thranduil didn't reply immediately, but when he did his tone was quiet and sad, "No, meldir, they were coming anyway. At least this way I have some warning."

Nenros half nodded, half bowed his head.

"We will have to be cautious, though," Thranduil continued, "I shall put more guards on the bridge. No foreigner crosses for any reason less than a life or death situation."

"What about me?" Nenros asked quickly, standing up as he spoke. Thranduil looked at him; he bore no devices and his colours belonged to no one. He was a true wanderer.

"They shan't stop you if you think you're one of us. Come," Thranduil said, taking Nenros' arm, "I'll lend you a tunic."

In the corridor they were met by a young maid carrying laundry.

"Your Majesty," she bobbed. "the cooks were wondering if you were eating this morning?"

Thranduil watched her for a while before replying, "No; eating takes too much time."

The maid curtseyed again and carried on her way. Thranduil watched as she disappeared before dragging Nenros into his room.

"The problem is you're too tall," Thranduil half chided, half laughed as he held another tunic up against Nenros and threw it onto the pile when it didn't fit, "And too fat."

Nenros smirked and leant against the dresser, "Or you're too thin, which I find more likely." He watched as the Sinda began an expedition to the back of his wardrobe. "You should eat something," he said, "we can discuss our plans while you eat."

"No!" Thranduil shouted, coming out of the wardrobe and pointing a long, spidery finger at the traveller, "No, I shan't let you say that?"

Nenros was taken aback, "Why not?"

"Because that's what everyone else says!" Thranduil yelled, scrunching the clothes he held up in his clenching hand.

"Maybe you should listen to them, then," Nenros suggested, calmly.

Thranduil hurled the clothes onto the floor at his feet and screamed. "Stop this! You don't say things like that. They do but you don't; you're different."

"You can't tell me what I do and do not think," Nenros replied, sternly. "Look at me, Sinda!"

Thranduil raised miserable eyes to him. "You don't say things like that," he whispered.

Any reply Nenros might have made was cut short by a knock at the door and the reappearance of Galion. As the butler came in, Nenros flicked his hood over his head and stood to one side. Galion looked over the scene, at the pile of clothes and Thranduil's irked expression.

"Everything alright up here, sire?"

"Everything's fine," Thranduil replied, "but you only call me 'sire' in private when you bring bad news."

Galion winced, "Well it's not bad per se, but Mithras tells me it goes against your wishes." Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Some of the Dwarves had a serious problem so the lords invited them into the halls."

The slightest whine escaped Nenros' throat and Thranduil looked aghast. "They dare to make such a decision for me?"

"There was no time to explain the situation to you, my lord. One of the first party has been seriously injured by something in the forest."

"A life or death situation; how convenient," Nenros muttered into his hood.

"Legolas and Rîneglan are shadowing them," Galion added. Thranduil remained motionless for a while, before striding over to Galion and smashing him across the face.

"What did you do that for?" Nenros shrieked as Thranduil marched out of the room on the way downstairs. The Sinda was walking so quickly that the Noldo had to jog to keep up. Galion followed behind. He'd staggered at the impact and was now nursing a bleeding nose and bruised cheek, but most of all he was confused. Not even upset; just confused.

"Dranduil, dyou are nod dyourdelf!" He called after his panicking king. When he got no reply, he stopped short and decided that he couldn't be bothered trying to talk to the Sina, so he went to sort out his broken nose instead.

Nenros still loped beside Thranduil as the pair clattered down flight after flight of stairs. "You need to calm yourself, meldir," he insisted, "The Dwarves will smell any fear on you like hunting dogs smell the hind."

"Stay with me," Thranduil asked.

"I can't, meldir; your friend said Rîneglan will be there and I cannot bear to see him again."

"What do I say?"

"What would you say under normal circumstances?"

But Thranduil's mind had gone blank. And when Nenros peeled off and returned to the upper levels the king felt fear in the pit of his stomach. He hid it though, because he could see the Dwarves now. There we five of them, all standing round the foot of the stairs, bags at their feet and caps in hands. When they saw him approach they bowed so deeply that their long beards touched the floor. Thranduil watched them icily; he didn't trust them an inch. He wished Palandir were already here, but he wasn't so Thranduil would have to do this on his own.

"I take it your companion has already been taken to the Healers," he said, surprised at how level his tone was.

"Yes, O king, and we are indebted to you for your kindness towards him."

Thranduil's smile disguised gritted teeth. 'O king'. Why did Dwarves insist on addressing people in that manner? It set his hair on edge.

"Do you plan to stay with your companion?" He asked.

"Ideally we would," the Dwarf said, being careful to maintain the upmost respect, "but we staggered our parties so as not to cause hold ups. We can't stay here more than a day without causing problems."

"So?" Thranduil pressed.

"So we plan to leave early tomorrow."

Thranduil forced his smile again, "So be it. Rest now and then take all the supplies you need in the morning. Your companion is safe with us."

The Dwarves bowed again and took their leave, and after a while Thranduil returned to his rooms.

"Nenros?" He called, checking first in the study and then in his living rooms, and finally in his chamber. But there was no sign of the other. He stepped onto the balcony and gazed down at the trees far below. This floor was half way up the large hill the palace was built under, so the trees at the hill's foot were a long way down. Puzzled, he retreated inside and there he found a letter written in the Beleriand mode of Tengwar.

Following a lead, N

The king snorted. Trust him to up and leave when most needed! Though he couldn't feel any true animosity towards him; he supposed Nenros was used now to going where life took him and the old Noldo probably didn't realise how disconcerting it was to suddenly find someone gone.

The sun warmed his back, though he still felt chill inside. The knowledge that there were Dwarves in the same place as him unnerved him. Especially as they were Dwarves possibly spying for the Noldor. Probably spying for the Noldor. How could he stop them coming up here? There was no way. Only respect prevented the lower orders from coming up here and there was no suggestion which of the small staircases on the floors below led here and which led simply to store rooms. It was part of the palace design; put locks on doors and invaders will instantly try to open them. Now Nenros was gone, Thranduil found himself at a loss of what to do. Or rather there were plenty of things he should be doing, but none of them really appealed.

oOo

Galion looked up, half pleasantly surprised, half suspicious, when Thranduil floated over to him. He was perched on the side of one of the beds, trying to get used to the constant smell and feel of dried blood in his nose. Thranduil stopped a few feet away from him and winced apologetically,

"Are you alright?"

Galion huffed and gestured to the strip of bark now across the bridge of his nose which held it in place, "Perfectly find, considering." He tapped the mattress beside him, "Sit."

Thranduil gathered his robes around him and sat. "I'm…" he began, then faltered. He looked at Galion, who was watching him in turn with mild amusement. He then looked at what little of his boots he could see from under his hems. "Why do you put up with me?" He asked.

"Because I'd lose my job if I didn't," Galion joked.

Thranduil, usually so perceptive of emotions, missed the joke. He looked up at Galion nervously, "Is that the real reason?"

"Of course not. I mean I'm sure I would if I didn't, but no, that isn't why I 'put up' with you."

"Why, then?"

"Because you're my friend. Yes you do stupid things sometimes, but everyone does and true friends don't abandon each other because of one fight."

"I'm sorry for what I did…"

Galion waved the apology away, "No harm done."

Thranduil looked at him, unsure if he was serious or taking the Mick. "I broke your nose," he said, slowly.

"Really?" Galion asked, mimicking Thranduil's frequent sarcasm, "I hadn't noticed."

Thranduil allowed himself to smile at that, and Galion's own grin broadened as he saw Thranduil's eyes sparkle.

"Come, gwador," he said, getting up and taking Thranduil's arm, "let's go somewhere else. This place reeks of fear." Thranduil agreed and allowed himself to be led first to the kitchens for picnic supplies and then out into the gardens.

The gardens, a recent addition to the palace at only a few centuries old, were a little way away from the palace because of the marsh around the hill. Though they were built on a patch of drained marsh, Thranduil had wanted to keep the wetland around the palace as a line of defence so getting to the gardens required some effort. A wooden walkway connected the two, just wide enough for two thin Elves like Thranduil and Galion to walk abreast.

Few people came here, few people knew about it, and Galion hoped that here Thranduil might explain something to him. But Galion was now having second thoughts as to the success of his plan, for Thranduil kept looking behind him as though he thought someone was following them. When they reached the gardens proper, Thranduil loosed his arm from the crook of Galion's, took his companion's hand an dragged him off the main path into the narrow, winding ways behind the backs of the boarders. Eventually they immerged at the place that Galion was aiming for anyway; a large yet plain fountain near the middle of the gardens, where the water which would naturally have collected in the marsh was piped up into a large basin. Here, and only here, Thranduil finally let go of Galion and began pacing round the feature, looking into the waters with an anxious expression on his face. The sun was climbing to noon, so Galion sat down on the basin's rim and checked through their food while watching his friend.

When Thranduil walked passed him for the third time, Galion gently touched his arm, "What ails you, gwador?"

Thranduil glared at him momentarily before his expression relapsed into one of quiet unquiet. "Nothing ails me, meldir."

"That is evidently a lie," Galion replied, trying to keep his tone light, "You lashed out earlier and you're agitated now."

Thranduil bit his lower lip and began wandering up and down in front of Galion, "I'm not permitted to tell you."

Suddenly something clicked inside Galion's head and his eyes went wide, "This is to do with what you were saying last night, isn't it?"

"That was nothing," Thranduil said, slightly too quickly, "nothing to do with this."

Galion raised an eyebrow. "You can tell me anything, you know that."

"But not this!" Thranduil insisted, stepping forwards and stopping just in front of his friend. He looked at Galion, then around him and rang his hands. "I can't tell you. Please, don't force me."

"I'm not going to force you," Galion reassured him.

"I don't want them to kill you."

"No," Galion said, taking Thranduil's hand in his and kissing his signet ring, "I don't want them to kill me either."

oOo

Dusk was looming when they finally returned, food, anxiety and a bottle of wine gone. Both of them were laughing at an in-joke when they passed through the palace's enchanted doors. They were laughing so hard that Mithras thought twice about interrupting, but his news was important.

"The five Dwarves left just under an hour ago, sire," he said. Thranduil blinked at him,

"They didn't stay the night?"

"No, Sire."

"How bizarre," Thranduil mused, turning his head to Galion who shrugged, "ah well, I could say I'll miss them but that would be a lie. Hannon le, Mithras."

Galion bid his friend good night at the far end of the corridor, where they also found Lianna and Legolas. This meeting caused the two fathers much mirth – they had spent a good deal of the afternoon matchmaking their children. Legolas and Lianna looked at each other in confusion and gave their fathers a wide berth. While Legolas went to the bathroom to wash away the smell of Dwarf, Lianna tailed her king and hailed him.

"Do you want a report of the day's events, seeing as you weren't available?"

Thranduil turned to face her, concerned, "Much happened then, I take it?"

Lianna looked serious for a few more seconds but then couldn't help smiling, "No, not really. The Dwarves were no trouble, though my word they asked a lot of questions."

Thranduil's merry mood left like a shot and he asked something so quickly that Lianna had to ask him to repeat it: "Did you tell them what they asked about?"

"In some cases," Lianna replied, her tone getting defensive as she sensed the king's temper fray, "though not all. Some things were none of their business."

Thranduil sensed that if he didn't act quickly he would do something he'd regret, so he thanked her stiffly and retreated into his study. Nenros still wasn't back so he moved to his bedchamber and out onto its balcony. In his mind's eye he imagined all the questions the Dwarves could have asked and all the answers his Elves could have given them. Dwarves were nothing if not crafty so they could have gleaned much information without seeming to do so. The king banged the stone balustrade with his fist and quickly wished he hadn't. To avoid further injury he forced himself to think about something else.

The night was still again, a perfect time for thinking. Thranduil did most of his thinking now, when the palace was calming down to the quieter hum of night time activity. Sometimes he wished he could just be active at night, but he suspected that would cause some consternation among the court, what with him being king and all. How he hated his position sometimes.

With that he drifted into thoughts about courtly matters, and slowly became deaf to the outside world. Though as the shadows closed around him he got the unshakable feeling that he was being watched. He refocused his eyes and turned around.

And found himself ringed round by Noldor in dark cloaks which blended into the night. His eyes widened and his mouth hung slightly open. His breath caught in his throat so all he could manage was: "Eru!"

"He shan't help you," one of the figures said, stepping forward to reveal the standard black hair spilling out from inside their hood, "and your little contact won't come to get you out of this, either. He has abandoned you like he's abandoned everyone he's ever met. How can the damned help those with souls?"

"He's not damned!"

"What do you know of his past?" The figure stopped and regarded the shaking Sinda with a cocked head. "Do you know why we're here?"

"Yes," Thranduil whispered.

"Well then," the figure extended its palm. Thranduil looked at it, scared stiff. The figure grew impatient, "Come on, Sinda! Hurry up!"

Thranduil looked into the shadows of the Noldo's hood, "I don't have it."

The other Noldor hissed. "Don't have it?" The speaker repeated, "Liar! We know you're lying."

"Look above your heads," Thranduil pleaded, suddenly able to move again and doubling up on himself, "it's there! It's been there for millennia. I don't know how to get it!"

The Noldor looked at the star, then back to the Sinda. "In that case," their spokesperson said, icily, "you are of no further use to us."

The whisper of unsheathed metal came from all angles.

"Please," Thranduil whispered, falling to the floor, "have mercy."

"You are one Elf. One more Elf's blood on our hands won't make much difference to us."

Thranduil closed his eyes and the world began to spin. But nothing happened. He opened his eyes again and saw the Noldo standing over him, sword poised but not dropping. They were all staring at the same point behind Thranduil's head.

Thranduil dared to turn and just as he did so a dark figure sprang from just higher up the hill onto the balcony and cut down the Noldo nearest him. His hair, heavy with grease and dirt, slapped against his face, which itself was an unnatural brown from decades of grit. But his eyes were as clear and bright as ever and, as his first opponent fell behind him, he paced along the balcony until he stood between Thranduil and his assailant.

"Leave him alone," he hissed, "he knows nothing of this."

The Noldo smirked: "Make me."

"Stay down," Nenros whispered to Thranduil, who was more than willing to comply. He watched in amazement as Nenros raised his sword high above his head and brought it down onto the other faster than sight. But the stranger dived and Nenros' blade cut through nothing but air. Then the others were on him, but Nenros was more than a match for them. He twisted and span, mostly in mid-air, drawing a dagger from his belt and attacking them with both blades. Thranduil watched as though it were in slow motion. He himself was forgotten. Nenros was panting as he deflected blow after blow, holding one blade up to protect himself and wielding the other here, there and everywhere. Switching over in a split second when he was attacked from the other side. Slowly he drove the Noldor back into a corner of the balcony and held them there, teeth bared, breath condensing in the cold late evening air.

"You will leave now," he ordered them, "and you shall not come back. Not for this Elf, or for any others who call this place home. Is that understood?"

"We will leave now," their speaker hissed, "though that's all we promise."

"Then get you gone!" Nenros hissed. The Noldor flipped over the balustrade onto the slopes below and skittered away into the trees.

When he was content that they really were gone, Nenros sheathed his blades and helped a dazed Thranduil to his feet. "I was afraid they'd try that. I left to try to prove or disprove it but now I realise I should have stayed. Are you alright?"

Thranduil shook his head, "I'm fine. But you, you were amazing."

Nenros flicked his hair out of his eyes. "Come inside," he said as though he hadn't heard Thranduil's comment. Thranduil allowed himself to be led into the office and Nenros closed the doors behind them.

"I should have done something," Thranduil insisted.

"There was nothing you could have done," Nenros replied, "they are highly trained in a specific type of fighting only taught in Aman. You can only beat them if you also know that technique; they would have killed you."

"Thank you," Thranduil whispered, his voice thick with gratitude.

Nenros smiled, "I was lucky; had you not drawn them onto the balcony I wouldn't have been able to hem them in like that and they may well have overpowered me."

"Why did you let them go after killing one of them?"

"I know of nothing that could save or damn my soul. I don't know if I could argue away the killing of one Elf as self-defence or if I'm damned now, but either way it's better to act as though we are not damned to hell, is it not?"

"Of course, you are right," Thranduil replied, "Forgive me; I was afraid."

Nenros placed a hand on his shoulder, "There is nothing to forgive, meldir.

"Now," he continued in a different tone, letting go of the king and walking over to the fireplace, "what of these Dwarves? How went things with them?"

Thranduil sighed, "I know not for certain, though it seems they asked many questions."

Nenros' eyes widened, "You do know why that is, don't you?"

"Mae," Thranduil replied quietly.

"And now, they are where?"

"In the forest."

Nenros remained motionless for a few seconds, before yelling and striking the mantelpiece with both hands. The clutter on it jumped and an ink bottle fell down to smash in the grate. The dark ink looked like blood pooling over the tiles. "How could you be so foolish?" He demanded, "Where do you think they've gone?"

Thranduil shook his head. Nenros moved in front of him and looked straight into his eyes. Neither moved until Thranduil put two and two together and yelped, "They've gone to tell the Noldor everything!"

"We have to act fast," Nenros said, spinning round and pacing up and down, knocking over precariously balanced piles of paper as he did so, "the Dwarves must be made to forget everything."

"I shall do this deed," Thranduil announced. Nenros turned to him. "Yes," the king insisted, his gaze hardening, "you saved me from the Noldor just now, it is only fair that I save us from the Dwarves."

"What do you plan to do to them?" Nenros knew Thranduil was one of the few people still alive who had two options in this matter.

"Silence them," Thranduil stated apathetically. He made for the door and crossed the corridor to his chamber, where he pulled off his robes and donned a hooded cloak over his hoes and tunic. He took a key from his belt and unlocked a chest at the back of the room. He pulled out first his quiver and then his arrows, their fletching black for operations that he didn't want traced back to him, "they'll never know it was me."

"You could just enchant them," Nenros pointed out, watching with growing concern as Thranduil reached in a third time and took out his hunting bow. The Sinda caressed its smooth limbs for a moment before taking its string from a pocket in the chest's lining. "Make them forget these past few days," Nenros added, more quietly.

"No," Thranduil, "that wouldn't assure anything. I have to kill them." He twisted and looked up into Nenros' worried eyes, "it's the only way." He rose and slung his quiver across his back.

"I wouldn't recommend it though," Nenros persisted, "If I were you I'd just enchant them. That way nobody gets hurt."

"Well you aren't me! I'm tired of taking soft options." Thranduil snapped, stringing his bow and leaving the room. Nenros looked at the chest for a moment longer before hurrying after him.

"Thranduil, stop! You are making a mistake!" He called. But Thranduil ignored him.

They met with no opposition as they swept through the palace and, despite Nenros dancing in front of him trying to make him reconsider, Thranduil was soon at the main doors.

"Thranduil," Nenros pleaded, throwing himself against the heavy doors, "please don't do this. This is a grave thing that you go to do."

"Get out of my way," Thranduil hissed, "or are you in fact one of them sent to distract me?"

"No," Nenros whispered, "I am on your side. Always have been. Always will be."

"Then let me pass."

Nenros swallowed several times but stepped aside. The doors opened silently for their king and Thranduil stepped out into the night.

The Dwarves knew little of their attacker. Until it was too late. They were dressed for trading and not in their supple yet unbreakable mail. They didn't hear the tell-tale cracks of twigs behind them, the rustle of leaves as the Elf left the forest floor for the trees, the creak of a bent bow.

But they heard the whistle of the arrow as it sped through the air into the chest of the hindmost Dwarf. He made a small gasping sound and looked down at the shaft sticking out from his blue cloak. He tried to call for help but the arrowhead had pierced his lung. As he looked into the tree as his vision swam and he fancied he saw a figure of gold and black crouching in a branch, aiming a second arrow between his eyes.

The others only turned when he hit the floor. Blood running slowly from his chest, forehead and mouth.

Panic hit them like a wave. They though the arrow was orcish so, as they drew their swords and axes and backed into a ring, none of them thought to look up. The second Dwarf fell with just one arrow to his head.

"Why are we being attacked?" One Dwarf exclaimed, "we're on the path; the Elves said we'd be safe on the path!"

"We should run," a second said to the others.

"And leave our friends? Never." The third took his axe in both hands and stood over one of his fallen companions. "Come out!" He called into the darkness, "Show yourself, you coward! We will take you down!"

This time, a spinning dagger lodged itself between his ribs and he too fell. The two survivors exchanged frightened glances and finally looked up. With a shriek, Thranduil launched himself from his branch and took the Dwarf below him out. The final one was harder; they were on the same level and both in plain view. The Dwarf made the first swing, showing Thranduil that he was indeed an evildoer. Had he been innocent in this he would have been diplomatic.

Though the meeting was violent, it was short lived. The Dwarf, stunned at who he was fighting, fumbled his attacks and the king was on his home ground, still had the advantage. And apart from a knock to the head Thranduil came away unhurt. Though as the Dwarf crumpled on his sword, Thranduil felt his head spinning. He turned on the spot, trying to get a reference point so he didn't fall. He could hear the sound of hooves on the path, coming closer. He wondered if that was more Dwarves, perhaps they had heard sounds of the battle and had come to help their comrades. Let them come. Let them all come!

The mounted figure which came into view a few moments later was worse than any Dwarf though. His raven dark hair blended into the night as he pulled his horse up and dismounted. His grey eyes surveyed the scene in disbelief. Then he took a step towards the swooning Sinda.

Thranduil clumsily raised his sword. "Get away from me!" He ordered, before his arm lost its strength and he dropped his sword at his side.

Palandir slowly shook his head as he absorbed the scene, but then lunged forward to catch Thranduil as the blow to his head finally rendered him unconscious. He held the Sinda against his chest and whispered, "What have you done?"

oOo

Thranduil awoke to find himself propped up in bed with a throbbing headache. It took him a while to remember what had happened, but when he did some of his previous anxiety returned. He wasn't pleased with what he'd done but it had been necessary. Who knew how potent the Noldor would have been with information as detailed as that? Dazed blue eyes darted round the familiar surroundings, and he saw that someone had packed his weapons away in his chest. He wondered if anyone had got the dagger out of the Dwarf's ribcage. He hoped someone had; he liked his knives.

His gaze settled on Nenros, who was leaning on the dresser again, this time looking sheepish. Thranduil smiled, "I am not as skilled a fighter as you are, meldir."

Nenros tried to smile back but failed and an invisible hand clenched around the Sinda's throat. "Everything's alright, isn't it?"

Nenros nodded, crow's feet appearing round his ancient eyes. In his dazed state, Thranduil didn't notice that they were forced. "Yes, everything's fine. Unless you happen to be Dwarf, that is."

"Have you seen the Noldor since?"

"No, but they are still here, licking their wounds. We have some time."

The door opened and both Elves watched the newcomer enter. Nenros smiled at Palandir and hailed him with 'mae govannen', but Palandir walked straight past him. Nenros looked at Palandir's back, indignantly, "Or ignore me, either way."

Palandir saved his smiles for Thranduil, who returned his gaze when Nenros huffed in annoyance and pretended not to care about being overlooked. The Sinda's eyes remained puzzled on his friend's behalf.

"I knew this would happen," Palandir said, jovially as he settled himself at the foot of Thranduil's bed, "you waking up in the ten minutes that I left you."

"You're on their side aren't you?"

Palandir blinked, "Whose side?"

"Theirs! They're trying to kill me, kill everyone, for a jewel, just like before."

"Thranduil, why on earth would I want to kill you? And I'm not after any jewel."

"Well you would say that!"

Palandir held up is hands, "Thranduil, it's me; Palandir. We've known each other since the First Age." He smiled, "I mean you no harm."

Thranduil's manic expression faltered and he hung his head. "I'm sorry."

"'Tis nothing. Shall we start again?"

Thranduil looked up once more, acting as though nothing had just happened. He looked about him again and his brow furrowed. "Where's Galion?" he demanded.

"It's good to see you too," Palandir teased. "And I'm sure Galion will be flattered by your assumption that he'd be here. I sent him off on an errand about an hour ago. You've left us rather a situation to sort out after all." Thranduil said nothing but regarded Palandir critically. Palandir was unfazed, "I'm sorry you woke up on your own."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well," Palandir replied, refusing to be taken aback, "there was no one here when you came round."

Thranduil shook his head in disbelief, "Meldir, ignore him if you wish but do not deny his being here at all?"

Palandir's brow creased, "Who's this?" He followed Thranduil's gaze and stared straight at Nenros, who wiggled his fingers. But when he turned back to Thranduil Palandir's frown hadn't gone. "Thranduil… meldir, there's no one there."

"But there is!" Thranduil insisted. He looked to the other, "Tell him, Nenros."

"Nenros?" Palandir repeated, unable to keep the concern out of his voice. "You think Nenros is here?"

"I don't think," Thranduil stressed, highly frustrated now, "I know! He's standing just behind you, leaning on the dresser." Nenros looked at him from under his eyelids. He was chewing his lip again and looked as confused as the king did. Thranduil blinked at him, panic rising in his chest. He sat up straighter and pointed to the other Noldo, "He's there! Right there! How can you not see him?"

Palandir glanced behind him again before shuffling closer and taking the Sinda's hands. "My dear Thranduil," he said gently, his voice strange, "Nenros has been dead for almost 6,000 years."