Chapter Ten: Nuhuinenna

Beorn was an enormous, hostile, bear-like man who was less than happy to have them in his home. When Azshar awoke from her dreamless sleep, well into the morning, Ori told her in detail about how Gandalf had tricked Beorn into allowing the dwarves to stay.

'If Gandalf hadn't been so clever about it, Mahal knows we would be out in the cold,' he said in a low voice.

She stayed mostly out of the way until lunchtime, when she suddenly came face to face with him. He stared down at her suspiciously with sharp black eyes.

'You were the one who was asleep when you arrived,' he said. His voice was deep.

'Yes,' she replied nervously. 'I'm Azshar.'

'Why would an elf have a dwarvish name? Use your own language.'

'I've lost my memory,' she said, a little defensively. Beorn's honesty was brutal. 'I can't remember my old name, so the dwarves gave me one.'

His bushy eyebrows rose. 'An elf with no memory?' he grunted. 'That is not good. That is no good at all.'

'No,' she agreed. 'But the memories have been slowly returning.'

'Hm,' Beorn rumbled. 'Memory is a dangerous thing to play with. Come with me.'

He proceeded to lead her outside and tell her the names of every flower in his meadow, in case she had forgotten. Once he decided to like her, he became fatherly and sweet, plying her with honey-cakes and glaring at any dwarf who tried to make a good-natured joke at her expense. Azshar decided that if she had nowhere to go after the quest was done, she would come back here.

Glorfindel had left early that morning, telling no one where he was going or for how long, and he hadn't returned since. The dwarves had laughed and congratulated each other on his absence, but Azshar didn't join in.

Nor could she forget the things Gandalf had told her. Glorfindel had no mother, and he notoriously hated men. These two little pieces of information threw into sharp relief the fact that she knew next to nothing about him. And, thinking about it, she couldn't imagine asking him to tell her about himself. Glorfindel wasn't the kind of person with whom one could talk easily.

But she couldn't stop thinking about him. She couldn't stop thinking about the fact that he'd followed her all the way from Rivendell and saved her life on several occasions. There was no use denying it to herself; something about him was a strange, irresistible pull for her. While she walked the meadows with Beorn, meeting his animals, her mind was elsewhere, thinking about Glorfindel.

He'd told her the story of the sun and the moon, his voice deep in the quiet of Beorn's house. Glorfindel, who barely spoke to anyone, had told her a story. That meant something, she was sure of it; Gandalf said he hadn't talked to someone like he'd talked to her for years.

But she knew that even the beginnings of infatuation were dangerous, foolish. She was drawn to him, yes, but she barely knew him. She barely knew herself, and she was not in a position to consider a relationship with someone as closed-off and complicated as Glorfindel. He was a frightening, threatening, dark-natured individual who barely even seemed to tolerate her, let alone like her.

And then there was the matter of the elf in her dreams – the one who had been sharing her bed, holding. Harbouring childish feelings for Glorfindel would only complicate things dramatically while she waited for her memories to return. Especially if she turned out to be married.

'Where did your husband go?' Beorn asked her suddenly while he was showing her the little stream which flowed through the north of his meadow.

Azshar frowned. 'My husband?'

'The angry one with golden hair. Glorfindel.'

'Ah,' she said, blushing. 'We aren't married.'

'Betrothed, then,' Beorn said – a statement, not a question. 'It is a good thing; for many years, that elf has been in need of some mellowing. Have you ever seen him smile?'

'We're not betrothed either,' Azshar said, feeling her flush deepen. 'We are… friends, I suppose.'

'Are you in love with him?'

She stopped short, shocked. 'I – no. No, I am not.'

'Is he in love with you? It is difficult to tell with that one, since he hides himself away so much,' Beorn mused. 'But I have known him for a long time, and he has never before seemed like he seemed yesterday.'

'How do you know him?' Azshar probed, trying to sound casual.

'He travels this way every few years, if he is struck by the urge to wander,' Beorn said. 'I like him; he nearly never speaks, and he treats my animals with respect.'

'Do you know what made him so… angry?' she asked curiously.

Beorn scratched his beard. 'He has led a very difficult and complicated life,' he said. 'He has carried the hopes and expectations of many thousands of people on his shoulders, and he has been dealt a great deal of power. He is disappointed in himself, I believe, and that makes him bitter. That's what comes of high expectations.'

Glorfindel didn't come back. The Company stayed at Beorn's house one more night, and Gandalf sent Azshar to ask him if they could replenish their lost supplies, since Beorn liked her best. He grudgingly agreed when she reminded him that the sooner he gave them supplies, the sooner the dwarves would be out of his house.

They left early the next morning under the cover of a fine mist.

'I wish you luck on your quest, Thorin Oakenshield,' Beorn said. 'Even if only because it means you won't be back this way again.'

'How nice,' muttered Dwalin sarcastically. Balin elbowed him in the ribs.

'Gandalf the Grey, if you plan on visiting me again, I think you'd better just come alone,' Beorn went on, ignoring the dwarves. 'But you, Azshar – I hope you will come back soon. When you remember your proper name, I want to be the first to know.'

'Thank you for everything,' she said, smiling widely. 'Stay warm in the winter.'

'I never find that very difficult,' Beorn said. 'Goodbye!'

Beorn lent them each a pony – and Azshar and Gandalf each a horse – for their journey to the edge of Mirkwood, on the promise that they would return them before they entered the forest. It made the journey quick and pleasant, and before Bilbo could complain about running out of honey-cakes, they were there.

Mirkwood rose thick and foreboding out of the land. It had the air of something which had once been beautiful, but that had started to rot from the inside out.

'Ugh, can you smell that?' Dori said as he dismounted and gathered his things.

'That was Bombur,' said Kíli.

'No, something else,' said Dori. 'It's like… overripe fruit, or sweet-smelling mould.'

'You had better hope that is all it is,' Gandalf said to the groups, dismounting from his horse. 'Mirkwood is a dark, toxic place that will trick you at every corner. The second you think something is true, think again.'

'I thought there were elves that lived there,' Ori said. 'Why would elves live in such a horrible place?'

'Because elves are horrible,' Bombur said, as though it were obvious.

'You will take the road through the woods,' Gandalf went on. 'Do not stray from the path. This is very important. Thorin, do you understand?'

'Just a moment,' Thorin said, 'why are you talking as though you won't be coming with us?'

'Because I will not,' Gandalf said imperiously. 'I have business elsewhere. While I will do what I can to be of use in retaking your mountain, there are many other mountains in Middle-earth which require my attention.'

Bilbo and the dwarves looked betrayed, and Azshar suddenly felt afraid. Going along with the quest had been dangerous, but she'd been confident that if something went wrong, Gandalf would know what to do. Now Gandalf wouldn't even be there.

'Oh dear,' said Bilbo sadly.

'I wish you all luck,' said Gandalf, remounting his horse. 'I shall see you on the other side, if all goes well. Watch out for spiders. Don't touch the river water. Oh – and if Azshar has an… episode, Nori, you're in charge of making sure she doesn't get left behind.'

'Episode?' Azshar spluttered.

'Typical,' Nori muttered.

'I hate spiders,' Dwalin sighed.

'Goodbye!' Gandalf called. He gave Azshar a meaningful look. 'Stay safe!'

Then he rode away, and the company was left alone before the vast expanse of Mirkwood. It suddenly felt eerily quiet. Then, wordlessly, Thorin stepped forward and into the trees. The rest of them followed. Within seconds, nearly all the daylight had been blocked by the thick, choked foliage above them.

Nori fell into step with Azshar, a smirk on his face. 'Make sure you stay nearby,' he said, 'so I can catch you when you have an episode.'

She rolled her eyes. 'You aren't going to let this go, are you?'

'Absolutely not. We have a long road to travel. Plenty of time for episodes.'

'Nori, I will hit you.'

His smirk only widened.


But soon, no one was smiling.

They travelled through the darkness in complete silence, hands hovering by their weapons. The air was thick, warm and hard to breathe, making Azshar feel queasy and light-headed. She began to feel tired well before the night, but she knew they couldn't risk drawing attention to themselves. She offered to keep watch.

Even to her sharper elvish eyes, the woods were pitch black at night. There were rustles all around them, from creatures she couldn't see or name. There was no hint of wind in the trees, and the heat was stifling. She longed for fresh air; this place felt increasingly like the cave she'd been trapped inside.

On the third day, she could see the remnants of spiderwebs in the trees – large spiderwebs. She loosened her dagger in its sheath, her mouth dry.

The road had become narrow and overgrown, and in places it completely disappeared. When that happened, Azshar and Bilbo were sent ahead to see if they could find where it took up again. Azshar began to fear the day when they wouldn't be able to.

On the seventh day, Azshar saw Bofur crying. She hurried back and put a hand on his shoulder. 'Bofur, what's wrong?' she asked worriedly.

'I – I just, the bees won't leave me alone,' he sniffed, more tears spilling onto his cheeks.

'Bofur,' she said, her concern growing, 'there aren't any bees here.'

'No – they're everywhere,' he said, shaking his head. 'I already told them to go away, and they won't…'

Azshar looked back at the rest of the company. Thorin looked lost and troubled. Dwalin had a thunderous frown on his face. Dori was endlessly scratching his beard, and Fíli and Kíli were walking wide-eyed and hand in hand. Azshar swallowed. As long as they kept going, they would be alright, she thought. She just had to make sure they kept going.

She took her place at the head of the procession with Bilbo at her left, who was staring down at his feet.

'Can you smell that?' he asked her quietly, not looking up. 'Something smells strange. Very strange.'

'I can't smell anything,' Azshar whispered. They kept walking.

A little less than an hour later, she became aware of someone walking next to her, to her right. She frowned and looked up, her eyes widening when she realised it was her younger brother, the one with the golden hair.

'Hello, brother,' she said.

'Hello, Azshar,' he replied. He was taller than her, but his eyes were the same as hers. He had a very kind face, she thought. He looked sad and wise.

'Have you been looking for me?' she asked. 'I was hoping you were. I'm glad you've finally found me.'

'No,' he said. 'I didn't know you were lost.'

'What's your name?' she asked, feeling dizzy. The warm air suddenly felt overbearingly hot.

'You can't remember, can you?' he asked. She shook her head, and he smiled sadly. 'That's alright. I'm sure you'll find a way.'

'Do you miss me?' she asked.

He looked down at her, his blue eyes calm and sad. 'Of course I do, sister, every day. But you are the one who made the choice to come here. You knew what the consequences would be.'

'I miss you,' she said thoughtfully. 'I often feel sad, and I don't know why. I think it's because I miss you.'

'Why would you miss me?' her brother asked. 'You barely even remember me.'

Azshar looked down, feeling hurt for a reason she couldn't explain. When she looked back up, her brother had changed into a tall, glowering Glorfindel.

'You disappeared without saying goodbye,' she said accusatorily. He glared.

'I had business elsewhere.'

She felt strangely like crying. 'Will you ever let me be your friend? Do you even have friends?'

'No,' he replied flatly. 'Besides, be honest with yourself; you don't want to be my friend.'

He said it in a way that made her sure that he meant something more, something below the surface, but Azshar's brain felt light and dizzy. She couldn't work it out.

'You're unhappy,' she muttered, half aware that her speech was slurred. 'But that doesn't mean you should take it out on me.'

'Azshar, who are you talking to?' Bilbo asked, and she glanced down at him with a frown. His face looked whiter than usual.

'To – to Glorfindel,' she said, suddenly confused. 'Talk to him yourself if you like.' She turned back, but Glorfindel was gone.

That night, no one thought to set a watch, and Azshar didn't remember to stay awake. As she was drifting off to sleep, she saw a pale face in the trees – a familiar face. It was the dark-haired elf who had found her in Bree, the one who'd called her Lalaith. He was staring at her with haunted eyes, his dark cloak helping him blend with the shadows.

Azshar's heart raced as she stared back, suddenly fully awake, her breath coming short and sharp. She wondered if the arms that had wrapped around her deep in her memory had belonged to him. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and pulled her cloak over her head.

'He isn't real,' she whispered to herself. 'This isn't real.'

For once, her dreams were benign. She dreamed of her father pressing kisses into her hair and calling her his little girl. She heard her mother's voice calling her to wake up.


Two days later they broke free of the hallucinatory haze they'd been walking in. Some of the dwarves threw up, and Azshar couldn't stop coughing.

'Some sort of pollen, it must have been,' Ori said weakly.

'Curse this damned forest,' Glóin growled.

To everyone's relief, they had somehow managed to stay on the path through the forest. Their way ahead was still clear, except –

'I'm hungry,' Bombur said, and suddenly Azshar realised she was too. She felt as though she hadn't eaten for days.

'My food's gone,' Bifur said, emptying the contents of his pack on the ground. 'Every bit.'

'How is this possible?' Nori said, doing the same.

'Does anyone remember eating everything?' Kíli asked.

'Why does everything have to go wrong?' Bilbo wondered miserably.

'I barely have any water left either,' Balin sighed.

'There's nothing for it,' Thorin said. 'We go on. Fíli and Kíli, walk at the front with your bows. If we come across any game, shoot it.'

Azshar hoped they were somewhere near the other side of the wood. It was impossible to tell; she had no way of knowing how many hours or days she'd been wandering in a haze of lucid daydreaming. She looked up with a sigh, and realised with sudden consternation that the number and size of spiderwebs had increased significantly.

They walked another foodless, waterless day before they heard the sound of the river. Azshar gasped when she heard it, and a few minutes later, the dwarves cheered. But her enthusiasm died quickly when the smell of the water hit her.

It had a deep, low, unsettling odour that smelled like sickly mildew and rotting flowers. And it was horribly, terrifyingly familiar to her.

'Nori, can you smell that?' Azshar asked, her hand coming up to clasp her locket nervously.

'This whole forest smells.'

'No – I mean, something different. Something new.'

'I don't think so, lass.'

'Hm…'

'You're not going to have an episode, are you?' he asked, half-joking, but when she looked down at him with wide eyes, the smile slid from his face.

The smell grew stronger as they drew nearer, and Azshar's feelings of panic increased. Suddenly, as she saw Fíli and Bofur pulling out their waterskins in preparation, she remembered Gandalf's warning.

'We can't drink it,' she called quietly. 'Gandalf said we mustn't touch the river water. And it smells… it smells wrong.'

There were several exclamations of protest and dismay, but Thorin held up a hand. 'She's right,' he sighed. 'Gandalf said as much. We'll get water some other way.'

Azshar could literally see the hope fade from Bilbo's eyes.

'Damn it,' the usually mild-mannered Bofur said, stamping his foot. 'Blast it all!'

'I'm so hungry,' Bombur whimpered.

'We all are,' Dwalin growled. 'Shut up.'

The river was wide and eerie, tendrils of mist lazily curling off it. Azshar grabbed Nori's arm and struggled for breath. Pain was stabbing at her head, and the world was closing in around her.

'Azshar!' Nori shouted, and she felt herself drop to her knees. Hands grabbed her from either side, holding her steady, but then she was lost in a memory –

He handed her an ordinary looking waterskin, heavy with water. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

'Will this…?'

'This will do it,' he said gently. 'This will take away your pain.' It was the elf from Bree, the one with dark hair and haunted eyes. The elf she'd seen in the trees a few days ago.

She was crying silently, and her hands were trembling as she held the waterskin. 'You promise me, this will end it? End everything?'

'I promise, Lalaith,' he said, reaching out to grasp her shoulder. His face was sorrowful, pitying. 'Drink it, and everything will fade away.'

Her whole body had begun to shake, despite his hand on her shoulder holding her steady. Tears poured down her face, and she unstoppered the skin. 'How much?'

'All of it,' he replied softly. 'As much as you can.'

She nodded jerkily. 'Thank you,' she said, and she threw her head back and drank.

It tasted like it smelled – lukewarm, with a hint of mildew and something sickly sweet. She didn't give herself a chance to balk, drinking without pausing for breath. For the first few seconds it made her feel sick, but then a deliriously wonderful numbness blossomed in the pit of her stomach and began spreading outward.

The skin fell from her hands as they lost the strength to hold it, sloshing some of the remaining water onto the ground. The world turned sideways, and she felt herself fall. He caught her before she hit the ground, as the numbness overwhelmed every inch of her.

'It's done now,' he whispered at her. She couldn't see him. She barely felt anything. 'It's over. It's finally over…'


She woke, trembling violently. She felt a heavy hand on her wrist. It calmed her a little, and she opened her eyes. It was Thorin.

'Thorin,' she rasped, prevented from sitting up by the wave of nausea that swept over her. The blinding pain was still in her head.

'Azshar,' he said. 'You're alright?'

'I'm alright. I – had a memory.'

'How wonderful,' he said vaguely, eyeing her with concern. 'When you're ready to move, we've found a boat we can pull back and forth across the river. We'll make our crossing.'

'Thorin, wait,' she said, forcing herself upright. She felt awful. 'What I remembered – it's about the river water. It's poisonous.'

He frowned. 'What? How?'

'It's what kept me unconscious for all that time in the cave. It's what has taken my memories.'

Thorin's eyes widened, and he gave her arm a pat before standing up. 'Let me tell the others.'

She put her face in her hands and sat for a minute before trying to stand. She felt truly unwell; for a moment, she debated telling the Company to go on without her so she could stay and sleep, and catch them up later.

Her memory had shaken her to her core. The dark-haired elf from Bree, the one that had called her Lalaith, the one who may or may not have been her lover, and may or may not have followed them into Mirkwood, was the one who had taken her memory. She reached up to clench her fist around her locket.

What was more disturbing was the realisation that she had been the one asking him to do it. Making him promise her that it would work. What had happened to her in her past life? What would happen to her now if she remembered it?

Something touched her elbow and she jerked away before realising it was only Ori, offering her his hand. She took it, touched, and he led her towards the water.

'Don't touch the water, lads,' Balin warned the first boatload of dwarves. There were four of them in there – Balin, Dwalin, Thorin and Kíli, their faces pale and wraith-like in the coiling mist. They gingerly took the rope and began pulling themselves to the other side.

Azshar could barely make them out as they reached the other side and disembarked. The afternoon was drawing on, and the fog was thickening above the water.

Bifur, Bofur, Fíli and Ori went next. They disappeared fully into the mist, and for a moment, Azshar had an irrational fear that they would cut the rope, pull the boat onto the shore and leave the rest of them stranded on the other bank. She shook her head at her own relief when the boat glided back into view.

Nori, Dori, Óin and Glóin went next, leaving Azshar, Bilbo and Bombur alone on the bank. Bilbo looked justifiably chagrined at being left until last with Bombur. Azshar tried not to feel the same way.

The little boat appeared through the mist, and taking a deep breath, Azshar climbed in. The smell of the water was overpowering this close; she felt as though she was swimming in it. Bilbo got in and sat next to her, and when Bombur climbed in, he nearly tipped the three of them into the water.

'Bombur!' Bilbo exclaimed, his face whiter than a ghost's. 'Be careful!'

'I am being careful,' Bombur shot back, annoyed. 'Give me the rope to pull.'

Silently, her heart thundering from their near miss, Azshar handed him the rope. The boat grated against the sand of the riverbed, and then they were free, floating low in the water. She couldn't bring herself to watch.

She held her breath the whole way across, gripping the seat with white-knuckled fingers. Bilbo's warm hand landed on top of hers, and he shot her a nervous smile. She couldn't bring herself to smile back.

At last, they reached the other side. Azshar let out her breath and leapt from the boat, her hands clenched into fists. Bilbo disembarked a little less gracefully, and Bombur –

'Bombur, careful!' Bifur shouted, disrupting the quiet of the forest. Bombur's foot had caught in the rope as he was climbing out, and Azshar's eyes widened in horror as he fell, landing on his hands and knees in the shallow water.

He leapt out with surprising agility, shaking the water off like it had burned him. 'I'm alright!' he announced. 'I'm quite alright! Nothing to worry about!'

'Thank Mahal's very beard, you clumsy oaf!' Dwalin snapped. 'We have to fight a dragon yet, we can't be losing men to a river.'

'Let's get away from this accursed place,' Thorin said. 'Fíli, Kíli, at the front with your bows.'

'I'm starving,' Nori muttered.

'Me too,' said Ori.

'Shut up, Ori,' said Dori bad-temperedly.

'Bombur!' Balin cried, and the rest of them turned to find that Bombur had collapsed to the ground, completely unconscious.

'Oh no,' Azshar whispered, frozen in place. For a moment, there was total, horrified silence –

Then Bombur snored.

'Mahal,' Thorin swore under his breath. Then he sighed. 'Ori, Nori and Dori, give your packs to others and carry him.'

Dori looked like he very much wanted to question Thorin's authority on this, but he held his tongue. Bombur was hoisted off the ground, and they walked on.


Their going was slower now, because of the extra weight they passed between themselves, and their persistent hunger. The next night, Thorin had Óin and Glóin make a fire and boil some leather so they could chew on it.

Hunger made beasts of them all. Azshar could endure it, but she was quiet and listless, her head throbbing and her limbs weak after the triggered memory. The dwarves and Bilbo, on the other hand, became short and argumentative with each other. Every word that was spoken was snapped, bitten off as though it was the other person's fault that they were starving.

Fíli shot a squirrel the next day, but when they tried to eat it, the meat was stringy and foul-tasting. Ori was sick. Azshar didn't try it, still unable to shake the cloying scent of the river water.

She refused to sleep, but during the nights she stared into the middle distance, lost in hopeless rings of thought, and enduring the pain in her head. During the days, Thorin somehow managed to urge them all onwards.

It was evening when they came across the wood elves. Bombur sensed it first, grumbling and twitching in his sleep. Then Bilbo lifted his head.

'I smell food!' he gasped weakly. Azshar frowned and concentrated. Sure enough, she could hear the faint sounds of singing and laughter. She pushed her way to the front of their narrow procession.

'This way,' she said quietly, and began to walk unsteadily off the path and into the woods. Without question, Thorin began following her.

The sounds grew louder, and the trees slightly thinner. There was a clearing up ahead, lit by silver lanterns. She could smell the food, and she increased her pace, breaking into the clearing. Tens of elves suddenly turned to face her. Silence fell.

She was exhausted, dirty, and followed by a party of thirteen dwarves and a hobbit; she couldn't imagine what they thought of her. She made eye contact with a blonde-haired elf across the clearing. He was tall and bright-eyed, wearing a tunic embroidered with silver thread and a circlet on his head. He stared at her with wariness and a hint of curiosity.

But a mere beat after they had burst into the clearing, she heard one of the elves call 'Intruders!' in a low voice. Suddenly, every lamp was snuffed out, and there was darkness.

'Wait!' she heard Bilbo cry. 'Please, help us!'

'Where have they gone?' Bofur lamented.

'Óin, that was my toe!' Glóin grunted.

'See if they left any food,' Balin called.

Azshar's eyes adjusted quickly to the new darkness. The woods felt threatening and close again, and the silence was ominous.

'There's no food,' she said quietly. 'There's nothing.'

'Damn them to everything,' Thorin growled.

'Hey!' Kíli exclaimed. 'Bombur's waking up!'

In the darkness, they all gathered around Bombur's prostrate form. He mumbled and rubbed his eyes, then sat up, blinking up at them all. Then he turned and dry heaved.

'Why on earth did you wake me up?' he groaned. 'I was dreaming about food.'

'We didn't wake you up, you oaf,' said Dori. 'We've been carrying you around for days like luggage.'

Bombur frowned. 'Why on earth and under it would you do that?'

'Bombur,' said Azshar slowly, 'what is the last thing you remember?'

'Well, we just had that wonderful party at the burglar's house,' Bombur said, confused. 'And – wait a moment, what is the elf still doing here?'

'Mahal,' Dwalin sighed. 'Let him be; we can solve that problem another time. Right now, we need to get back to the road.'

'Which way was it?' Balin asked worriedly.

'Back there,' Azshar said, pointing back the way they'd come.

'No,' said Thorin, pointing to a stump she didn't recognise. 'It was through there, I'm certain.'

'Very well,' said Fíli sadly. 'Back we go, I suppose.'

They followed Thorin through the thicket, Azshar going last and frowning the whole way. She was certain this wasn't the way back to the road. But it had been dark, it was true, and Thorin might have seen something she hadn't…

An hour later, they were more lost than ever.

'We ought to stop for the night,' Glóin said to Thorin. 'We'll never find the road at this rate.'

'Just a moment,' said Bombur. 'I can smell food!'

'You're dreaming again,' Nori grumbled, but he shook his head.

'No – I mean it! Pheasant and fried potatoes and leeks roasted in butter –'

'Shut up, Bombur,' said Bofur miserably.

'He's right,' said Bilbo, his face lighting up. 'I can smell it too!'

'We've found the elves again!' Ori crowed. 'Let's go!'

They ran, imbibed with new energy, towards the smell. Sure enough, the sounds of laughter and music became audible, and Azshar soon saw lights between the trees.

'Just a moment,' she called. 'Wait – Thorin, wait!'

Thorin didn't wait, and the company burst into the clearing again. Azshar caught sight of the blonde elf again, but only for a split second before the lights were snuffed and the elves disappeared into the darkness. She sank to her knees, the throbbing in her head made worse by the running. She felt like crying.

'Curse the elves!' she heard Dwalin cry. 'Every last one of them!' No one corrected him with regards to Azshar, but she couldn't summon enough energy to care.

'Let's move on,' Thorin said tiredly. 'Keep moving, lads.'

They walked on once more, and after only twenty minutes, they could smell the food again.

'Quietly this time,' Dwalin whispered. 'Sneak up on them, and they won't have time to run away!'

Azshar didn't bother to move quietly; the dwarves made enough sound to rouse the dead. The second they made it to the clearing, the elves disappeared.

'Make camp here,' Thorin said, the exhaustion and hopelessness evident in his voice. 'Bombur, you can keep watch.'

'He's already asleep,' Kíli said. Thorin sighed, and tossed his pack to the ground.

'Fine. Just – everyone get some sleep.'

Azshar lay on her back, wrapped tightly in her cloak. The last thing she thought of before her eyes drifted shut, was that it looked as though the branches of the trees above them were crawling towards her.


She dreamed she was young again, and at her sister's wedding. The bride was beautiful, dressed in blue and white, her long, golden hair shining in the gentle light. Azshar was sitting at the banquet table beside her younger brother, watching the dancers twirl to lively music below.

'You used to dance with me at every special occasion,' she said to him resentfully. He turned his amused blue eyes to hers and raised an eyebrow.

'Only because I knew you wouldn't stop complaining until I did.'

She laughed. 'True. What changed then? You think you can endure my complaints now?'

'I have a wife to dance with now, and that is quite enough dancing for me.'

Azshar sighed. 'There is no one left to dance with me. All my brothers are married – and my sister too, now.'

'Ask father.'

'Ah, but tatanya is much too regal to dance at these things,' she said with a smile. 'No, I suppose it is I who must learn to like sitting still. Unless…'

Azshar sent her brother a pleading look, and to her surprise, he heaved a great sigh and got to his feet. Her jaw dropped in surprise when he offered her a hand.

'One dance,' he said. 'One dance and nothing more, understood?'

She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek before pulling him out to the floor. 'I'll ask them for a long song!'


When she woke, she wished she had stayed asleep.


In brief response to your lovely reviews: heaps of you are playing detective and, I suspect, getting pretty close. I love it! Up the Silmarillion fans! I hope Beorn didn't disappoint, and don't worry – Glorfindel is not gone yet. And finally, to the reviewer who said they were interested to see how for this story will go... so far. Just... so far.

Follow and favourite (or just check the website and hope for the best) for the next chapter, in which there are spiders only slightly more dangerous than the Australian varieties, Bilbo goes into stealth mode, a side character is seriously overused, and Azshar is still a horse girl. See you soon!

S