Chapter Nine: Ruimen
Glorfindel moved fast as the sun rose behind the clouds, and Azshar had to push herself to keep up. He hadn't spoken or looked at her as the night wore on and they raced over the mountain path. The rain had stopped entirely by dawn, but everything was still slippery and treacherous.
The path gradually widened, and the rock became interspersed with wiry grass and trees that clung precariously to the side of the mountain. But the easier path only meant that Glorfindel moved faster and left Azshar further behind.
At least she could see where she was going now, she thought mutinously as she raced after him. At least the path was no longer on the edge of a cliff. And the faster they went, the faster they'd get back to the dwarves… she hoped.
'Glorfindel!' she called breathlessly, the third time he disappeared from sight in front of her. 'Wait!'
A few seconds later, he reappeared, waiting for her on the path and not even out of breath. Azshar would have blushed if she wasn't already flushed and panting.
'I'm sorry,' he said when she stopped. 'But if we want to get to your friends while they're still alive, if it's not already too late, we need to move fast.'
'Understood,' she said, wishing her pack was lighter. 'I'm sorry for… slowing us down.'
He shook his head, dismissing her apology. His lips were pursed, but he seemed more awkward than angry. 'Do you…' he began, running a hand through his curly blonde hair. 'Should we rest a while?'
'No,' she said firmly. 'No, you're right, we need to get to the dwarves.'
His jaw shifted. 'Are you sure that they –'
'Yes, they are worth saving, if that's what you were going to ask,' she said with an eye-roll that Thorin would have been proud of. 'They are my friends, and separating me from them won't convince me to go back to Rivendell –'
'Quiet,' Glorfindel hissed, and Azshar's eyes widened. Before she could ask what was wrong, his arm was around her midriff, yanking her back against a stony outcrop. Azshar held her breath, her heart thundering. Her shoulder was pressed against Glorfindel's chest, and she could feel his heartbeat too, steady and quick.
'Listen,' he breathed in her ear, and she did. She could hear rustles. She could hear several pairs of quick, careful footsteps growing gradually nearer. She could hear quiet, rasping breaths. They were being followed over the mountain.
She forgot that Glorfindel was holding her until he slowly released her and took a step away, his eyes darting up the path. He drew his sword.
'Sword out,' he said quietly. 'You stay behind me, do you understand? No matter what, do not put yourself in danger.'
'I can fight if I need to,' she said, but he ignored her.
'Do you understand me, Azshar?'
There was no time to argue, and she knew it. She nodded and drew her sword a split second before he shoved her closer against the rock and stepped forward. Azshar hit the rock hard, the breath shooting from her lungs, but she stayed there.
She had seen dwarves wield their axes, and she herself had felled a troll, but watching Glorfindel fight was something altogether different. The orcs realised that they'd been discovered, and they charged around the corner, weapons drawn and roaring.
There were six of them – horrible, snarling, vicious. Their skin was a mottled, unnatural grey. Their hair was wiry and unkempt. Their eyes were yellow and bloodshot. They were horrifying.
But to Glorfindel, they seemed like nothing. His sword whirled as he stepped in to take four of them at once, killing two within seconds. He didn't make a sound as he fought them, but they made enough themselves, shrieking and screaming and roaring. There was bloodlust written in their eyes, but Glorfindel was a killing machine.
They didn't last long. Before a minute had passed, the six of them were dead at Glorfindel's feet. He turned to face Azshar, not a scratch on him – but another four rounded the corner, howling. He whirled to face the new threat.
'Should have stayed in your forest, she-elf,' hissed a voice from behind her, and before she could react, she was hit hard on the back of her head, and there were hands around her throat, squeezing. She ran out of air within seconds and dropped her sword, her hands going up to pull at the vice-like grip that was choking the life out of her.
The edges of her vision started to close in, and she tried kicking her assailant to no avail. Glorfindel was fighting the new goblins, too busy to help her. She was alone. She was going to die… she scrambled for her dagger, but she didn't have the strength to pull it from her belt.
She was going to die before she even knew who she was.
The pain faded away, and now it was just Azshar, floating, nearly gone. She barely noticed Glorfindel run the last orc through and turn to see her. She couldn't hear what he shouted. As he flung a dagger into the face of the orc behind her, everything had already faded to black.
Memories appeared like bubbles rising to the surface of the water.
She was in the great courtyard with the white tree. A man with dark hair and a face like hers was shouting to a crowd, lit by starlight and flaming torches, and the crowd was rumbling back. She had tears on her cheeks, and she was standing hand-in-hand with the golden-haired woman, Nerwen.
The landscape shifted, and she was standing in the darkness, staring at the horizon. It was cold. Far away, across long, black waters, she could see the orange glow of flames. Nearby, people were crying out in horror.
Then she was shivering with cold, watching the moon rise in the distance, her mouth agape. She'd never seen anything like it before.
Once more, the landscape shifted, and Azshar found herself seated in a large room, near a fire that lit her face red with its dying embers. The room was silent, and in her chest, she felt a sick determination.
Her brother was next to her, the one who had once tossed her up into the air to make her laugh. His face was grimly set. Opposite them sat their sister, her blonde hair burnished gold in the firelight and her expression one of quiet anguish. Next to her was a man with a face like all of theirs, and golden hair like Azshar's sister.
She recognised him as her younger brother. His eyes were on hers, and they were filled with unshed tears. She might have rejoiced to find myself in a memory with her brothers and her sister, but the heartache of the memory permeated her whole body.
'You will be queen of the Noldor while we are gone,' the dark-haired brother said at last, looking at Azshar's sister. She sighed.
'There is no while. Once you are gone, you will not come back. I know it.'
'You will do well,' Azshar told her gently.
'I was not made to be queen,' the sister said, wiping a tear from her face. 'I do not want it.'
'I'm so sorry,' Azshar's younger brother said. 'But no one else could do it.'
The sister shook her head slowly, heavily. 'What must be shall come to be.'
They sat in silence a long while, none of them willing to say goodbye. The silence felt thick and miserable, but finally, the sister got to her feet and held out her arms. The elder brother embraced her first, and then the younger.
Finally, Azshar stood and embraced her tightly, burying her face in her sister's hair and trying to remember how she felt. She was smaller than Azshar, but strong and warm. She felt like home.
'Azshar.'
She lurched upright in a panic, sucking in a rasping breath that hurt her throat. 'Glorfindel –'
'I'm here,' he said, gently pushing her back until she was lying down again. She realised she was lying on his cloak.
'My – neck –' she wheezed, wincing at the pain of talking. The world was spinning around her.
'I know,' he said quietly, and he traced a finger lightly along her neck. It felt tender, and she shivered at his touch. 'I'm sorry.'
'It… wasn't…' She frowned, dizzily trying to make sense of what he was saying. 'You saved me.'
He shook his head, his face like stone. 'You don't need to talk. It will hurt you.'
'How… how long was I unconscious?'
He rubbed his hands together. 'A few hours. I was…' he trailed off.
'You were what?'
'Concerned,' he finished shortly. 'Anyway, it is almost sunset.'
Azshar looked up at the sky and realised he was right. Then she remembered the dwarves, and surged painfully upright again.
'My friends!' she gasped. 'I need to get to them!'
Glorfindel sat still as a statue, staring down at the dirt. She waited for a moment to see if he would acknowledge what she'd said, but when he didn't move, she decided to take matters into her own hands.
With a grunt, she rolled over onto her hands and knees and, with trembling legs, she tried to stand.
'Wait,' Glorfindel said with a frustrated huff. 'Wait. You can't do it alone.' He stood up and caught her by the elbows, helping her to stand. 'You are in no condition to go into the mountain.'
'I have to,' she replied hoarsely, looking up at him. His jaw ticked.
'You don't understand, Azshar. There are thousands upon thousands of orcs in those tunnels.'
'But my friends are in there too,' she said obstinately. 'I can't give them up for dead without even trying.'
'I would go in alone,' Glorfindel began, and she shook her head.
'I couldn't ask you to do that for me –'
'Maybe so, but I would do it,' he said, 'if it weren't too dangerous for me to leave you out here alone.'
Azshar covered her face with her hands, trying not to panic. She didn't know what to do; as desperate as she was to try to save the company, she knew Glorfindel was probably right. The two of them would have less chance than a candle in a rainstorm of surviving the orcs and rescuing the dwarves. The thought of Thorin and the Company dead inside the mountains flashed across her mind, and she shuddered with horror.
'What if we just went back?' Glorfindel said quietly, in a strange tone that was almost gentle. 'Come to Rivendell with me.'
She stared up at him, her horror growing. 'Has this been your plan the whole time?' she rasped. 'Wait until I am too afraid to fight, then shepherd me, cowed and frightened, back to your master in Rivendell?'
His face hardened. 'No.'
'If you want to leave, Glorfindel, leave,' she grated out, trying to will away her light-headedness. 'You've made it clear enough that care neither for me, the dwarves, nor anyone apart from yourself, so – just go!'
Glorfindel's jaw tightened, and he lashed out. 'It seems you lost your sense as well as your memory,' he snapped. 'You are barely more than a child!'
The jibe hurt, and her lip curled. 'You –' she began, but Glorfindel had more to say.
'Elrond is the wisest elf left in Middle-earth, but you think you know better than him,' he growled, advancing. Azshar took a step back on reflex. 'You leave on some – ridiculous adventure, because you're too childish to stay put for more than a week when you're told!'
'Childish?' she echoed disbelievingly. 'That's really something, coming from the man who is too afraid to feel!'
Glorfindel stiffened suddenly, and he turned away. Azshar drew her breath to say more, but then he drew his sword.
'Behind me,' he said urgently. 'Sword out.'
Moments later, she heard what he had: a low rumbling, and shouting, and… arguing?
'Wait!' she said, dropping her sword back into its sheath. 'I know those voices!'
She pushed away from the side of the mountain and staggered a few unsteady steps closer to the growing sound. The shouts were becoming intelligible, and Azshar sighed with enormous relief.
'Hurry up!'
'I'm trying, it's a narrow passageway –'
'Bombur, turn sideways!'
'Hurry up!'
'I can't go any faster, it's very dark!'
'Has anyone seen Bilbo?'
'Ow – oh, sorry Gandalf.'
'No harm done, my lad.'
'Light! I see light!'
'Hurry up, I can hear them coming behind us!'
'Shut up, Ori!'
Azshar turned back to face Glorfindel, her fury completely forgotten. 'It's them!' she exclaimed.
'The dwarves?'
She nodded, relief crashing through her along with another wave of dizziness. 'There – there must be an opening nearby that leads into the caves.'
She felt Glorfindel take her elbow, holding her steady as Thorin and Gandalf squeezed through what looked like a mere crack in the rock. They were followed by the rest of the dwarves.
'Azshar!' Dori exclaimed breathlessly.
'What on earth and under it!' Bofur said disbelievingly.
'Is that the scary elf from Rivendell?' Kíli whispered to Fíli.
'We don't quite have time to be surprised,' Gandalf reminded them all sharply.
'Ah yes,' Balin said wearily, 'lest we forget the hordes of goblins that are still pursuing us.'
'The what?' Azshar said.
'Let's go!' Thorin cried, and began running down the mountain. Azshar and Glorfindel exchanged a glance before following them, her head and her throat pounding with every step.
'I thought that goblins couldn't come outside during the day,' Ori called further ahead.
'It's sunset,' Dwalin replied.
'Shut up, Ori,' Dori panted.
'Shut up all of you and run!' Thorin yelled. Gandalf fell into step beside Azshar and Glorfindel, who was still supporting half her weight.
'Hello you two,' he said. 'How did you manage to find us?'
'With great difficulty,' Azshar wheezed. Beside her, Glorfindel took her arm and looped it over his shoulder, holding her firmly around the waist.
'We were attacked,' he said to Gandalf, barely out of breath. 'She took a blow to the head and was almost strangled to death.'
Gandalf looked her up and down. She tried to smile at him, but it came out as more of a grimace. He turned his gaze to Glorfindel.
'You'll see that she gets to safety with us?' he asked.
'Consider it done,' Glorfindel replied.
Despite her injuries, Azshar was usually much faster than the dwarves, so with Glorfindel's help it didn't prove terribly difficult to keep up with them. They barrelled down the mountain path in the gathering twilight, the sun finally breaking through the low clouds, and it wasn't until they were at the bottom of the mountain that they stopped.
'Wait a moment,' Azshar panted. 'Where is Bilbo?'
The red-faced Dwarves stopped too, and milled about looking horribly guilty.
'We had to leave him behind,' Bifur said at last.
'He disappeared as soon as we were kidnapped by the orcs,' Kíli explained. 'We haven't seen him for hours.'
'And if we stayed behind to look for him, we would have been killed in a matter of seconds,' Glóin added. 'It was life or death in there.'
'Nor could we wait around for him to come out,' Balin said sadly. 'This mountain is going to be crawling with goblins the second that sun sets.'
Azshar looked at Thorin, shocked. 'So… we're just going on without him? With no idea of what happened to him?'
'We don't have much choice,' Nori began, but she shook her head.
'I was ready to march into that mountain by myself to save your sorry selves,' she snapped, ignoring the pain in her throat and her head. 'And now you tell me you're happy to leave poor Bilbo to die?'
'You don't have to leave me behind,' said Bilbo suddenly, stepping out from behind a tree. Azshar inhaled sharply and Glorfindel jerked his hand to his sword, his eyes wide.
'Bilbo!' Gandalf said, gobsmacked. 'Where in the world did you come from?'
'I got out of the mountain a different way,' the hobbit said sheepishly. 'I heard you talking, so I followed you here.'
'Really?' Fíli asked in a tone of disbelief.
'I didn't hear you coming,' Azshar said with a frown, wondering if her head injury was worse than she'd thought. 'I didn't see you until just now.'
'Well,' Bilbo said, still with the air of sheepishness, 'perhaps your ears are clogged.'
She frowned, exchanging a glance with Glorfindel who shook his head at her, equally mystified.
'The point is, Bilbo's back!' Dori said. 'Now let's go, damn it!'
'He's right,' Thorin said. 'We have a life-threateningly small head start. Let's move.'
'Why is the scary Rivendell elf with Azshar?' Bilbo asked Dwalin in a low voice. Glorfindel's arm tightened fractionally around Azshar's waist, and he glanced down at her.
'Ready?' he asked.
Her head was pounding, and she still felt dizzy. Running made her feel like she was being hit repeatedly by a hammer.
'Ready,' she replied optimistically.
They began to jog along with the dwarves, Glorfindel half-dragging Azshar with him. The sun sank below the horizon, and mere minutes later, they could hear howls echoing down the mountainside.
'Mahal's hammer,' Thorin swore. 'Faster! Move faster, or this is the closest we'll ever get to Erebor!'
Azshar groaned and forced herself to pick up the pace. Her strength was swiftly failing, and she knew Glorfindel could tell.
They only made it another half hour before they could see the goblins chasing after them. Still Thorin urged them onwards. Glorfindel called Gandalf over, and the wizard fell back until he was running alongside them.
'What is it?' he panted, his beard flapping every which way.
'Take Azshar,' Glorfindel said. 'I'm going to turn and fight, to buy you some time.'
'Absolutely not,' Gandalf snapped. 'I don't care what you think you can do, there is an army behind us, and even you have never faced a whole army alone.'
'At this rate, we'll be facing them no matter what,' Glorfindel returned calmly.
'No, Glorfindel,' Gandalf replied firmly. 'Just keep Azshar with us, do you understand?'
Glorfindel sighed and nodded, and Gandalf turned his gaze to Azshar. 'This,' he said, leaping over a fallen log, 'is why I wanted you to stay in Rivendell.' Then he sped up and left them behind.
'He's very… spry for an old man,' Azshar rasped. She thought she saw the corner of Glorfindel's mouth twitch, but her vision was spotted with black. She decided she must have imagined it.
'Cliff!' came Fíli's panicked call from up ahead. 'We're at a cliff! We need to go back!'
The company came to a sudden stop as they caught up with Fíli and realised he was right; the gradual decline they'd been running down ended in a sharp precipice.
'It's too late to backtrack,' Thorin said urgently, the sound of shouting and howling growing louder. 'We need to stand and fight.'
'I have a better idea,' Gandalf said. 'Up the trees!'
'Dwarves don't climb,' Bifur protested, but the wizard had already pushed past him and begun pulling himself up.
'They do now!' Gandalf cried.
'Orcs climb too,' Ori said miserably, but he followed his brothers up into one of the pine trees at the edge of the cliff.
'Climb onto my back,' Glorfindel told Azshar, spinning around and bending so she could reach. 'Come on, Azshar, quickly!' She did so clumsily, staggering without his arm around her for support. 'Hold on tight,' he said, and she felt the rumble of his voice in his chest.
'Mm,' she said, leaning her forehead against his shoulder and closing her eyes. Closing her eyes felt better.
'Azshar,' he said, tugging her arm. She jerked, opening her eyes.
'What?'
'Promise me you're holding on,' he said urgently. Vaguely, Azshar realised the orcs had arrived and were closing in. They had horrible, huge wolves with them – wargs, she remembered they were called.
'Yes,' she whispered. 'Yes, I promise.'
Glorfindel was climbing before she knew what had happened, and they rose through the branches of the tree – past Kíli and Bombur and Gandalf, who each threw a worried look at Glorfindel. Glorfindel shook his head at them, and Azshar realised they were worrying about her.
Her vision was swimming, but after a few minutes she registered bright orange and the smell of smoke. Someone had set a fire. Far below, the wargs were howling and the orcs had started chanting something taunting. Azshar let her head fall back, and she looked up at the stars. She tried to focus on the brightest one. It filled her with a sense of peace, like it was an old friend watching her from far away. She smiled faintly.
'Azshar,' she heard Glorfindel saying, as though from a long distance. Strong hands took her and moved her carefully around so she was sitting on a tree branch, pulled tightly against Glorfindel's chest. The part of her that could still think noticed that his hands were trembling slightly.
'You're warm,' she whispered. Her eyes drifted closed.
'Azshar, please, stay awake.'
'You're warm,' she repeated. The world was slipping away from her.
'It's just the fire,' he said, his hand squeezing her. 'Azshar – please.'
'It's not the fire,' she replied. 'It's you.'
He fell silent for a moment, and the sounds of the mocking goblin song grew louder and louder – until it was interrupted by an ear-splitting shriek. The sound pierced through the fog in Azshar's mind, and she lifted her head and opened her eyes. The stars had been blocked from view by…
'Eagles!' she heard Bilbo shout.
'By the Valar,' Glorfindel whispered.
One by one, the dwarves were plucked out of the trees like apples, and flown away from the cliffside. Azshar screwed her eyes shut again. There was a sharp pain building in her head, different to the dull throb that had been there before. The eagles had triggered a memory.
It was faint, but she could feel it there. She'd been on the cliff, tied by her arm, in perpetual agony. She'd been ready to die. But then she'd heard the sound of someone singing. Then there had been a figure on an eagle, someone cutting her free and pulling her onto the bird's back.
She'd been in pain, exhausted. She'd been unconscious for much of the ride to safety on the back of an eagle, but she remembered it.
Azshar hadn't realised she'd been unconscious, but when she came to, she was mid-air in the moonlight, wind whipping at her face. She gasped raggedly and jerked, but a pair of arms clamped around her, holding her still.
'You're safe,' Glorfindel's voice said in her ear. 'It's alright. We got away.'
With no strength to do anything else, Azshar sagged back against him, holding loosely onto his arms, and slipped back into unconsciousness.
She was at the top of a mountain, her cloak pulled close around her to ward away the cold. There was a man lying before her, unmoving, and Azshar fell to her knees by his side.
He was horribly injured, jagged cuts over his torso, arms and legs. His face was almost unrecognisable, but his hair was dark and his unblinking eyes were blue. Azshar knew who he was.
It was her brother, the one who had tossed her up in the air as a child. In the memory, tears ran down her face. It was her brother, and he was dead.
She woke up gradually, and the first thing she knew was that she was warm.
Her eyelids felt stuck together, but she forced them open, blinking in the low light. She was in a building – some kind of farmhouse, or perhaps a barn. The warm, dusty smell of animals and woodsmoke permeated the space.
She could hear snoring too, and when she forced herself to sit up, she could see the dwarves spread out around her, all fast asleep. Gandalf was dozing in an armchair by the fireplace, and standing beside him, staring pensively into the flames, was Glorfindel.
She'd caught him in one of the rare moments that he had his defences down, and she was struck by how open and sad he looked. The fire cast a flickering light over his face, glinting off his tousled golden hair. He sighed – then suddenly stiffened, sensing her eyes on him. He looked up, and saw her watching him.
He made his way over quickly and crouched before her, examining her face. 'You're awake,' he murmured, a hint of relief in his voice. 'Are you alright?'
'I think so,' she whispered. Her voice was still a little rough, and her throat was sore. Unexpectedly, Glorfindel reached around her head, probing with gentle fingers at the spot where she'd been hit by the orc who'd attacked her. She winced, and he drew back.
'You should lie down,' he said. 'Don't push yourself too far.'
She nodded, but instead of obeying his directive, she shuffled over so she could lean against a wooden beam that stretched up to the rafters. 'Where are we?' she asked quietly.
Glorfindel sat on the floor facing her, his legs crossed. 'Beorn's house,' he said. When she frowned, he went on. 'He's an elf-friend who lives near Mirkwood. The eagles brought us here.'
The memory of their near escape from the cliffside returned to Azshar, and her eyes widened. 'I'm so sorry,' she said. 'You had to save me, again and again. I could have gotten you killed, a dozen times over.'
'You weren't going to get me killed,' Glorfindel said simply.
'Well – thank you.' He shrugged, and she looked down, more of the day before coming back to her. 'And… I'm sorry for what I said on the mountain, about you being too afraid to feel. I didn't mean it.'
He was staring, his dark blue eyes boring into her. 'Didn't you?'
'What?'
'If you didn't mean it, why would you say it?' he asked. He sounded resigned, not accusatory. Azshar frowned and looked down again.
'Because… you shut yourself off,' she murmured. 'I've seen it happen, you put up a shield between yourself and the rest of the world, and you become cold and unfeeling.'
Glorfindel's brow furrowed, but he didn't contradict her. There was a long silence, a few quiet minutes, before he spoke again. 'I reached a point a long time ago,' he said slowly, 'where I thought that if I kept feeling, I wouldn't be able to go on.'
'So you… stopped?'
'I put away the feelings,' he said. 'Like putting a lid on a box.'
'Why would you do that to yourself?' she asked, genuinely curious. 'Miss your chance at joy, happiness, love?'
'Because it means I don't need to endure the shame and regret,' he answered matter-of-factly. His hands had come together, and Azshar saw he was fiddling with a ring on his little finger that she hadn't noticed before. 'Making things colder made life a little easier to bear.'
'Did you consider that life isn't just for bearing, but for enjoying?' she asked softly. He blinked, and shook his head. Just like that, she watched his shield go back up.
'Enough of that,' he said. Azshar deflated a little.
'In any case, I'm sorry,' she repeated. He nodded, twisting the ring around his finger.
'I'm sorry for what I said to you, too,' he muttered. 'I was – angry.'
She nodded slowly, his words echoing in her head. You've lost your sense as well as your memory. Words designed to hurt.
'I know I'm stupid for not staying in Rivendell,' she whispered. She could feel his eyes on her. 'I know I'm foolish, or at least foolhardy. But I felt like a bird trapped in a cage when I was there. And in the end, the decision to risk my life should belong to me.'
'But you don't know who you are,' Glorfindel said, his tone impassive. 'You don't know where your loyalties lie, or if you have a duty to someone to keep yourself safe.'
'If someone wanted me kept safe, they would have told me,' she said quietly. Glorfindel's jaw ticked.
'Elrond told you.'
'Elrond was hiding something.'
'That doesn't mean he is trying to hurt you.'
Azshar buried her face in her hands, suddenly feeling exhausted. Her head hurt. 'Why do we argue every time we talk?'
Glorfindel sighed. 'I'm sorry.'
'Hm. I am too.'
'I suppose you will still refuse to return to Rivendell with me?' he asked, sounding like he already knew the answer. Azshar smiled slightly.
'Yes. When we leave this place, we can go our separate ways and never have to see each other again. You can tell Elrond you tried, and that I will follow Thorin and his friends to the ends of the earth because I can't think of anything better to do.'
Glorfindel stared at her for a long moment, his expression indecipherable. Azshar's smile faded, and she held his eyes. For some reason, she felt like she'd done something wrong. Worse, her own words made her question her actions. What was she doing, accompanying Thorin's company to the Lonely Mountain?
She was hardly in good health, with the state of her memory. As their race down the Misty Mountains had shown, she was more of a liability to their quest than an asset. And what was she supposed to do with her days once the quest was over? Find a new one? Return, tail between her legs, to Imladris?
She closed a hand around her locket absent-mindedly. 'Have you ever followed someone, knowing that it was a stupid thing to do?' she asked hopelessly.
'Yes,' Glorfindel replied. Azshar looked up; he was watching her with a hint of concern. He didn't seem willing to elaborate, and she smiled humourlessly.
'At least it will be a story to tell, if I survive it,' she said.
Glorfindel pursed his lips, then looked away. 'Have you ever heard the story of the sun and the moon?' he asked quietly.
Azshar shook her head. 'Maybe, but I don't remember.'
'Well. Dwarves and men likely have their own tales, but the elves say that Isil, the moon, was born before the sun was made. He floated through the sky, pouring his silver light onto the earth that, before him, had only seen starlight.'
Azshar watched Glorfindel's face as he spoke, half-lit by the low firelight. It occurred to her that he was one of the most beautiful elves she'd ever seen.
'Isil drifted along for days without determination or thought, unsure of his purpose in the world or the direction of his path. But then the Valar put the sun in the sky.'
'Anar,' Azshar said softly, the word coming to her.
'Yes, Anar. The sun was different to the moon. She knew her purpose in the sky, and each day she would make the long journey from the eastern horizon to the west. Anar was determined, beautiful, and strong, and Isilfound her brightness and strength irresistible.' Glorfindel began to twist the ring on his finger again. His hands were trembling, almost imperceptively.
'He began to follow her across the sky and beneath the horizon, but she is faster than him and he catches her only a few times in a century. Even today, he pursues her across the sky, every night for the rest of time, hoping to be joined to her forever.'
He had finished the story, but Azshar frowned, not comprehending. There was no sense of sadness or pity as he spoke of the moon's unrequited love, and his fruitless journey across the sky in pursuit of the sun.
'I don't understand,' she said at last, and Glorfindel shrugged.
'Isildoesn't know why he is drawn to Anar, and he follows her without reason or purpose.'
'So?'
'So, in doing so, he found his purpose. He lights the sky at night and disappears when he is not needed. The sun draws him on. Without her he might be beautiful, but he would be useless and our nights darker.'
Azshar smiled slowly. 'So you're saying that when he didn't know what to do, he followed someone, and that helped him find his path.'
Glorfindel shrugged a shoulder. 'So long as you follow the right person, you should be fine.'
'Is Thorin the right person, do you think?'
He huffed out something like a laugh. 'I am not partial to dwarves.'
'Well, I am not partial to being locked in Rivendell,' she returned. 'Perhaps when this is over I should try living among men.'
It was like a curtain had suddenly fallen, or a candle extinguished. Glorfindel's face turned stony, and he clenched his jaw. His eyes turned to black ice, and without warning, he got to his feet.
'You should sleep,' he said stiffly. 'Use the flowers I gave you.' Then he strode away, opening the door quietly and closing it behind him.
Azshar got to her feet, staring after him with her brows creased. She couldn't even begin to understand what had happened. Had she said something? Had he realised how openly he'd been speaking with her and regretted it?
'Azshar,' came a whisper over the snores of the dwarves. She looked down to see Gandalf, wide awake by the glowing embers of the fire, watching her with his pale blue eyes. 'How are you?'
'Feeling… better,' she said quietly, coming over to stand by his chair.
'You look a little lost.'
'It's just – I was talking to Glorfindel, and he suddenly stormed away,' she said hopelessly.
Gandalf nodded slowly. 'I keep forgetting that you have only known him a short time,' he said. 'Glorfindel is… short-tempered, to say the least. And he has a very famous hatred of men.'
'Why?' Azshar asked quietly, but Gandalf shook his head.
'There are rumours, to be sure, but that is something you will have to hear from him.'
She sighed. 'I doubt he would tell me anything of the sort. I doubt he would even tell me his mother's name.'
Gandalf smiled and lit his pipe. 'That's another interesting story; Glorfindel has no mother.'
Azshar frowned her confusion deepening. 'What kind of person has no mother?'
'Again, something you should ask him. But Azshar, I'd like to tell you something I noticed.' He paused, taking a long drag and puffing out a perfectly formed ring of smoke. 'I have known Glorfindel for many, many years, and it has been centuries since I saw him speak to someone for as long and as openly as he spoke to you tonight.'
Azshar stared at him, her mind slowly turning over.
'And he was quite right, you know,' Gandalf added, nodding to where her blankets lay. 'You should get some sleep.'
She said good night and chewed one of the little blue flowers from the drawstring pouch that Glorfindel had given her. Her thoughts whirred like butterfly wings as she drifted off, but as he had promised, her sleep was completely dreamless.
I have loved hearing what you all have to say! Whether you are following and reviewing or just lurking in the shadows (valid), thank you so much for reading! Stay tuned for next chapter, in which Beorn adopts Azshar, Gandalf reminds everyone that there are lots of mountains, the Company gets high, the dwarves try boating, and everyone is hungry.
Sigebeorn
