Chapter Fifteen: Lócë
The journey to Esgaroth, the town upon the Long Lake, was short. The land about them was flat, and vegetation was sparse. It was a desolation, bleak and windswept, broken only by the Lonely Mountain that loomed on the horizon.
They stopped at last when Esgaroth was glimmering in the near distance before them. Night had fallen, and the lanterns in the town were reflected off the surface of the lake like ghostly shadows.
'It looks like no more than a handful of orcs,' Tauriel said, surveying the tracks on the ground before them. 'I still haven't seen any trace of the dwarves, though.'
'Nor have I,' Legolas said.
'I'm sure they would have gone to Esgaroth,' Azshar said. 'Maybe they found a way to travel by water?'
'It will have been difficult,' Tauriel said.
'They're going to the Lonely Mountain, aren't they?' Legolas asked, looking back at Azshar. 'They're going to try to retake it from the dragon.'
Azshar pursed her lips, but she decided there was little point in continuing to withhold. Legolas and Tauriel had more or less proven themselves allies by now. 'Yes. The mountain belongs to them.'
'Well if they're lucky, the dragon will already be dead,' Tauriel said. 'It hasn't been seen in years.'
'Dragons live a long time,' Glorfindel said, speaking up. 'And they can survive a long time after a large meal, without needing to feed again.'
There was a beat of silence while the rest of them contemplated the meaning of his sentence. Azshar felt slightly ill at the thought of the massacre that had happened there, from which Thorin himself had barely escaped with his life.
'So, are we going in?' Tauriel asked.
'We need to be wary,' Legolas said. 'If the Master of Laketown gets word that there were elves creeping around on an unofficial visit, he'll have questions for the King.'
'But we can't be of any use to anyone if we simply wait out here for something to happen,' Tauriel argued. Legolas looked genuinely torn, and Azshar felt sorry for him. There was still the prospect of Thranduil for him to deal with once this was all over, and it wasn't a particularly nice one.
'Let's go in,' he said at last. 'But we keep a low profile, and we make it quick.'
They left their horses on the shore and set off across a broad wooden bridge to get to the town, which was built upon the waters of the Long Lake. It was quiet, being late at night, and no one saw them. Everything was damp, creaky, and smelled faintly of fish.
'What should we be looking for?' Tauriel asked quietly.
'I'm not sure,' Azshar said, frowning with concentration as she listened for any hint of the dwarves. Everything was eerily quiet. 'Arguing, maybe?'
They made it another few yards before they heard a long, drawn-out groan, and Azshar stilled.
'That sounded like Kíli!' she said, and Tauriel pointed to the faint glow of candlelight coming from behind shuttered windows.
'There!'
The four of them raced up the stairs, Glorfindel and Legolas both drawing daggers from their belts. Tauriel pushed open the door, and they entered.
There was a shout of shock, and they came face to face with Fíli, who had leapt up and grabbed his axe. His hands were bloody, and beside him, on someone's kitchen table, lay a white-faced, near-unconscious Kíli. Near the fire were three children, two girls hovering behind their older brother and staring at the elves with wide, frightened eyes.
'Azshar?' Fíli gasped, lowering his axe.
'Fíli!' she said. 'What on earth happened?'
'Kíli took an arrow to the thigh. We thought he'd be fine, the wound was shallow, but of course the damned thing was poisoned.'
'Valar,' Tauriel whispered, stepping forward to examine the oozing wound with light fingers. Kíli groaned again, his teeth bared, and she turned to the children. 'Do you know what kingsfoil is?' she asked them sharply. The older girl nodded, edging closer.
'I do.'
'Can you get some?' Tauriel asked, and she nodded, pulling on a coat. 'Quickly, please!'
The girl left, and Kíli opened his eyes. 'Tauriel?' he breathed. 'Am I dreaming, or are you here?'
'I'm here,' Tauriel whispered. Azshar shot a bewildered look at Fíli, who sighed and shrugged.
'Either the orc poison has sent him wrong in the head, or you got to him with your elfish propaganda.'
'You're ridiculous,' she said.
Fíli gave a strained smile. 'Thanks for coming to find us. Really. I didn't know whether we'd ever see you again.'
Azshar glanced back to see Glorfindel staring coldly at Fíli, and Legolas staring brokenly at Tauriel. She winced. 'Right,' she said. 'All of you, let's go outside where we can talk.'
They shut Tauriel and Kíli inside the house with the two remaining children. Azshar shuddered at the sudden, bracing cold, and Fíli looked critically at Legolas and Glorfindel. 'So, you've brought friends. Are they friends?'
'Be nice, they came to help,' she said, giving him a warning look. 'Where's Thorin?'
'Left this morning, with the rest of the Company. They couldn't bring Kíli, and couldn't afford to lose any more time, so they left us behind.'
'I'm sorry, Fíli,' Azshar said. She knew getting to the Mountain had meant as much to him as it had to the rest of the dwarves.
'Save your pity for later,' Fíli said grimly. 'Kíli isn't looking good.'
'There's more to worry about,' she said. 'We think there are orcs pursuing you.'
Fíli shook his head. 'We lost them a while back,' he said.
'But why wouldn't they follow you here?' she asked. 'What's to stop them bringing the fight to this town? Its terrifying military defences?'
'Point taken,' he muttered.
'Someone needs to go to the mountain and warn Thorin,' Azshar went on. 'If you want to stay with your brother, I'll do it.'
Glorfindel looked on the point of disagreeing with her offer, but just then the girl who had left before came running up the steps to the landing they were crowded on now, preventing his reply. She edged her way through and opened the door, a bunch of aromatic green leaves clutched in one hand. The door closed behind her, and they were in the dark again.
'How did you find us, anyway?' Fíli asked.
'Dumb luck,' she said. 'We heard Kíli as we passed.'
'Can that elf help him?' Fíli asked, his face set.
'She'll do what she can,' Legolas said. 'There's no promise.'
Fíli nodded jerkily. 'Right. Good. One more thing.'
'What is it?' Azshar asked.
'Are you here for the orcs, or are you here for us?'
There was a short, stiff silence before Legolas replied. 'We aren't here on behalf of the King,' he said. 'We're here for the orcs, that's all.'
'You think,' Azshar said in a hard voice, 'that I would have led elves to you in an attempt to sabotage the quest?'
Fíli shrugged. 'We left you behind in Mirkwood. If I were you, I would have been angry.'
'Dwarves,' Legolas muttered in Sindarin, folding his arms and shaking his head.
'You're right, Fíli,' Azshar said. 'I was angry. But my loyalty to the Company isn't as fickle as you are making out.'
Fíli chewed his lip and looked down. 'You should know that I was sorry to leave you behind,' he said. 'There were a good few of us who were in favour of going back for you, but there was no time.'
She sighed. 'It's alright, Fíli. It worked out in the end, didn't it?'
He swallowed. 'We'll see. If we'd stayed in Mirkwood, maybe Kíli wouldn't…' he glanced back at the door, trailing off.
Azshar's heart went out to him. 'I'm going back in to see Kíli,' she said.
'I think I'll wait out here a while,' Fíli said. 'The cold air is doing me good.'
Azshar nodded and went inside, leaving the men on the step. Tauriel was rubbing the leaves between her hands to crush them, then dropping them into a pot of hot water. The girl began stirring. Kíli's face was beaded with sweat, and his lips were moving soundlessly. Azshar placed her cold hand on his fevered forehead.
'Stay strong,' she whispered. 'It will break Thorin's heart if you die.' Kíli shivered, and she sighed. 'It will break all our hearts.'
Tauriel began to press the kingsfoil leaves into the wound in Kíli's leg, and Azshar watched the frenetic speed at which she was working. Her face was fixed in a mask of agitated concentration.
'What is there between you and Kíli?' Azshar asked quietly. Tauriel didn't look up.
'I don't know.'
'You are an elf, and he is a dwarf.'
'Does it matter?' Tauriel muttered stiffly. 'If you love someone, you just love them. There isn't much point complaining about it or pretending otherwise.'
At that moment, there was a clatter and a roar as something fell from the roof above them. There was a splash, then a shriek. Tauriel stiffened.
'Azshar, will you see to it?'
'I'll try,' Azshar said, and she drew her sword and went to the door. As an afterthought, she turned back to the children. 'Get under the table,' she said. The three of them moved quickly to do as they were told, and Azshar went outside.
She was confronted by the sight of an orc impaled to the hilt of Glorfindel's sword. Glorfindel had a cold, triumphant glint in his eye. He placed his palm on the orc's chest, and pushed the body away as he pulled out the sword. It tumbled from the landing and landed in the icy water with a loud splash.
'They found us,' he said unnecessarily.
'Where are Legolas and Fíli?' Azshar asked, her heart pounding.
'The dwarf is just below,' he replied. 'Legolas is giving chase, and I'm going with him. Stay inside.'
'Glorfindel!' she exclaimed, and he paused, looking down at her. Suddenly she forgot what she'd wanted to say. 'I – make sure you come back.'
The ice in his eyes thawed fractionally. 'I'll be back,' he said. 'Stay inside. I'll come back for you.'
He leapt over the railing of the landing, and was gone into the night. Azshar gritted her teeth and headed back inside. Fíli wasn't long after her, and she closed the door firmly behind him.
'Orcs are here,' she told Tauriel, who nodded without lifting her eyes from Kíli.
'Wonderful.'
'Where's Da?' came a small voice from under the table, and Azshar remembered the children. She sheathed her sword and crouched, offering them a hand.
'Come out. You're safe, for now.'
The smallest girl took it, and her two siblings warily followed her out from under the table. Azshar smiled at them, and the little girl looked up at her with wet eyes, not yet letting go of her hand.
'Are you the elf that sends us the barrels?' she asked.
Azshar hesitated. 'Ah… not quite, but I'm friends with the ones who do.'
'Why are you here?' the boy asked her. She glanced up at him; he couldn't have been older than fifteen or sixteen.
'You gave shelter to the dwarves, yes?' she asked. He nodded, and she smiled. 'They've gotten into a spot of trouble, and we've come to help them.'
'They brought the monsters here,' the older girl said accusatorily. 'You brought the monsters here.'
'I'm sorry,' Azshar said. Tauriel began murmuring something behind her. 'What are your names?'
'I'm Tilda,' the youngest said. 'This is Sigrid, and this is Bain.'
'Do you have parents?'
'We have our da,' Sigrid said.
'He's going to be back soon,' Bain said. 'Any minute.'
The three of them were afraid, Azshar could see that plainly. She squeezed the little girl's hand. 'Well, the dwarves may have brought some trouble, but we're going to chase it away,' she said with a confidence she hoped wasn't misplaced. 'I can promise you that.'
'Who are you?' came an alarmed voice, and Azshar straightened to see a dark-haired man enter the room. Tilda let go of her hand and flew across the room, crying again.
'Da!'
'I'm Azshar,' she said. 'We're friends of the dwarves, from Mirkwood.'
'From what I heard, the dwarves didn't have many friends from Mirkwood,' the man said suspiciously, picking up his daughter and sitting her on his hip. Tilda hid her face in his neck. Azshar shrugged.
'I'm telling you the truth. We don't mean you any harm.'
'I want you gone,' he said, and he nodded at Fíli. 'You too, and your brother.'
'Kíli can't be moved yet,' Tauriel said quietly. The man hesitated, but then frowned. Azshar stilled. Something in the air had changed. Everything outside sounded suddenly quiet. 'Tauriel,' she said. 'Do you feel –'
The windows were suddenly rattled in a massive gust of wind that lasted no longer than two seconds. A moment later, the sky filled with orange light, and someone screamed. There was a loud boom.
'Something's wrong,' Azshar said.
'What else can go wrong tonight?' Tauriel muttered sarcastically.
'The dragon,' the man breathed, his face draining of colour. 'The dragon.'
'Mahal's beard,' Fíli gulped. The man turned to Azshar.
'Please, take my children and run,' he said, his eyes wide. He placed Tilda on the ground and pushed her towards Azshar. 'You know the way out of Esgaroth?'
'The bridge,' Azshar said quickly, taking Tilda's hand again. There was no time to think about the Company, or the orcs, or Legolas and Glorfindel. There was a dragon loose. 'I'll do it.'
'Da, I want to stay with you!' Bain said, but the man shook his head firmly. There was another loud boom, and Azshar heard screams.
'You are to go. If the bridge is – if it's burning, find a boat and get to shore. Just get out of Laketown. Do you understand?'
'We'll have to move Kíli,' Tauriel said. She turned to Fíli. 'Chop the legs off the table and we'll use it as a stretcher.'
'No time!' the man shouted over a blast of hot air. The whole house shook, and there was a terrifying, heart-rending shriek from above. Tilda began to cry. 'Go, damn it!' He reached into the low rafters of the roof and pulled down a huge longbow and a quiver of large arrows.
'Bain, Sigrid,' Azshar said, sparing one last glance at Kíli. Fíli nodded at her. 'With me!'
She led them down the steps and along the walkways that wove between the rickety houses. The smoke was thick and hot in the air, and people were screaming and running. The way ahead was blocked several times by the panicked crowd, and the fourth time it happened, Azshar growled in her throat.
'To shore!' she shouted over the noise at the top of her voice. A few heads turned in their direction. 'Get to shore! Get to shore!'
The cry was taken up, and the crowd gained more direction, running or piling into boats. Azshar began moving again, coughing and squinting through the smoke.
'If you see flames coming from the sky, jump in the water,' Azshar called to the children.
'I can't breathe!' Tilda cried.
'Put your scarf over your mouth!' Sigrid shouted. They ran on.
They were almost at the edge of town when there was a cry from the water. 'Help! Please, Mistress Elf, please! Help me!'
She turned, and through the darkness saw an old woman. She was sitting in a tiny, leaking boat, holding up a baby. 'Take him to shore, please!'
'Mahal,' Azshar muttered, but without hesitation, she took the screaming baby and tucked him against her chest with her free arm. 'Come on, Tilda, keep moving!'
They were halfway across the long, wooden bridge back to shore when the dragon swooped over them. It breathed fire over a section of the bridge not far behind them, and Azshar turned in time to see fifteen people go up in flames. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and she turned to go on, fighting not to retch.
When they reached the shore, she didn't let them stop running until she reached a tree a little way from the lake. Tilda collapsed to the ground, gasping for air and crying, and Azshar turned and handed the baby to Bain.
'Stay here,' she said firmly. 'If the dragon comes, run, but if not, stay here. I'll come back to find you!'
'Where are you going?' he called as she turned away.
'I'll be back!' was all she said as she headed towards the lake.
She found a boat and launched it into the icy water, beginning the arduous work of fishing people from the lake and ferrying them to shore. The dragon was terrifying; it twisted and plummeted through the sky, its batlike wings catching the firelight of its own destruction. Azshar made a concerted effort not to look up at the sky.
But less than an hour after the attack had begun, a horrifying shriek pierced her very body. She looked up through the haze to see the dragon stiffen in mid-air, then suddenly topple, lifeless, into the lake with an almighty splash whose waves rocked her little boat. The only sound left was the roaring of flames.
Azshar worked through the rest of the night, making trips to and from the remains of Esgaroth. When dawn was streaking the cloudy sky, she returned to the charred town one more time. Her arms were burning from rowing the boat, and her eyes and lungs hurt from the smoke.
'You! You were supposed to save my children!' called a voice as she came to a stop. She looked up to see the father of the children she'd left under the tree.
'They're safe,' she said tiredly. 'I promise. Is there anyone else alive in the town?'
He shook his head. 'I… no. Just me, I think. And not much town left either.'
'Get in.'
He limped over and got in the boat, taking an oar without being asked. 'What's your name again?'
'Azshar. You?'
'Bard. Thank you, Azshar.'
'You're welcome,' she said.
When they were halfway back to town, there was a flash of movement through the smoke-filled air. Azshar could make out someone moving among the wreckage of Laketown, and Bard saw it too. He paused his rowing.
'We should go back.'
She glanced behind them. They were almost at the shore. 'It isn't far, and you should find your children. I'll go back alone.'
'You're sure?' he asked, sounding cautiously grateful for the offer.
'Of course,' she said with a tired smile. 'See that tree? They should be there, under it.' They arrived at the shore, and he jumped out into the shallows.
'You're sure you'll be alright?' he asked. She nodded.
'Yes. Bard?'
'Yes?'
'Out of curiosity, who killed the dragon?'
He glanced down, and when he looked back up at her, there was a triumphant glint in his eyes. 'I did.' He gave the boat a shove to send it out of the shallows, and Azshar watched him turn and run in the direction of the tree as she began to row away.
For a moment, she allowed herself to think about something she'd been ignoring all night: she hadn't seen Glorfindel or Legolas since they'd left to chase the orcs. Part of her trusted that they would be fine, that they both knew how to look after themselves.
Another part of her knew that no one, be they elf, man, or dwarf, was safe from dragon fire. She swallowed thickly and kept rowing.
When she reached the town a few minutes later, there was no sign of the person she'd seen, and after a while, she began to wonder if she'd imagined them. She tethered the boat to the charred remnants of a pole and cautiously got out onto the landing.
'Is there anyone there?' she called, but she was met with silence. Esgaroth had become eerily quiet, and she was too far from shore to be able to hear the subdued buzz of conversation. She drew in a breath to shout again, the smoke burning her lungs.
'Do you need help? Where are you?'
Still there was silence, but now Azshar had the prickle on her skin that made her feel as though someone was watching her. Discretely, she brushed her hand against the hilt of her dagger.
'Can you hear me? Is there anyone here?'
There was a creak somewhere ahead, and she stiffened, narrowing her eyes. Slowly, through the grey haze of smoke, emerged a dark, cloaked figure. It grew slowly more defined until he stopped to stand in front of Azshar. It was the elf from Bree.
'You,' she said disbelievingly.
'Hello, Lalaith,' he said. His face was streaked with charcoal, and it made his bright blue eyes look eerie.
'How did you get here?' she asked unsteadily.
'I've been following you,' he said simply. 'You know that.' She stared at him, her heart thundering in her chest.
'Were you there in Mirkwood, or did I dream it?'
'I was there,' he said. 'You saw me. You looked at me, through the trees.'
'Why are you following me?' she asked.
'You still don't remember?'
'It was a potent poison that you gave me to drink,' she said. He raised an eyebrow.
'Ah. So you do remember.'
'You gave me the enchanted water,' she said accusatorily, taking a step closer and feeling for her dagger again. 'You poisoned me.'
'Because you begged me,' he replied, his face twisting into something a little uglier, a little more intense. 'You begged me to kill you, Lalaith, but instead I saved your life and sent you to sleep, because I –' his voice broke. 'I couldn't see you dead. Not after everything that had happened.'
She stared at him with wide eyes. 'You need to tell me who you are and how – how you know me.'
'Who I am?' He laughed joylessly. 'I am a ghost. A shadow, thousands of years old, cursed by his own father to live without peace until I die. Does that answer your question?'
He wasn't making sense to her, and screwing up her courage, Azshar took a step closer. 'Why are you following me?'
'Would that you had stayed asleep, my dear Lalaith,' he said. 'You looked so peaceful after you drank the water. All that pain gone from your face, all those memories gone from your head…'
'Tell me your name.'
'Come away with me,' he replied tersely, holding out a hand. With a jolt, Azshar saw that the skin of his hands was mottled by scars, smooth and pink as though he had once reached it into a fire.
'Please,' she said quietly, 'will you just answer me one question?'
The elf sighed and withdrew his hand, his piercing blue eyes fixed on her. 'Very well.'
'Are we married?'
The elf's eyebrows shot up. He stepped closer to her so that she was within reach, the wood creaking under his weight. Azshar's heart thundered in her ears, and she fought the urge to back away.
'What do you remember?' he asked quietly.
'I remember… there was someone,' she said, staring up at him. Her mouth was dry. 'I remember being – being held, I just can't remember a face or a name. I can't remember any names.'
The elf stared down at her, his eyes filled with real pity. 'I'm so sorry for everything that happened,' he breathed. He reached up and pressed his hand to her cheek. It was cold. 'If you remembered everything, you'd know that.'
'Tell me who I am,' she said beseechingly. 'Please. Help me remember.'
He smiled, this time sadly. 'The funny thing is that I do wish you could remember. You always knew what to say, and I could use some of your wisdom.'
'Please…'
'It would kill you,' he said, dropping his hand. 'If the return of the memories didn't do it, your sadness would.' His eyes flicked behind her, and suddenly he raised his hood over his head. Azshar looked back and saw a second boat coming towards them from the shore. It was too far away to make out who it was, but she thought she saw a flash of golden hair.
'Stay away from him,' the elf said suddenly, and she turned back to look at him.
'Why?'
'You might think you know Glorfindel of Gondolin, but you don't,' he said. 'He isn't who he used to be.'
She glanced back at the boat. It was growing rapidly closer. 'You know him too?' she asked, but when she turned back, the elf had disappeared into the smoky ruins of the town. She didn't bother looking for him; she just turned and sat down cross-legged on the walkway to wait for Glorfindel.
She took her locket out from under her cloak and weighed it in her hand. The elf hadn't answered any of her questions aloud, but their conversation had been… illuminating. He'd confirmed that she'd known him before the cave.
Azshar tucked her locket away and closed her stinging eyes. She might be married to him, but there was something suspicious about the elf. After all, if he had nothing to hide, why did he keep running away, following her from a distance? If he really was her husband, what kept him from helping her, being there for her? Why would he have left her alone for this long?
And perhaps most importantly, what had befallen her that was so horrific that she'd begged to die? He'd said her sadness would be enough to kill her. Why?
'Azshar,' came Glorfindel's voice, and she opened her eyes to see him jump lightly from his boat onto the gangway. His face and clothes were blackened with soot, and she got to her feet quickly, resisting the urge to run her hands over him to check for injury. 'What are you doing here?'
'I was looking for refugees,' she said, deciding not to mention the reappearance of the elf for now; after all, it was her business. She felt a stab of guilt at her dishonesty, but she pushed it aside. 'Are you alright?'
'Fine. Legolas is in worse shape than I am, but the orcs got away.'
'Did they head to the mountain?' she asked, and he shook his head.
'Doesn't look like it.'
She stared at him for a moment, trying to see him in the light of the conversation she'd just had – with a man who had just warned her to stay away from Glorfindel. A man who was, perhaps, her husband. And yet, the difference between the cold-eyed stranger and the man who had held her in her memory was staggering.
Unbidden, Tauriel's distracted words from the night before echoed through her mind. If you love someone, she'd said, you just love them. There isn't much point complaining about it or pretending otherwise. She might have loved the mysterious stranger once. He seemed to harbour some remnants of affection for her, at least.
Could she be bound by a promise she couldn't remember making?
The thing that kept drawing her to Glorfindel… she was wondering increasingly if it was very different from love at all. And if it was, there was little point in denying it. She didn't know where Lalaith's loyalties lay, but she wasn't Lalaith anymore. She was Azshar.
'What's wrong?' Glorfindel asked her. He kept looking her up and down, as though he were scanning her for injuries. The sun was rising through the smoke, and it cast a dull red light on his ash-flecked hair.
'Nothing,' she said, and she drew her dagger to cut a strip of cloth from the end of her cloak, bending to wet it and wring it out in the freezing cold water of the lake. Then she straightened and stepped towards Glorfindel.
He jerked away when she first pressed it to his face, but when she persisted, he stood still and allowed her to wipe some of the grime from his skin. She was gentle, and he watched her unblinkingly as she worked, resting the fingers of her other hand on his cheek. After a minute, he looked a good sight better. Azshar dropped the cloth, but he caught her wrist to keep her hand pressed to his cheek.
He was so clearly starved for touch. His dark eyes bored into hers, and she held his gaze. They were close, close enough that she could feel how shallow his breathing was. It felt inevitable when Glorfindel's lips crashed into hers.
He took her by the waist and dragged her closer, so she was pressed against him. She gasped against his lips and his tongue was suddenly in her mouth. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Azshar's arms snaked around his neck, and she stood on her toes. She could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing except him. Being in his arms, being kissed by him, was all-encompassing, and she could think of nothing else; the dragon, the Company, the stranger from Bree, her missing memories – none of it mattered.
Glorfindel wound his arms around her waist and pulled away from her just enough so that he could bury his face in the crook of her neck. It surprised her, and she was still for a moment before returning the embrace, running her hand down his back and remembering the scars that lay beneath the tunic.
After a moment, she threaded her fingers through his hair, and it was perhaps the simple tenderness of that gesture that shook Glorfindel from the moment. He pulled away to look down at her again.
'This isn't what I meant to do,' he said hoarsely. His lips were reddened, and the sight made Azshar's heart skip a beat.
'What did you mean to do?'
'Find you. Bring you back.'
'There's still time for that,' she said wryly, but he shook his head in frustration.
'This is a mistake. It needs to stop.'
She stifled a hollow laugh. 'Interesting, coming from the man who just –'
'It was a mistake,' he said. His voice was suddenly cold again, with an edge of bitterness. 'I regret it.'
Words designed to hurt, she thought. To push her away. 'You have a real problem,' she whispered, and he scoffed.
'And you have no memory,' he said. 'If you knew who you were, I'd bet you wouldn't be doing this. Valar, if you knew who I was, the things I've done, I know you wouldn't want this.'
She grabbed his hand and held it against her chest, desperate to keep him from moving away. 'Then tell me,' she pleaded. 'Don't decide for me without giving me the facts. Tell me who you are!'
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he shook his head slowly. 'Even if you think you want this, Azshar, it's not something that can happen. This world is harsh and cold, and I have a duty to face the worst of it. That means no weaknesses, no more than I have already.'
He hadn't pulled his hand away, but his words were like a punch to the gut. 'I'm not a weakness,' she said, and to her embarrassment, her voice wavered. 'I'm a person.'
He shook his head. 'This can't happen, Azshar. It's time to let it go.'
'You followed me,' she said. 'You kissed me. You can't – you can't just do what you want to me and then blame me for reciprocating.'
'You're right. It won't happen again. I'll go.'
Azshar swallowed thickly and dropped his hand. It fell limply to his side. 'What do you mean, you have a duty to face the worst of the world?'
Glorfindel looked down. His hands, shaking a little, came together, and for a long moment of silence, he twisted the ring around his little finger. Finally, his eyes found hers again, and they were filled with trepidation.
'Near the end of the First Age,' he said, 'when Gondolin fell… I died.'
Azshar stared at him, her brows creased. She didn't understand; she couldn't understand. 'How…?'
'The Valar, they pulled me out of death, remade my body, gave me strength and power that I hadn't had before, and they sent me back.'
Azshar shook her head slowly. 'But… why?'
'They told me they wanted someone, an emissary, a weapon, to do their work and have a hand in keeping the peace in Middle-earth.' He swallowed and looked down again. The shaking in his hands was getting worse, and he put them behind his back. 'I don't know why they chose me, but here I am.'
'I… I don't understand why that means you can't let yourself be happy,' Azshar whispered.
'Happiness has nothing to do with it,' Glorfindel said flatly. 'The only reason I'm alive right now is because I was sent back with a mission. It's my duty to protect people, my duty to face the evils of Arda before anyone else has to. That's the only reason I'm here.' His voice grew colder still. 'And if that means I have to become a monster, then that is my duty too.'
Azshar stared at him. It was too much to process at once, too much for her to wrap her mind around.
'Did they ever tell you not to love?' she asked in a whisper. Glorfindel stared down at her silently, and in a last, desperate play, Azshar stood on her toes and kissed him again.
It was like kissing a statue. He was utterly unresponsive, utterly unmoving. After a moment, Azshar pulled away. It felt like there was a shard of ice in her heart.
'There is no need to bring love into this,' Glorfindel said, and Azshar felt the shard twist painfully. She felt the horrible urge to cry. 'That was the last time.'
'You can't just pretend there is nothing between us,' she said in a small voice.
'I won't pretend,' he said. 'I'll get you back to shore, then I'll be gone.'
They rowed back together in silence. Something rose in Azshar's chest that felt horribly like the hollowness which she thought had been long banished.
And we're back! I wish FF net had a better way to reply to reviews because every one that I got last chapter was amazing and I have so much to say to all of you! Hearing what people think genuinely makes my day!
There was one review I did especially want to comment on, asking about the chapter titles. Yes, they are in Quenya (oooh, a clue?!). No, I don't think I will translate them for you, but they should be pretty simple to look up if you're curious to know the meaning. Here's a freebie: the title of this chapter, lócë, means 'dragon'.
If you're a fan of cranky Bard the Bowman (aren't we all), I have another story called A Reckoning in Esgaroth which is set in Lake-town and stars Bard and his kids. And while we're here, if you're a fan of... idk, words, I have another story called The Rómentári, which has heaps of words in it. Creepy Bree Guy actually cameos in that story too. I'm sure most of you have a pretty good idea who he is by now...
Sorry for the whopping author's note. Next chapter will be out in a week or less, featuring Glorfindel the Babysitter.
S
