Chapter Thirteen: Hloima
She didn't sleep.
After a few hours, the alcohol had left her system, and she was left in the quiet of her room to pace frenetically from wall to wall.
Her mind refused to process what had just happened. The first hour after he'd left had been pure shock. The next few had been panicked as she struggled with the inability to reconcile her memory of her maybe-husband, a man who had once loved her, with how she now felt about Glorfindel.
By the fifth hour, she was filled with hot triumph. He feels it too. The pull towards him, the draw he inexplicably had for her, was real. She hadn't imagined it, and he felt it too.
She wanted him to come back. She wanted to touch him again, feel the heat radiating from him, his breath mingling with hers, the desire in his dark eyes. It was like she'd had a taste of what was possible, and she was already addicted. She felt twice as alive as she'd been before; everything was twice as bright and twice as sharp.
The triumph was swiftly followed by despair. Azshar stopped pacing and sat down heavily at the end of her bed. She'd been drunk, and so had Glorfindel. She didn't doubt for a second that he would regret it. He would be angry.
He might have left already for Rivendell, or somewhere else far away from her. It wouldn't surprise her in the slightest; he'd left her before when she'd asked him a question that was even just a little bit personal. It made sense that he would run away now, after… whatever had happened between them. A moment that she was sure she wouldn't be able to forget, no matter how much of that river water she drank.
She didn't know what time it was when there was a furious hammering on her door. Azshar leapt to her feet, hoping and dreading to see Glorfindel – but it was Tauriel who burst in, her expression thunderous.
'You,' the elf spat. 'What did you do?'
'What are you talking about?' The air left Azshar's lungs as she was shoved, hard, against the wall. Tauriel almost growled, holding Azshar's shoulders in an iron grip. Azshar tried desperately not to think of when she'd been pushed against that same wall the night before.
'You know exactly what I'm talking about. Where are they?'
'Who?' Azshar asked bewilderedly. 'Tauriel, I don't know what you are talking about!'
'Your friends are gone!' Tauriel snapped, and Azshar's confusion faded into shock.
'You mean – the dwarves? Gone?'
The other elf seemed to finally realise that Azshar was telling the truth, and she let go of her, taking a step back. 'They escaped during the feast last night.'
Azshar shook her head, not understanding. Thorin and the dwarves were… gone. They'd escaped, but she was still here. They'd left her behind. She thought bitterly of when she'd scolded the Company for leaving Bilbo behind in the Misty Mountains; now they'd done the same to her.
She couldn't blame them, she told herself. She'd been at the feast last night, free to walk about while they were in the dungeons. They would have been fools to try to find her, but… It still smarted. They'd left her behind, and she was no longer Azshar of the Company, but a memory-less no-name from nowhere. The quest for Erebor was more important to them than she was.
'I'm sorry, Azshar,' Tauriel said slowly, confused. 'We all thought…'
'I had nothing to do with this,' Azshar said quietly, shaking her head again. 'I – they left without me.'
'So it seems,' Tauriel said, glancing back at the door. 'I need to go. But Azshar – be wary. Just because I believe you doesn't mean Thranduil will.'
'Right,' Azshar whispered, and Tauriel was gone.
She sat back down on her bed, her hands in her lap. The dwarves were gone. Bilbo was nowhere to be found. Gandalf was off on his own errands. And Glorfindel… would never want anything to do with her again. She was alone. Her hands curled into fists
She needed to make a plan, she thought listlessly. She'd had purpose while she was with the dwarves, but now that they were gone, she had no reason to continue imposing on Thranduil and his people. What could she do? Go back to Rivendell? Absolutely not. That was Glorfindel's home, and he had a right to it without her lurking around every corner.
She could follow the dwarves, and retake her place in the Company. She knew roughly where they were headed – east to Esgaroth, then to the mountain. But… they had left her behind, and a small voice in her head told her it was because they didn't want her bothering them anymore. She'd been more of a hindrance than a help on their road; even in the Trollshaws, she'd ultimately failed to rescue them. The quest belonged to them, not her, and maybe it was time to let them go.
She would go back to Beorn, she decided, shuddering at the thought of making her way back through Mirkwood alone. If she could survive the journey, she could ask him for a home there, even just for a little while. Beorn had been kind, in his brutally honest way, and he hadn't been keeping secrets from her. There had been no agenda with him, and that was good enough for Azshar. She would leave as soon as she could.
Her glum train of thought was interrupted by another knock at the door, this one less violent. Legolas stepped inside, looking tired and frustrated. He closed the door behind him as she got to her feet.
'I had nothing to do with all this, Legolas.'
'So I have heard,' he said. He stared at her for a long moment, as though trying to gauge her involvement by reading her face. He sighed and looked down.
'I was with you, all of last night.'
'I know,' he said. 'That's the one reason you haven't yet been moved down to the dungeons yourself. The King would very much like to, mark my words, but he can't justify it.' He sighed again, and Azshar felt a pang of pity.
'I'm sorry,' she said.
'Are you really?'
She bit her lip. 'Not really, no. They're my friends. I'm glad they got out.'
'And yet they left you behind.'
She looked down. 'Yes, they did.'
'I'm sorry, Azshar. I'm sure they would have brought you if they could.'
She smiled thinly. 'Well. Perhaps. You don't need to be nice about it.'
'Anyway, since you're officially not yet guilty, I've been told to invite you to a meal with the King,' Legolas went on. Azshar looked up sharply.
'What?'
'A dinner with my father. Guaranteed to be cold and awkward and a political minefield.'
'Am I allowed to refuse?'
'I would advise against that. Very energetically.'
Azshar sighed. 'Will you be there?'
'As far as I know, it will be you, me, my father, and your very good friend Glorfindel.'
She jerked at the mention of his name. 'He… oh.'
Legolas shot her a look. 'He…?'
'Nothing. I'll be there.'
'As though you have a choice,' Legolas said. 'Come on, let's go.'
Her eyes widened. 'Right now?'
He mimicked her tone. 'Right now!'
Despite everything, she laughed at him. Legolas smiled and opened the door for her.
If Azshar had believed the woodland elves cold towards her before, it was nothing compared to now. Now that she was the suspect in their case of missing dwarves, she was met with suspicious stares around every corner, despite her place at the side of the prince.
They arrived at what Azshar assumed was the King's quarters, and a guard opened the door for them, nodding to Legolas. It admitted them to a high-ceilinged chamber, lit by countless candles. There was a large table at its centre, laden with food and drink. At its head, reclined gracefully in his chair, was Thranduil.
Azshar bowed shallowly, deciding that, considering the recent escape of the dwarves, now was not the time to test Thranduil's patience. He stared at her, his pale eyes cold and calculating, and Legolas gestured to a chair at the side of the table. Azshar sat.
There was a beat of silence before the door opened again to admit Glorfindel. Azshar's heart leapt into her throat, and she felt her cheeks turn red. She clasped her hands tightly together in her lap, waiting for him to look up at her as he made his way to the table to sit down… but he didn't.
He nodded to Thranduil and glanced at Legolas, but he did nothing by way of acknowledging her. Azshar's heart sank as she watched him. He looked pale and tired, worse still than last night.
'Should we eat?' Legolas said drily into the silence, glancing at his father with a raised eyebrow. Thranduil fixed him with a look before sitting forward and gesturing to the food.
'Please,' he said. Glad for something to do, Azshar heaped more vegetables and meat onto her plate than she knew she would eat. But of course, nothing escaped Thranduil's notice.
'You are hungry, Azshar?' he asked snidely. 'I'm sure you had a long night.'
'I enjoyed the festivities very much,' she said neutrally, pointedly avoiding his implication that she'd had something to do with freeing the dwarves. 'It was a beautiful celebration.'
'Indeed. I saw you dancing with my son, many times,' Thranduil said. He wasn't eating yet, instead watching her and sipping wine with a feline grace.
Azshar cleared her throat, her eyes flickering up to Glorfindel. His gaze was on his food, his face entirely impassive. 'I – did, yes. He's a good dancer.'
Thranduil looked amused. 'What did you think of the feast, Glorfindel? Surely Rivendell doesn't see many celebrations like ours.'
'I am not partial to celebrations,' Glorfindel said stonily.
'What a shame,' Thranduil said. 'How fortunate that Azshar was there to take your mind off your discomfort.'
Glorfindel's eyes flicked over to Azshar, and she held his gaze for a beat. There was nothing in his face, nothing at all pointing to what had happened between them the night before. There was no flicker of doubt, no flash of regret, no emotion whatsoever – just cold indifference. Glorfindel looked away, and Azshar tried to hide her hurt.
'How fortunate,' he echoed.
'Is this food left over from mereth nuin giliath?' Legolas asked in a blatant attempt to steer the conversation out of his father's control. Thranduil shot him a look drenched in disdain.
'Certainly not,' he said.
'It's good,' Azshar put in quickly, and Legolas nodded in agreement. 'Thank you for the invitation.'
'You are welcome,' Thranduil said. 'Though I was disappointed that I couldn't extend the offer to our friend Thorin. I wonder, Glorfindel, were you friends with the dwarves too, or was it only Azshar?'
Glorfindel looked up at Thranduil incredulously, as though he couldn't believe he was being forced to stoop so low to answer such a question. 'I was not friends with the dwarves, no,' he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Azshar watched him with concern; there was a thin sheen of sweat on his face, and he hadn't yet touched his food.
'Tell me, Azshar,' Thranduil went on, still on the attack. 'What was it that you liked about them?'
She clenched her jaw, letting frustration get the better of her. 'It was their kindness, I think,' she said sharply, a false smile pasted on her face. Legolas glanced between her and his father before fixing his eyes back on his food. Thranduil leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing.
'You may think they have escaped me, but my reach extends beyond these walls,' he said openly. 'This isn't over.'
Azshar stared at him, unsure how to respond. He was trying to intimidate her, but she was no longer a part of the Company, and she didn't have the energy to fight him.
'I'm sure you're right,' she said at last, and turned back to her food.
There was a long silence while they ate. Azshar glanced up at Glorfindel every now and then, glad to see him finally eating, albeit with hands that shook every now and then. Not once did he look up at her. After a while, Thranduil broke the silence again.
'How much longer will we have the honour of your presence among us, Glorfindel?' he asked, his tone of idle, polite curiosity back in place.
'I leave tomorrow,' Glorfindel said shortly.
'I was informed you planned to leave today,' Thranduil returned smoothly, raising an eyebrow. Glorfindel's jaw ticked, and he lay down his knife, looking up.
'I was unable. I apologise for the convenience,' he said.
Thranduil nodded once, taking another sip of his wine and smirking into his cup.
The dinner dragged on for another painful half hour before Glorfindel suddenly got to his feet and nodded once more to the King.
'Thank you for the meal,' he said curtly, and he made his way out, the door closing behind him. Azshar stared after him for a beat before standing as well.
'I hope you will excuse me too,' she said to Thranduil, who watched her unflinchingly. 'Thank you for the invitation, and all your hospitality. I'm grateful for it.'
'I hope to enjoy your company again soon,' Thranduil replied, equally as coldly. Azshar exited the room as quickly as she could, deciding that she needed to leave the Woodland Realm sooner rather than later. She couldn't endure another one of those dinners.
The halls were quiet as she began making her way back to her room, feeling a little bad for leaving Legolas alone with his father, but nowhere near bad enough to go back. Thranduil had decided not to like her, and at the moment she didn't think she'd be able to bring herself to care.
When she was almost back at her room, she heard the sound of shuffling feet to her left. She frowned, peering down an adjoining corridor. It was poorly lit, and it took her a few seconds before she saw Glorfindel, bent almost double with his hand on the wall for support. Her eyes widening, Azshar quickly made her way over.
'Glorfindel,' she said quietly, and his head jerked up. He grimaced when he saw her.
'I'm fine,' he ground out, not waiting for her to ask. She stared at him, nonplussed.
'You… don't seem well.'
'Please – let me be,' he said. Ignoring him entirely, Azshar stooped and pulled his arm around her shoulders and supporting him so they could straighten together. Glorfindel screwed his eyes shut for a moment before tugging his arm back. 'Let me go, please,' he said stiffly, so she did. Without her support, he swayed, then crumpled to the ground.
'Right,' Azshar said, and with an effort, she helped him back up again. He was heavy, but she half carried him the rest of the way to her room, ignoring his increasing protests. There were two guards at her door, no doubt at Thranduil's orders after the escape of the dwarves. They made no comment at the strange sight, but one of them opened the door to let them in. Azshar nodded gratefully to him.
She deposited the grey-faced Glorfindel on the bed with a grunt of effort. He fumed silently while she looked down at him, hands on her hips.
'Well?' she said at last. 'Are you going to tell me what's wrong with you?'
'I'm fine,' he growled, and she immediately shook her head.
'We are beyond this,' she said. 'I just scraped you off the floor. Give me the truth.'
He sighed, running a trembling hand through his hair. 'Spider venom,' he said shortly. 'I was bitten a few times at their nest, and I think… I think the venom is still working its way out of my system.'
'A few times?' Azshar asked, horrified.
'I'm not sure how many exactly,' he said acerbically
'They told me that the venom from three bites is enough to kill an elf,' she said slowly. 'Was it more than three?'
'I have magical powers that make me immune to spiders,' Glorfindel told her sarcastically.
Azshar bit back another plea. Last night, he'd all but kissed her, and now he was behaving as though being in the same room as her was offensive. She couldn't keep up, and it was hurting her feelings. She pursed her lips and folded her arms.
'If are really so offended by my help, feel free to crawl back to your own room to die,' she said shortly.
Glorfindel hesitated for a moment, then seemed to come to the same conclusion she had: he didn't have the strength to get back alone. He shut his eyes for a moment, his hands making fists and then unfurling.
'I just need a moment to find my strength, then I'll be gone,' he muttered.
She nodded slowly. 'Why didn't you go to a healer?'
'I was… I was just going to let it run its course,' he said. 'The healers don't like me.'
'That's not true,' she chided half-heartedly, and he smiled without humour.
'Yes, it is. They're afraid of me.'
'You still should have –'
'I'm not a child, Azshar,' he interjected. He sounded more tired than angry. 'Nor am I stupid. I knew I would be fine without the healers, I just need a little more time.'
Azshar stared at him, at a loss for words. She remembered what Tauriel had let slip at the feast the night before, something about Glorfindel… dying and then coming back to life. If that was true, maybe it wasn't impossible for him to endure more than three spider bites. She decided to let the matter lie for now, and instead she went to the table by the wall.
She rifled through the basket that Galion had left there and pulled out a vial of the foul-tasting red potion, the half-used container of ointment, and some neatly rolled bandages. Azshar was no healer, but the process hadn't seemed too complicated when it had been done to her.
She unstoppered the antivenin and held it out to Glorfindel. 'Drink this,' she said. 'All of it.'
He took it with an unsteady hand and inspected it for a few seconds. He glanced back up at her, and then downed it, screwing up his face at the taste. She took the empty vial from him and cleared her throat. 'Where were you bitten?'
He coughed from the sour potion. 'My back, my shoulders…'
She nodded brusquely and spoke before she could lose her nerve. 'Very well. Take off your tunic.'
Glorfindel stared at her for a good minute. His blue eyes bored into hers, and Azshar suddenly couldn't shake the still-fresh memory of when he'd last looked at her like that, the night before, in that very room –
He stood with an effort and turned so his back was to her and began to unbuckle his belt. Wordlessly, he pulled his tunic over his head, and then, gingerly, his undershirt too. Azshar put her hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp, but her prolonged silence seemed to confirm Glorfindel's suspicions.
'It's bad?' he asked gruffly. There were four bites, three like a chain down his broad back and the fourth on his left shoulder. They were angry-looking, swollen, oozing, and discoloured, each the size of Azshar's fist. She swallowed thickly.
'Nothing that can't be fixed,' she said quietly. 'I hope.'
She made no comment on the other, older scars she could see. His torso was littered with them, some thin white lines and some of them raised, scarred tissue. Some looked like stab wounds or even one or two arrow wounds, but the most disturbing were the ones that looked like they had been purposefully, carefully inflicted – long lines criss-crossing over his back and ribs. She bit her tongue and put them out of her mind.
The first thing she did was tear off some of the bandage, pressing it against the bites to wipe them clean. Glorfindel stiffened and inhaled when she pressed her hand gently to his back, and she winced.
'I'm sorry,' she murmured, working as quickly as she could. 'I'm sorry. Ointment now.' She dipped her fingers into the pungent paste and carefully smeared it over the first bite. She was as gentle as she could manage to be, but he held himself stiff as a board, refusing to relax. She wondered whether it was a symptom of the pain, or the fact that her fingers were touching his skin. She moved onto the next bite.
'It's helping,' Glorfindel said brusquely after a while. Azshar bit her lip, glad he couldn't see her face. She supposed that was the closest to thanks she would get.
'You should have gone to a healer,' was all she said in reply.
'You're good enough,' he returned, and she smiled faintly.
'What was that? A compliment?'
He didn't reply, and her smile faded as she spread ointment over the third bite. She couldn't help but think about the night before, and in the heavy silence, she suspected he was too. Here he was, back in her room and only half dressed, with her hands on his back –
She didn't dare say anything more to him. She knew that whatever she did say would scare him off, and that the fact he was still here in the Woodland Realm in the first place was just short of a miracle. She only had a little more time with him, and she didn't want him to despise her for it.
She spread ointment gently over the fourth bite, the one on his shoulder. He might have had his back to her, but she could tell that even if he didn't mean to, he was leaning ever so slightly into her touch. When she lifted her hand to put the lid back on the jar of ointment, he cleared his throat softly.
She wiped her hands clean and unravelled a part of the bandage before turning back. 'Raise your arms,' she said quietly, and Glorfindel obeyed. She wrapped the bandage around his torso, trying to make it tight enough so it wouldn't rub against the healing bites, but loose enough that it would leave him room to breathe.
She tied it off and surveyed her work – admittedly, a shoddy job compared to Galion's expert handiwork, but it was better than nothing. She tapped Glorfindel's side to signify that she'd finished, and he brought his arms down and turned around. His eyes found hers, and for a moment he just watched her.
The antivenin was already doing its work, she could tell; there was more colour in his cheeks, the hardened spark back in his eyes. Something in them changed while he looked at her, and she cleared her throat.
'How do you feel?' she asked, looking down. She'd forgotten for a moment that, despite the bandages, he was naked from the waist up.
'Better,' he said. 'Thank you.'
'A healer would have done a better job,' she said, trying not to cringe at the colour she could feel flooding her cheeks.
'So you keep saying,' Glorfindel looked down too, and picked up his undershirt from the bed, carefully pulling it back on. 'But they're afraid of me. Everyone is afraid of me, except you.'
Azshar's fingers twisted together behind her back. He was talking about last night. Was he? She didn't know, and she didn't want to say the wrong thing. She wet her lips.
'I don't think there's as much to be afraid of as people think,' she said quietly.
He looked up again, his eyes finding hers. His mask was down, but she couldn't understand the emotion in his face; he stared at her like she was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve, something that didn't fit into the patterns he'd made to organise the world around him. His eyes were warm, not in a comforting way, but in a way that made Azshar feel warm too.
'You're wrong,' he said, looking away again and pulling his tunic on. He buckled his belt and ran a hand through his hair. Then he glanced up at her once more, indecision written on his face, before striding to the door and wrenching it open.
'Goodbye, Azshar,' he said stiffly, and he left.
She sighed heavily, sinking down onto her bed and putting her face in her hands. The warm smell of him lingered in the air, and she blushed at herself for noticing it.
It took her hours to fall asleep, and she lay there with a racing mind, thinking only of Glorfindel – how his skin was warm under her hands, how his shoulders rose and fell with his quiet sigh, how his eyes had found hers and not looked away. There was something entrancing about the way he looked at her, Azshar thought. She pulled the blanket over her head and groaned.
If only she had a modicum of self-control, the ability to dismiss her feelings and focus on something else. She had no shortage of other things to think about; how she would regain her memory, what she was to do now that the dwarves had left her behind, how to find her long lost family…
She fell asleep in mental turmoil.
In her dream, she was a young woman, walking barefoot in a small, walled garden in the white city. There was a soft golden light in the sky, and tiny, perfect flowers turned their faces up to catch the light.
She crouched to pick some, smiling as she stuck them haphazardly into her braid. A light wind played with the skirt of her dress, and she straightened up as she heard footsteps approach. It was her older brother, the one with the dark hair and the immovable grin.
'Look at you,' he said, his hands on his hips and his eyebrow raised. 'A crown of pirindë in your hair, instead of an actual crown.'
She frowned at him. 'Actual crown? What are you talking about?'
'Did you forget about the feast?' he asked, his grin widening. 'Our mother has fretted all morning because of your absence.'
She slapped a hand on her forehead. 'The feast! Oh – I completely forgot!'
'Fortunately for you, my dear, our brother and sister are keeping up appearances until we return.'
'By the Valar,' she muttered, spinning as she looked for her shoes. 'I'm not dressed for it. I'm – completely unready!'
'It'll have to do,' said her brother, his grin widening a little. 'Come on!'
She ran after him through the corridors, gasping apologies to anyone who had to step out of their way to make space for them. She tugged her shoes on as she went, trying not to laugh as she almost tripped, and she pulled the pirindë flowers out of her hair, letting them flutter to the ground in her wake.
They stopped just outside a door, both panting. She reached up and patted a long, dark strand of her brother's hair back into place before straightening the collar of his tunic. In turn, he plucked the last flower from her braid. Then, after a moment, he tucked it behind her ear.
'One won't hurt,' he said. 'And you'll be in so much trouble that no one will notice it anyway.'
'Let's just go in,' she whispered, narrowing her eyes at him.
They crept through the door as innocuously as they could, taking their places standing in line beside their mother, father, brother, and sister on the dais. There was another man on the dais with them, a dark-haired, sharp-eyed elf that Azshar felt she recognised. She smiled at him, but he just looked away. Someone was singing, so fortunately not many in the crowd seemed to notice their entry.
'Very graceful,' whispered Azshar's younger, golden-haired brother beside her.
'Enough out of you,' she muttered back with a smile, elbowing him in the side. A few yards away, her father cleared his throat. Azshar and her brother immediately stilled.
She looked over at the musicians – and her heart skipped a beat.
The elf who was singing, whose ethereal voice filled the hall with music, was the elf from Bree. The elf who she'd hallucinated – or perhaps seen – in Mirkwood. The elf who had called her Lalaith.
The elf to whom she might have been married. His eyes caught hers while he sang, and he smiled. Azshar felt herself smile back.
The Rings of Power trailer has been getting in my head, and (like an absolute legend) I immediately crumble to peer pressure when people ask for updates sooner in the reviews... so here's an early update.
Follow and fave for the next chapter, in which Azshar does the jailhouse rock, Legolas raids a library, Glorfindel has an alcohol problem, Tauriel perfects the art of the friendzone, and there is way too much conjecture about stars... all this and more in a week, or less if you bully me. I have literally no self control.
S
