Chapter Eleven: Liantë

Azshar woke slowly, feeling like she'd been filled with cotton wool. Her head felt heavy, and every thump of her heart felt like it was being pounded by a dwarven hammer. She tried opening her eyes, but it was pitch black.

Something was approaching her, and she sensed it was coming from above her. She felt discombobulated, woozy and confounded, like she'd been poisoned.

Poison.

There was an acute pain in her upper left arm, and, much more slowly than she should have, she realised she was trapped in a silky, sticky casing. Spiderweb.

'Azshar, is that you?' came a voice. She fought to open her mouth.

'Bilbo?'

'Just a moment, I'm going to cut you all free!' he whispered. She felt the webs tug near her feet, and the moment she realised she was hanging upside-down was also the moment that she fell with a painful thump to the ground. Feeling like she was moving underwater, she began clawing at the web around her.

She freed her hands first, then her face and the rest of her torso. She could hear periodic thumps around her – the sounds of what she hoped were the rest of the Company being freed by their silent helper.

She crawled onto her hands and knees and shook her head, trying to clear it so she could stand up and get her bearings. She felt horribly ill, and she wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball, squeeze her eyes shut and imagine she was back at her sister's wedding, laughing and dancing with her brother.

But she could already hear the skitter of terrifyingly large spiders through the leaves above her. She groaned and forced herself to her feet, holding her upper arm where she'd been stung before. The underbrush was thick, and she could barely see anything in the dim light.

'Thorin?' she rasped, her throat painfully dry. She needed water.

Something hit her from behind, and she pitched forward, drawing her dagger with a ragged cry. It was too late. The spider bit her on the back of the neck, then again on her shoulder. She lay on her face on the jungle floor, paralysis creeping through her limbs, her dagger gripped uselessly in her hand.

Azshar could feel the sickening weight of the spider still on her back, beginning to reweave the web cocoon. Then – suddenly – it was gone with a violent screech. She felt something warm and wet fall on her from above. Her vision was littered with expanding spots of black.

Someone shook her and said something she couldn't hear through the ringing in her ears – a woman's voice. She knelt beside her, and she could see the woman's face close to hers, her lips moving. She had long auburn hair and green eyes. It was the last thing Azshar saw.


She was a little girl, and she was crying, running through the glittering white streets of her home. Her little feet carried her, panting and sniffling, through the courtyard with the white tree, through the white stone corridors, until she bumped into her sister, her beautiful, kind sister, walking through an archway with an armful of cloth.

'What's this?' she exclaimed, kneeling down to get to Azshar's eyelevel, and laying the cloth aside. 'What happened, melda?'

Azshar pushed her unruly curls out of her face and lifted the skirt of her dress, unable to keep her bottom lip from trembling.

'Look,' she hiccupped. There was a graze on her knee, dripping blood onto her dirty, bare feet.

'Oh, my dear,' said Azshar's sister, gathering Azshar into her arms. 'My poor love. Were you running too fast?'

Azshar nodded tearfully, and her sister pressed a kiss to her hair. 'Well, there's no use crying about it now, is there? Come on, no more tears, or I shall have to rename you Nírëwendë.'

That made Azshar smile through her tears, and her sister laughed, tucking Azshar's hair behind her ears.

'Will you put a bandage on?' she asked. Her sister stood up, gathering the pile of cloth in one arm and taking Azshar's hand with the other.

'Of course, melda. Come with me.'


She awoke slowly in a room lit by candlelight. The pain in her head was gone, and though her shoulder, neck, and arm felt stiff, they didn't hurt. Furtively, Azshar felt for her blades. Her belt was gone.

At her movement, someone moved to the foot of her bed. It was an elf, one she hadn't seen before. He had silvery hair, and his eyes were guarded. He looked Azshar up and down, then went to the door and knocked twice. It was opened, and the elf whispered something, and it was closed again. Azshar heard a key turn in a lock.

'Where am I?' she whispered. The silver haired elf turned back to glance at her.

'Save your questions,' he said shortly. 'You'll have a chance to hear the answers soon enough.'

Azshar nodded, wincing as a muscle twinged in her neck, and lay back to wait. After a few minutes, she heard footsteps approaching outside. The lock clicked, and the door opened to reveal the blonde-haired elf she'd seen at the elven feasts – the one who had been wearing the circlet. He nodded once at the other elf, who silently left the room.

The new elf circled her bed, pacing with his arms behind his back. Azshar felt embarrassed at the fact that she was lying flat on her back while he stood before her, but she was too weak to push herself up. She settled for holding his cool gaze with all the authority she could muster.

'Who are you?' the elf asked eventually.

'Where am I?' she countered, her voice gravelly and uneven.

'You are no position to be asking questions,' he replied coldly.

'Perhaps I will decide I am not in a position to be answering questions either, then,' she replied. She wanted water, and he seemed to sense it, because he eyed the ewer of water on the table against the wall. She remained silent, and then he sighed.

He pulled another pillow from beneath the bed and helped her sit up slightly higher to put it behind her head. Then he filled a cup with water and handed it to her. She drank it as quickly as she trusted herself to without throwing it up. He watched her silently, then refilled the cup when she was done.

'Thank you,' she said quietly, and he nodded.

'I understand you only just came back into consciousness. But you must understand my urgency.'

She shrugged painfully. 'Not really.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'You and your band of dwarves followed us without reason last night, though it was made abundantly clear you were not welcome.'

'The dwarves!' Azshar gasped. 'Are they – did you save them too?'

The elf pursed his lips. 'How about this,' he said. 'I ask a question, and if you answer truthfully, you may ask something of me.'

'And will you be bound to answer truthfully?' she asked. The elf shrugged.

'We shall see where the game takes us.'

Azshar examined him for a moment. She wasn't sure if he was trying to manipulate her into thinking he was on her side, or if he was genuinely that confident in his ability to get honest answers out of her. She sighed.

'Alright.'

'Good. So, who are you?'

She held his gaze. 'They call me Azshar.'

'Give me a complete answer, or our deal is void,' the elf said. 'No riddles.'

'The dwarves named me Azshar, because I can't remember my real name. I've lost my memory, and they took me under their wing.'

The elf stared at her for a moment, but seemed to decide she'd been telling the truth. 'Very well. Your turn.'

'Who are you?'

'I am Legolas, son of King Thranduil, in whose realm you are currently residing.'

'Ah. What an honour.'

'The pleasure is all ours,' he returned with a faint smile. 'Why did you and your friends follow us through the woods that night?'

That night, Azshar thought. She wondered how long she'd been unconscious. 'We lost all our food and water a while ago, and we were starving. We smelled your feast, and thought you'd be able to help us.'

Legolas held her gaze for a long moment, his face expressionless. Then he nodded and looked away. 'And the second and third times?'

'Accidents, I promise you. We were trying to find our way back to the road, but we were lost.'

'This is the truth?'

'I haven't yet lied to you.'

'Very well; your turn.'

'Where are my friends?' Azshar asked, taking another sip of her water.

'Your friends…?'

'The dwarves. Are they here too?'

Legolas nodded. 'All thirteen are alive, and in better shape than you were when you were brought here. It seems spider bites don't travel as well through thick dwarvish skin. They are being kept in the dungeons.'

All thirteen, he'd said. And he hadn't made mention of a hobbit, Azshar realised. Meaning that Bilbo was either still out in Mirkwood, or he was here, but somehow free and without the knowledge of the elves. As impossible as that seemed, she decided to keep her mouth closed about it for now.

'Let's try something none of your friends have been able to answer yet,' Legolas said, watching her carefully. 'Why are you travelling through Mirkwood?'

Azshar hesitated. If none of the dwarves had answered that question, it meant they didn't want Legolas or his father to know the purpose of their quest. Why?

'The dwarves have family in the Iron Hills,' she said quickly, drawing on names she'd heard over the weeks. 'They're making the journey to visit them.'

'Interesting,' Legolas said casually, leaning against the wall. 'Your first lie.'

Azshar looked down. 'They're my friends,' she said stiffly. 'Would you think better of me if I betrayed their confidence?'

'They're dwarves,' Legolas replied flatly.

'Even so.'

'Fine. Why are you accompanying them?'

She hesitated again. 'Because… I feel safer with them, I suppose.'

'Safer than what?'

She looked away. 'I spent two days in Rivendell, with Lord Elrond. You know it?' Legolas nodded, and she went on. 'He offered me a place to stay while I regained my memory, but…' she swallowed, forcing herself to be honest this time. 'He was keeping secrets from me, and I felt claustrophobic at the thought of staying locked away in one place for years. So I left.'

'I can understand that, perhaps,' Legolas said. 'Though not quite enough to imagine myself joining a company of dwarves.'

'I did what I believed I had to.'

'If you say so.'

'My turn,' Azshar said. 'Where are we now?'

'We are in a healing room,' Legolas said. When she raised an eyebrow, he continued. 'More broadly, we are in the halls of Thranduil, in the realm of the Woodland Elves. You haven't left Mirkwood, you're just in a much safer part of it.'

'Are we underground?'

'We are.'

'That seems like a dwarvish thing to do.'

'We do it better,' Legolas said with something like a smirk. 'Next question: where did you get your weapons?'

'They're mine,' she said. 'My father made me the sword, and I found the dagger in a troll-cave.'

'I thought you said you had no memory.'

'Some things have been starting to come back,' she admitted. 'Small details. But the troll-cave came after the memory loss.'

'What about the dwarf Thorin?' Legolas asked. 'He wields an elvish sword. Did he steal it?'

'No, but it's my turn for questions,' she reminded him. 'Am I a prisoner here?'

'If you are reasonable, my father may see fit to unlock your doors,' Legolas said. 'But your friends won't be going anywhere until they confess their true purpose in journeying so far east, and you are not in good shape. Even if you were free to go, you'd be too weak.'

Azshar bit the inside of her cheek. He was right; she was too weak to sit up by herself, and whatever the elves had been giving her for pain was starting to wear off. She suspected she'd broken a rib when Bilbo had cut her free, and her headache had returned.

'Thorin found his sword in the same troll-hoard I found my dagger,' she said, answering his earlier question. 'Gandalf the Grey carries its sister, and they both have Elrond's blessing to do so.'

'Gandalf the Grey is involved in all this?'

'He is up to his elbows in it.'

'I see,' Legolas said. He pushed himself off the wall and ran a hand through his neat, silver-blonde hair. 'Well, Azshar, I think we are done for now.'

'I have more questions.'

'Perhaps, but you need sleep and more of Galion's potions as well. I'll return tomorrow, and we can talk then.'

She sighed and settled back into the pillows. 'Can you promise me that my friends are alright?' she asked as he knocked twice on the door. He shot her a wry look over his shoulder.

'We do not mistreat prisoners of any kind here,' he said. 'You can be sure of that.'

'Thank you,' she said, and he blinked.

'For what?'

She shrugged. 'You could have been unreasonable about this.'

He smiled at her. He was handsome, she noted belatedly. 'You've been travelling with dwarves for a long time, clearly,' he said. 'Your standards are too low.'

Then he left, and the room was quiet. Azshar glanced around. There was a table against the wall to her left, and the door was to her right. With a start, she realised her sword, dagger and locket were all lying on the table; they'd left her possessions with her.

The door opened again to admit the elf who had been in there earlier. He had a crystal vial of reddish liquid that Azshar eyed apprehensively.

'Are you Galion?' she asked. The silver-haired elf nodded once.

'I am.'

'Thank you,' she said. 'For fixing me up.'

The healer looked taken aback, but then he smiled. 'It's what I do best,' he said.

'Could I – would you mind if I had my locket?' Azshar asked. Galion glanced over at the locket on the table, his eyes narrowing slightly.

'Why?'

'It isn't a weapon or anything,' Azshar assured him. 'It's just… I'd feel easier if I were wearing it.'

Galion placed the vial on the table and picked up another container, unscrewing its silver lid. It smelled like willow bark and peppermint. He stepped forward and removed the bandage on Azshar's upper arm, rubbing the ointment on the still ugly-looking spider bite there.

'You can wear your pendant when the bite on your neck has healed a little more,' Galion said at last, not unkindly. 'It will only be in the way now.

Azshar nodded, then winced at the movement. 'I don't know if I'd ever be able to do all this,' she said, gesturing at the ointment and bandages. 'Healing, I mean. I wouldn't know where to begin.'

'Some people have a knack for it, I think,' Galion said, moving to the bite on Azshar's neck. 'You know what they say, one is either made for fighting or healing. You can't do both.'

'I suppose I must be a fighter, then.'

'There is honour in both callings.'

'Though a bit more patience in healing, I suspect.'

Galion laughed unexpectedly. 'You're right. You know, healers make much better patients than soldiers do.'

'Because soldiers think they can walk it off.'

'Exactly, the whole world is a battlefield to them,' Galion said, replacing the bandage on Azshar's neck. 'There is a Rivendell elf, a fighter, who faced the spiders with us in the rescue. I suspect he was bitten more than once, but he refused treatment when I offered it, and I knew better than to insist.' Azshar stiffened, and Galion paused. 'Did I hurt you?'

'No,' she said quickly. 'But you said – a Rivendell elf?'

'Glorfindel of Rivendell, yes,' Galion said, fastening the bandage and stepping back. 'He comes to visit every once in a while, when he's passing through the woods.'

Azshar's heart was suddenly beating faster. Glorfindel was here, in the same place as her. Did he know she was here? Had anyone told him? Would he want to speak to her? They hadn't parted on the best of terms, even though she hadn't meant to upset him in Beorn's house.

She was filled with a sudden, desperate urge to see him, to see a familiar face in the strange, lantern-lit underground world she'd found herself in. Even if that face didn't want to see her.

'Do you see the dagger on the table there?' Azshar asked, pointing. Galion's face set.

'I am not giving that to you.'

'I don't want it,' she said quickly. 'I was wondering instead – would you take it to Glorfindel, and tell him there is a friend who wants to see him?'

Galion pursed his lips. 'Why not just have me relay the message without the dagger? Or better yet, no message at all, so I don't have to approach him?'

'Because he specifically told me he doesn't want the dagger,' Azshar answered honestly. 'And I think if I send a message by itself, he'll ignore it. This way, there's a chance he'll bring back the dagger.'

'Or he might send it back with me.'

'There's also a chance of that.'

'What makes you so eager to see him?' Galion asked curiously. 'He didn't strike me as the kind of person who has friends.'

Azshar hesitated. 'Because I… don't know many other people here.'

'In any case, the King wouldn't be happy to know his prisoner was sending messages from her cell.'

'Legolas said Thranduil was considering releasing me,' Azshar tried. Galion sighed, giving in.

'Alright. I will take the knife to your friend, on the condition that you drink my potion in its entirety and without complaint.' He gestured to the reddish liquid in the vial, and Azshar screwed up her face.

'Is it that bad?'

'Battle-hardened warriors have been known to beg me not to feed it to them.'

'What does it do?'

'It dulls your pain, counters the spider venom, and sends you to sleep,' Galion said. 'It just tastes a little strong.'

Azshar hesitated. 'Dreamless sleep?'

He studied her for a second. 'I can't promise that, no. But no one here will judge you for a nightmare.'

Azshar glanced at the potion, and then at the dagger. She knew she needed sleep for her recovery, and this way, Glorfindel would get her message. This was a win-win, she told herself firmly. She hoped the walls were thick enough to stifle the sounds of her nightmares.

'Deal,' she said. 'I drink, you talk to my friend.'

'Good,' Galion said, unstoppering the vial and handing it to Azshar. 'Don't smell it, just drink it.'

It tasted so sour it brought tears to Azshar's eyes, and left a rubbery feel in her mouth. She coughed painfully, but swallowed it all down. Galion nodded his approval.

'Perhaps the soldiers are better patients, where you come from,' he said, taking back the vial. 'I'll be here when you wake. And yes, I'll take the dagger to Glorfindel of Rivendell.'

'Thank you,' Azshar whispered. She heard the door close; her eyes were already shut.


She dreamed of riding a horse through a green valley, the wind whipping through her hair as she crouched low over its back. She felt free, wild. She was in her element, ready to go wherever the wind blew her.

But the dream soon changed into a more familiar one. She felt a rope around her wrist as she hung above the abyss, the pain horrifying. It shot through her like a bolt of lightning, ripping at her every nerve.

She screamed.


She didn't know what time it was when she woke, but there was only one candle burning on the wall. Her forehead was damp with sweat, and she weakly pushed at the blanket covering her, to no avail. It was too hot. She closed her eyes again and sighed.

Her eyes snapped open again when the blanket began sliding back of its own accord. There was a shadowy figure at the end of her bed, one that was becoming increasingly familiar. She lay back in her pillows, wishing she had the strength to sit up properly. She still felt raw and confused from the dream.

Glorfindel stood in silence, giving no sign that he meant to speak. Azshar wet her lips.

'Glorfindel,' she said slowly, not forgetting the way he'd left her in Beorn's house. 'You came.'

'I got your message.'

'What time is it?'

His jaw tightened. 'Early morning.'

She narrowed her eyes. 'How early?'

'What does it matter?'

She stifled a groan as she shifted. The pain potion was wearing off. 'Because I suspect you came here hoping you wouldn't have to talk to me,' she said. 'Am I right?'

Instead of replying, he went and took the chair from the corner of the room and placed it by her bed, sitting so she could see him clearly. He looked terrible, she thought; there were shadows under his eyes, and his face had an exhausted pallor. He looked unwell.

'Well, at least you've accepted your fate now,' she said with a smile. He looked down at his hands.

'I needed to return your dagger before I left for Rivendell, and I – didn't want to interrupt your recovery.'

'You wanted to see me, but didn't want to talk to me,' she corrected him.

'That isn't what I said.'

'But it's what you meant. It's alright, I don't mind,' she said. 'But if you didn't want to see me, why not just give the knife back to the healer?'

He glanced up at her with something resembling guilt, as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. 'Because – I –' he paused for a long while, conflict written in his dark eyes. She watched him at war with himself before he finally decided to be honest. 'I did want to see you. I do want to see you.'

A thrill ran through Azshar that she made sure not to show on her face. She didn't want to scare him away again just as he started telling the truth. 'Alright,' she whispered. There was a stretch of silence before he spoke again.

'So, you made it through the wood,' he said. She nodded.

'Barely. If not for our rescue, we would have starved or been killed by spiders, whichever came first.'

'I heard them talking. They said you were almost killed,' Glorfindel said. 'You were bitten three times. The woodland elves say a spider only injects that much venom when its prey isn't worth the effort to eat.'

'Poor spider, I think he ended up worse than I did.'

'You wouldn't have survived if we hadn't arrived when we did,' Glorfindel said quietly.

Azshar studied him, his dark blue eyes flickering in the candlelight. 'So you were in the hunt,' she surmised. He nodded without looking for her. 'Why?'

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. 'Because Thranduil said I was welcome to do so. I wanted to see the spiders first-hand.'

'And?'

He grimaced. 'Not very pretty.'

She laughed. 'No, I imagine not. Nor did they seem particularly friendly.'

Glorfindel rolled his shoulders. 'I didn't stop to ask.'

Azshar's smile faded a little as she remembered the ruthless brutality with which Glorfindel had dispatched the orcs in the Misty Mountains. The spiders wouldn't have stood a chance. At the risk of offending him again, she decided to change the subject.

'Glorfindel, have you been sleeping?'

He stiffened immediately, his face growing stony. She hadn't even noticed that his mask had come down until it was back up again. 'What concern is it of yours?'

She frowned. 'Is it a secret? You look exhausted.'

'I'm not tired,' he said shortly.

Perhaps that was why he'd been more vulnerable today, Azshar thought, speaking to her and making her smile and being more… open. He was too tired, or sick maybe, to bring up his usual shields.

'What about the flowers?' she asked quietly. 'The ones you gave me, to help me sleep without dreams.'

'Edlothialost? Even if I wanted them, they don't work for me anymore,' he said.

'Anymore?'

He shrugged. 'I used to chew one every time I tried to sleep. When that stopped working, I'd chew two, and then three or four at a time. After a few years, their usefulness faded altogether. Now they just make me tired.'

'What did you do then?' she asked. 'To stop dreaming?'

'I avoided sleeping,' he said.

'Perhaps you could –'

'Azshar,' he interrupted. 'I'm fine. Let it be.'

She nodded once, cringing again at the pain shooting from her spider bite. 'So… you're returning to Rivendell.'

'Today.'

She felt a stab of unjustified panic. 'Why so soon?'

'I've been here longer than you have. It isn't so soon.'

At that moment, there was a rattle at the door, and it swung open quietly to reveal Galion. He stopped short when he saw Glorfindel, and alarm flashed across his face before he bowed.

'My lord, I apologise for the interruption.'

Glorfindel got to his feet and replaced the chair in the corner of the room. 'You aren't interrupting anything,' he said stiffly, not looking at Azshar. He rounded the bed and swept past Galion to leave.

'Glorfindel,' Azshar called impulsively. If he left now, she might not see him until… she didn't know. Without even saying goodbye. He stopped and turned back to face her, his expression impassive. 'Would you stay?' she asked quietly, trying not to sound desperate. 'Just… for a few days more?'

His jaw ticked, and something gave in his eyes. 'Goodbye, Azshar,' he said. Then he was gone.

Galion tutted and went to the table, unloading the basket of things he'd brought with him. 'You're alright?'

'I'm fine,' Azshar said. 'I still feel weak.'

'That's to be expected,' Galion said, placing a cool hand on her forehead and nodding in approval at whatever he found. 'It's a side effect of the antivenin, as well as the fact that you haven't eaten in a long while.'

'Good point.'

'Before I give you food, I want you to drink more of this,' Galion said, handing her a vial of reddish liquid. Azshar stifled a groan.

'Won't it send me to sleep?'

'No, this one won't. Though you wouldn't be hurt by a little more sleep; there is another hour before dawn at least.' Galion paused in his movements and glanced back at Azshar. 'So, your plan worked.'

'I suppose,' Azshar sighed. 'He came to return the dagger himself, thinking I'd be asleep. Unfortunately for him, I woke before he could leave.'

Galion studied her for a second with a quizzical look on his face before returning to the basket. 'He dismissed the guard outside your door,' he said with a hint of disapproval. 'Not that he has the authority to do so, but… one does not disagree with Glorfindel of Rivendell lightly.'

Azshar hid a smile. 'He is a threatening man.'

'But he is leaving?'

'Yes, today apparently.' Azshar made sure she sounded uncaring. 'He is returning to Rivendell.' Before Galion could ask more questions, Azshar downed the vial of antivenin, gagging at the horrific taste. Galion patted her sympathetically on the shoulder and handed her a bowl of broth.

A few hours later, Azshar was sitting upright and feeling stronger. There was a sharp rap on the door before Legolas entered, watching her appraisingly. She appreciated the gesture of him knocking, even though they both knew she had no control over whether or not the door opened.

'Good morning,' Legolas said, folding his arms across his chest. He was wearing a dark green tunic, and his pale hair was damp. 'You'll be interested to hear that the King has agreed to unlock your door, on the condition that you receive him for an interview beforehand.'

'Am I interviewing him, or he me?' she asked. Legolas' lips quirked.

'When you meet my father, you will understand that he is always the one conducting the interview.'

'How threatening,' she said.

'How are you feeling?' he asked.

'Much better,' she said. 'I feel stronger already, thanks to Galion.'

'He works wonders,' Legolas agreed. 'I also heard you had an early morning visitor.' His tone was light, but curious. He was quite the interrogator, Azshar thought with faint amusement.

'Glorfindel is… something of a friend of mine,' she said. 'We met in Rivendell and have crossed paths a few times since.'

Legolas quirked an eyebrow and stepped closer. 'You're really… friends?'

She hesitated, catching his emphasis on the last word. 'Well, that might be putting it a little artistically. We've met.'

Legolas snorted. 'As I suspected,' he said. Azshar smiled, trying to communicate her curiosity without seeming overly interested.

'What do you mean by that?'

'Just that as far as I knew, Glorfindel of Rivendell didn't have any friends.'

'I don't really believe that,' Azshar said. 'At the very least, he is friends with Elrond.'

'Far be it from me to gossip,' Legolas said wryly, 'but the word from Rivendell is that he tolerates Elrond. The Imladris elves say he never speaks more than a word to any of them; he spends more time roaming the wilderness alone than he does among people.'

Azshar felt guilty for asking questions behind Glorfindel's back, but the more she heard, the more she wanted to know. 'Why would he come here, then?'

'He passes through every now and then,' Legolas said, shrugging. 'He strikes terror into the hearts of the woodland people, he infuriates the King, and then he leaves.'

'Fighting some spiders along the way,' Azshar joked. Legolas smiled again.

'This time, at least. He requested of the King that he be allowed to accompany the rescue mission, and I think my father agreed in the hope that the spiders would kill him. I suppose he nearly got his wish.'

Azshar stiffened. 'Why, what happened?'

Legolas seemed to notice her forced casual tone, but he answered the question anyway. 'After we found the thirteen dwarves and beat the spiders into retreat, Glorfindel insisted on following them to their nest,' he said. 'No one else agreed to go, of course, and instead of giving up, he went alone. When he returned, he was in bad shape, limping and bleeding, but he said the nest had been destroyed.'

'Why would he do that?' Azshar whispered, unable to hide her consternation. Legolas looked at her a long moment and then sighed.

'Perhaps because he didn't know we'd already found you and brought you in,' he said. His voice softened fractionally. 'Sometimes he does things like this. What is Glorfindel to you, exactly?'

Azshar looked down, thinking of the way he'd left her without a word that morning, like she meant nothing to him. The more Legolas told her, the more she suspected it was true. 'Like I said, we aren't even friends.'

'Just…' Legolas hesitated. 'I'm not saying I don't believe you. But if he doesn't stay away from you, then maybe you should consider staying away from him.' Azshar stared at him in silence for a moment before he shook his head and smiled wryly. 'Anyway. I came back because you had more questions.'

'Ah… yes,' she said, shaking her own head to clear it. 'Yes. What is going to happen to my friends?'

'The dwarves will be kept imprisoned until they find it within themselves to be honest to the King,' Legolas replied, faint distaste crossing his face. 'After that, the King will make his decision.'

'I'm not sure the King understands just how stubborn dwarves can be,' Azshar said flatly. 'We're on a deadline, and it will be years before Thorin changes his mind.'

'I assure you the King understands exactly what he is dealing with,' Legolas said.

She sighed. 'If I could talk to the dwarves, we could –'

'That is not permitted.'

Azshar deflated a little. She was forgetting that she was still a prisoner here. 'When does Thranduil plan on visiting me?'

'I daresay it will be you visiting him,' Legolas said. 'Expect the summons when you least expect it. And…' he looked torn for a moment, but he decided to say it anyway. 'Be on your guard with him.'

Azshar nodded slowly. 'Thank you. For, you know. Everything.'

He shrugged, smiling crookedly. 'Any more questions?'

She shrugged. 'Not for now, if you're busy.'

Legolas straightened and flashed her a grin. 'I'm always busy. I have a feast to prepare, and a father to meet. But we must be grateful for small mercies; Glorfindel is leaving today.'

Azshar's smile was only a little bitter. 'Small mercies indeed.'


Thanks for reading! Catch you next week for party time! Thranduil! A sneaky escape! Dwarf-dissing! Drunken elves! Elven drunks! And some more cranky Glorfindel.

S