Chapter Sixteen: Úvië

It was snowing lightly when Glorfindel and Azshar reached the shore of the Long Lake. Azshar disembarked quickly from the small boat, not looking at Glorfindel. She was hyper-aware of him following two steps behind her as she wove through the crowd of refugees, searching for a familiar face. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Fíli call her over.

'You made it,' she said to him, Glorfindel a silent presence behind her. Tauriel was with him, as was a battered but conscious Kíli.

'No thanks to you,' Fíli grumbled, but he looked relieved to see her too.

'I'm sorry I couldn't help get Kíli to safety,' she said. Fíli gave a strained smile, and then there was a silence for a moment; none of them wanted to say what they were all thinking. It was Kíli who finally did.

'So… if the dragon was here…' he began, and Azshar sighed, holding her cloak closely around her to ward off the cold.

'We can't know for sure whether the rest of the Company is dead or alive,' she said. 'We'll have to go to the mountain to find out.'

'Dead or alive, the dragon is gone for good,' Tauriel said.

'Meaning that the Lonely Mountain is ours again,' Fíli added. 'That's something.'

'The dragon might be gone, but the orcs aren't,' came a voice. Legolas approached, bloody-faced, bruised, and weary.

'You didn't kill them?' Kíli asked.

'There were more than we expected,' Legolas said, shooting him an annoyed look. 'And once they realised your king wasn't around, they weren't interested in staying.'

'So, they're not just hunting us for the sake of it,' Fíli said, glancing at Kíli. 'That could be bad.'

'Are you alright?' Azshar asked Legolas. He reached up to feel a lump next to his left eye and winced.

'I'm fine,' he said tightly. She could tell that he was angry.

'We need a plan,' Tauriel said. 'Where do we go from here?'

'I'm going to the mountain,' Kíli said. Fíli shot him a look, and he nodded assurance. 'I'm well enough to do it, thanks to Tauriel.'

'Azshar might be welcome to come with us,' Fíli said, 'but the rest of you…'

'We don't even know if they're alive in there,' Kíli said in a low voice.

'And if they are, do you really want to explain to Thorin why we've brought a bunch of strange elves to his barely re-established kingdom?' Fíli muttered to him. There was an awkward silence; Legolas raised an eyebrow at Azshar, and Tauriel cleared her throat.

'In any case, you two should leave,' she said, her eyes on Kíli. 'The people of Esgaroth are cold and hungry, and more than a quarter of them are dead. Every one of them has lost something, and they want someone to blame. They are turning on Thorin and the Company. You won't be welcome here much longer.'

'She's right,' Kíli said, turning to Fíli. 'We should go.'

'We'll take a boat,' Fíli said. He glanced at Azshar. 'If we – when we see Thorin, I'll tell him you're here. If I can get any kind of word to you, I will.'

Azshar swallowed. She felt as though she was being left behind all over again. 'Alright,' she said. 'Stay safe.'

They rowed out onto the Long Lake, disappearing into the haze of smoke.

Azshar strode away, determined not to acknowledge Glorfindel. Over the next hours, she buried herself in work, doing everything she could to avoid thinking – about whether or not Thorin and the Company had survived, about Glorfindel, or the disturbing conversation she'd had with the elf who had been following her. She distributed food and blankets, bound wounds, and did her best to reunite families.

After she had returned one little girl to her father, children and parents alike had begun flocking to her, tearfully asking for her help to find their missing families. Azshar barely had a moment to take a breath, let alone wonder whether Glorfindel had yet left Esgaroth like he'd said he would.

She was holding the hand of a ten-year-old boy when she saw Bard again. It was late evening, and little fires had been lit to provide light and warmth. There was no food left, and hunger was beginning to show in the mood of the crowd.

Bard was talking to a fat, red-faced man, but he turned away from him when Azshar approached. He looked exhausted.

'Hello, Leif,' he said to the little boy she had with her. 'I saw your uncle just a minute ago. He was by that copse of elms over there.'

Leif glanced up at Azshar, who nodded encouragingly. 'I'll be right here if you don't find him,' she said. 'You can come back to me if he isn't there.'

The wide-eyed boy nodded and ran off. Bard and Azshar watched as he reached the elm grove and stopped short. A moment later, a man stood and picked him up, hugging him tightly. Azshar sighed, turning back to Bard.

'Thank you for all the work you and your friends have been doing,' he said. 'It hasn't gone unnoticed.'

'It was a terrible tragedy,' Azshar replied tiredly. 'We will do what we can. It seems that you have taken leadership over these people?'

'Of a sort,' Bard said, glancing back at the fat man. 'The Master of Laketown remains our official, elected leader. But I have a feeling that were I to make a claim, the people would side with me.'

'You might not have a people if you don't do something quickly,' she said. 'There's no food, shelter or medical supplies.'

'I have sent word to Mirkwood,' Bard said. 'The king there will answer, I am sure of it. He must. But besides that…' He hesitated, glancing to the horizon where the Lonely Mountain was shrouded in the dusk. 'I plan to march to Erebor, to see if Thror's treasure remains.'

'That treasure belongs to the dwarves,' Azshar said without thinking, and Bard gave her a hard look.

'Those dwarves loosed a dragon on my town,' he said. 'We are starving and homeless. If they are even still alive, the very least they can do is make reparations.'

Azshar nodded slowly. Thorin would see the reason in that, she knew. 'It's a plan, at least,' she said, and Bard sighed.

'We don't have very many other options.'

'Da!' came a voice, and Azshar turned to see Bard's eldest daughter Sigrid approaching, holding the baby that had been passed to Azshar while they were fleeing Esgaroth. It was screaming heartily.

'Is everything alright, love?' Bard asked, and Sigrid just offered him the bawling child.

'He's crying again, and I can't make him stop,' she said, sounding close to tears herself. Bard took the child from her, eyeing him balefully, before suddenly glancing up at Azshar. He looked almost guilty.

'Would you…?'

'I'll take him,' she agreed, and Bard passed the baby to her.

'Thank you,' he said. 'Thank you again for all you've done. If you or the other elves need anything, you know where to find me.'

She nodded. 'I'll let them know.'

Azshar wondered the camp, keeping an eye out for the old woman who had passed her the baby and begged her to carry him to safety. She didn't have high hopes. A light, ice-cold rain began misting down, and the baby continued to cry. She rocked him gently as she walked.

She began humming to him under her breath as she walked, and after a while, his cries quietened. Scanning the crowd, she suddenly caught sight of Glorfindel. It seemed he had been watching her; he looked away when she met his eyes, turning his attention back to the injured man he was crouching beside. Pursing her lips, Azshar wove through the people to stand behind him.

After a few minutes more, he stood and turned. His eyes hardened when he saw her waiting for him.

'Are you alright?' he asked, eyeing the baby in her arms. Azshar ignored his question.

'I thought you were leaving,' she said evenly.

He hesitated, glancing around at the camp. 'I was. But… they needed help.'

Azshar looked down. She could hardly fault him for that. 'Right.'

'I haven't seen you all day,' he said when she didn't say anything more.

'I've been busy,' she replied, nodding to the baby. Glorfindel nodded slowly, before suddenly seeming to remember something. He took a small package from his pocket.

'Have something to eat.'

'Give it to the people, they need it more than me.'

He shook his head. 'Some of the townspeople are fishing in the lake. There will soon be enough to go around.'

Azshar eyed the package. This felt like a peace offering, or perhaps some kind of apology. After all, Glorfindel tended to work with actions rather than words. She took the package; it was slightly warm in her hand.

'Would you hold the child?' she asked, and Glorfindel stepped forward to take the baby from her. It started crying again as she unwrapped the cloth. 'What is this?'

'Fish,' Glorfindel said a little uncomfortably, and Azshar glanced up to see him holding the baby gingerly. It made him look out of place but oddly sweet, like a bear holding a flower, and despite everything, Azshar couldn't help but smile.

'Eat,' Glorfindel said, and she put a piece of fish in her mouth and chewed mechanically.

'I can't find his family,' she said quietly, nodding at the baby. His tiny cheeks were wet with tears. 'He must be hungry.'

'Legolas and I put the orphans together,' he said. 'We have fires and some food, and if parents are missing their children, they know where to look first.'

Azshar couldn't understand him; he spent his time gathering children and helping the helpless, yet he called himself a monster. She sighed. 'Will you take me there?'

They wound through groups of people, moving away from the shore of the Long Lake. Azshar heard the children before she saw them; there was crying and some shouting. There were about forty of them there, their faces pale and drawn, all wrapped in blankets and scarves and coats. There was a large fire at the centre of their gathering, and Legolas was stoking it.

He looked relieved to see them. 'I need help,' he said in Sindarin when they approached. 'I can hunt orcs and kill spiders, but nothing in my life has prepared me to handle this.'

A little girl of about six years approached and tugged Legolas' sleeve. 'We've run out of food, Master Elf,' she said in a small voice. 'Is there some more?'

'Of course,' Legolas said quickly, crouching and placing a hand on her shoulder. 'Yes, of course there is. I'll be back in just a minute.'

He straightened and rubbed a hand across his ash-streaked face. 'Would you stay here while I go look for food?'

'There isn't much to go around,' Glorfindel warned, and Legolas shrugged.

'I'll just do what I can. Keep them calm, if you're able. I'll be back soon.'

He disappeared into the gathering gloom. The baby in Glorfindel's arms began crying again, and he looked up at Azshar with an expression of surprised panic. Azshar nearly smiled as she reached out to take the child back.

'Is Master Legolas going to come back?' the little girl asked. Azshar glanced down at her; if she was here, it was likely that the attack on Esgaroth had orphaned her.

'Yes, he will come back,' she said gently.

'I'm going to get wood for the fire,' Glorfindel muttered uncomfortably, and he strode away. Azshar pursed her lips and shifted the crying baby in her arms.

'Come on,' she said loudly. 'Let's move close to the fire to get warm.'

The little girl took her hand and Azshar led her to sit by the fire. Some of the other children drew closer too, all of them watching her with wide, wary eyes.

'Where did Master Legolas go?' asked one of the older ones, who looked to be about thirteen.

'He is finding food,' Azshar replied.

'I'm hungry,' said a small boy quietly. The others nodded in agreement.

'What's your name?' asked the little girl beside her. Azshar bounced the baby in her lap. His cries were gradually quieting.

'I'm Azshar,' she said.

'Azshar isn't an elvish name,' said the older girl who had spoken before. 'It doesn't sound elvish at all.'

'I suppose it isn't,' Azshar agreed with a small smile. Her mind drifted back to Fíli and Kíli, and she wondered again whether Thorin and the others had survived.

'I always wished I had an elvish name,' said the little girl beside Azshar. 'I want to be called Elrond, like who the wood elves told us about.'

'Elrond is a boy elf's name, stupid,' said the older girl.

'I thought it was a girl's name,' a boy admitted. Azshar hid a smile.

'Could you tell us a story, Mistress Elf?' another boy asked shyly. 'The wood elves tell us stories sometimes when they visit and stay through the night.'

Forty pairs of eyes turned to Azshar, and she racked her mind for something to tell them. There was no memory of any story she'd been told as a child. She could tell them what Glorfindel had told her about the sun and the moon, she supposed, but that wasn't the kind of story that children liked. She decided she'd have to make it up as she went.

'Right. There is a story I know about – about true love,' she began, and when some of the boys grumbled, she quickly changed tack. 'And battles. True love, and a fight to the death.' She didn't know whether telling children who had recently survived a traumatic experience about death was the right thing to do, but the group of them were drawing closer, prepared to be enthralled.

'A very long time ago, there lived a beautiful woman with her father.'

'Was she an elf?' asked someone.

'Ah – yes. They were elves.'

'And what was her name?'

'Her name was… Limril,' Azshar said. 'She lived with her father in a house hidden from everyone, because she was so beautiful and good that he didn't want anyone bad to find her and take her.'

'How can you hide a house?' a boy asked sceptically.

'It was in the middle of a thick copse of trees,' Azshar said, 'and the copse of trees was in a valley between some very high mountains, and the valley was always filled with mist, so that if anyone were to come through, they would barely see their hand before their face, let alone the cottage belonging to Limril and her father.'

'It sounds very lonely.'

'Ah, but they were never lonely, because they enjoyed each other's company very much. And they lived for many years there, undisturbed by anyone, and with no news of the outside world except what the birds sang to them.'

'When is the true love coming? And the fighting?'

Azshar laughed. 'Very soon. You see, outside the valley, there was a man. He was very strong and valiant, and he lived in a little village on the other side of the mountains that hid Limril.'

'Was he a man or an elf?'

'He was a man.'

'And what was his name?'

'Hmm… his name was Eladar,' Azshar said, but the older girl scoffed.

'He can't be called that, that's an elvish name.'

'He should be called Bard, like Tilda's da who killed the dragon,' said one of the boys.

'Call him Girion,' said the girl beside Azshar. 'That's a good name for a hero.'

'Alright,' Azshar said. 'Girion was very happy living in his village with his mother and father, but one day, a bunch of trolls came down from the mountains and – and told them they had to leave the village.'

'You can just say they ate them,' one of the boys scoffed. 'We're not babies.'

'Right,' Azshar said tentatively. 'Trolls came down, and sadly they ate the villagers.'

'Did Girion survive?'

'He did, yes, because he was out picking blackberries when the trolls arrived.'

'Are there really trolls in the mountains?' asked the thirteen-year-old girl.

'Oh yes,' Azshar said. 'Trolls much prefer the mountains. But they sometimes live elsewhere, if they can find a cave to hide in during the day.'

'Have you ever seen a troll?'

'I have. And perhaps I will tell you that story too, if you are patient,' Azshar said. 'But anyway, Girion was terribly sad when his family were eaten by trolls. He felt very lonely, and he didn't want to stay in his empty village, so he decided to wander the world for a while before he found a new home.'

'Poor Girion,' someone whispered.

'One day, when he reached the top of a mountain, a little bird landed on his shoulder and told him that there –'

'You have to do a bird voice,' the little girl said. The rest of the children nodded earnestly and Azshar smiled.

'Alright. The little bird said, "Hello Girion!"' She affected a high-pitched voice that made the children giggle. '"If you haven't anywhere better to go, there is a little house hidden in the woods, which is hidden by the mist, which is hidden by the mountains. If you like, I will show you the way!" So, Girion followed the little bird down the mountain, and then into the mist and through the trees.'

'Why would the little bird know the way?'

'Well, because he was a friend of Limril's father, and he'd visited them many times.'

'If he was their friend,' said a boy, 'then why would he tell their secret?'

'Because the bird could see that Girion was a man with a very good heart,' Azshar said. 'And besides, when Girion found the hidden cottage at last, Limril's father was very taken with him, and he announced at once that Girion must stay with them forever.'

'What, he wasn't allowed to leave?'

'No, because then he might give away the location of the house. So, Girion agreed to stay, and quickly, he fell in love with Limril, because she was very beautiful and kind and good.'

'Did she fall in love with him too? Even though he was a man?'

'Of course she did. He was kind and good too, and she didn't care that he wasn't an elf. So they married, and they had a son who was as beautiful and wise and kind as them both.'

'What was his name?'

'His name was… Aerion. Will that name do?'

'When is the fighting part coming?' asked the little girl.

'Well, the four of them lived happily in their hidden house, but when Aerion was a child just like you, they heard a great crashing coming down from the mountains. They all jumped up from their beds and grabbed their swords, for Girion knew very well what the crashing sound was. The trolls stomped through the woods until they found the cottage, and they pulled the roof off to get at the people.'

One of the small boys watched Azshar through his fingers.

'But Girion and Limril were very brave. They fought off the trolls as best they could, until Limril had a wonderful idea. She threw sand into the eyes of all the trolls so that they were blinking and stumbling around, and while they were blind and distracted, Limril and her family fled.'

'What about Aerion?'

'Aerion went too, because he was very brave like all of you. They climbed up into the mountains and down the other side, escaping from the trolls.'

'What was on the other side of the mountains?'

'There was… a lake, even bigger than the Long Lake, and they made a new cottage on its shore. Aerion became very good at building boats, and he would sail them on the lake all the time. Then, one day, he built the biggest boat he'd ever made, and they all got in together and sailed to the other side of the lake.'

Azshar paused, looking up. Legolas and Glorfindel had returned, and they were watching her from across the fire. Glorfindel had a strange, unreadable expression on his face.

'What was there?' one of the boys asked.

'They reached an island,' Azshar said. 'It was filled with – with the most beautiful flowers and trees you can imagine, and the weather was always good. And there, Limril and her family lived happily forever.'

There was a short silence before Legolas cleared his throat. 'I have fish,' he announced, and the children suddenly flocked to him, Azshar's story forgotten. She busied herself adjusting the wrappings around the baby in her arms until Glorfindel sat down beside her.

'Where did you hear that story?' he asked. She shrugged.

'I made it up. I couldn't think of anything else to tell them.'

'It was… it reminded me of something sad.'

'I didn't mean for it to be sad,' she said, concerned, but then she shook her head and looked away. 'What are you doing here, Glorfindel?'

'The people need help, I–'

'Here beside me, I mean.' He looked down, pressing his hands together, and she sighed. 'I've had quite enough of this nonsense. You are not a child who cannot make up his mind, so stop behaving like it.'

Glorfindel's jaw twitched. 'I said what I ought to say when I found you in the town.'

Azshar winced, remembering the kiss he hadn't returned. 'I see.'

'But I…' he hesitated, and she looked back up. 'Every time I see you, my resolve wavers. I change my mind. I let you in, thinking you would be harmless, some meaningless distraction, but you – you've fixed yourself a place, and now I can't get you out.'

He was speaking quietly but earnestly, his dark eyes fixed on hers. The baby in Azshar's arms squirmed, and the children around them chattered as they ate together, but she couldn't look away as Glorfindel continued.

'There are two parts of me, Azshar. The first tells me to leave you behind and continue life as I have been living it. The other – might burn everything to the ground if you are hurt.'

Azshar swallowed thickly. His eyes were filled with such intensity that she found herself certain that he hadn't meant it figuratively.

'Which part is stronger?' she asked quietly.

'Every time I look at you, I wonder what the harm would be,' he said softly. 'After all, my life has been so empty for so long. What is the harm in a little relief?'

'Is that what I am?' she whispered. 'Relief?'

Glorfindel's hands twitched, and he pressed them together again. 'From the darkness, yes. You're like sleep after an eternity awake. Or maybe the opposite.'

Azshar felt like someone had punched a hole in her heart. She longed to reach out to him, take hold of him. She tightened her hold on the baby instead. 'So what have you decided, then?'

'I haven't,' he said, running a hand over his face and looking into the fire. 'I think you should be the one to decide.'

'You know my decision is –'

'You should know that there are things I will never tell you,' he said, interrupting her. His voice was stiff, gruff. 'There are things I never want you to know about me, and I would never want you to ask. I'm not – a happy person, I am a violent person. Violence takes a toll on the mind and on the body, and some days, I think it has pulled out and burned through the very essence of me.'

Azshar slowly turned to stare into the fire as well. He was trying to startle her, force her to doubt her own judgement. It was working. She could see Legolas watching them sceptically from across the fire.

'I am not a good person,' Glorfindel continued. 'I do my duty to the people of Middle-earth, but any kindness I once possessed is gone. I'm not gentle or compassionate like you, I… I delight in violence. I like killing, it makes me feel… useful. Powerful, maybe.'

'Are you done listing your faults?' she asked in a low voice. Glorfindel shook his head.

'I'm not making them out to be faults, Azshar. It's just who I am. If you really think you could stand to be with someone like me… I just think it should factor into your decision.'

'And you want me to decide.'

He nodded. 'If you tell me this is what you want, I'll stop trying to stop myself.'

'What do you want?' she asked with growing distress.

Glorfindel turned his eyes back to her. 'I want you. Don't ask me why.'

Azshar shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off an increasing headache. 'You don't know what you're doing to me, Glorfindel.'

He huffed out a humourless laugh. 'You might be surprised.'

She looked down at the face of the tiny boy in her arms. He couldn't be more than a few months old. She needed to find him food, and someone who could take care of him more permanently. She sighed and looked back up.

'Give me some time,' she said quietly. 'There is so much to do here, too many other things to think about. Give me some time.'

He nodded. 'If you wish.'

She stood up. She had no idea how to articulate to him what she was feeling, and she could still sense Legolas' eyes on her. 'I am quite torn between common sense and following whatever it is that leads me to you,' she said with a faint smile. Glorfindel's jaw twitched.

'Perhaps your common sense will be strong enough to save us both from each other,' he said. Azshar turned and walked away.


She lost herself in work. Another day and night passed while she tended to the wounded, consoled parents who had lost their children and children who hadn't found their families, and distributed food and blankets. Glorfindel's request sat heavily in the back of her mind.

She wasn't sure what to call what she felt for him. After all, she had no memory, so how could she know what love was? And besides, wasn't love supposed to feel good? The way she felt about Glorfindel was slowly tearing her apart from the inside.

He was unpredictable, unreadable. The things he'd said about himself had disturbed her, and the sensible part of her mind told her that she couldn't allow herself to be attracted to him. He was dangerous, and he didn't seem to have any desire to change. How was it possible to feel the way she did about someone so – so twisted? Why did she have no control?

Her decision became no clearer the longer she waited. She had to choose between giving in or resisting. The latter option was logical, but every time she contemplated it, it felt horribly wrong.

A message came from King Thranduil, and Bard relayed it to the elves himself.

'He's sending aid,' he said. 'Food, shelter, healers, everything we've been missing. And I believe he's also sending an army.'

'An army?' Tauriel asked, exchanging an alarmed glance with Legolas.

'I think he wants to march on the Lonely Mountain,' Bard said. 'And to tell you the truth, so do I.'

'What for?' Azshar said with a frown. 'What good would that do you?'

'We've lost everything,' Bard said with a shrug. 'We will need money to rebuild, and if the stories are true, there's more than enough to go around inside that mountain. If the dwarves are still alive, I can't imagine they'd disagree.'

Azshar glanced at Glorfindel, but he had his eyes fixed on the ground. 'I'll go with you,' she told Bard. He nodded, and raised an eyebrow at Legolas, who sighed.

'I'll go too. The King will likely be there, but there's no sense in prolonging the inevitable.'

'We didn't exactly come with the approval of the King,' Tauriel explained to Bard.

'We're grateful for your help, no matter how we came by it,' Bard said. 'You're welcome to march with us to the mountain if it suits your purpose.'

'We'll be there,' Legolas said. Bard nodded, and Azshar turned and left before there was time for Glorfindel to meet her eyes. She felt him watching her as she walked away through the camp.

He hadn't pushed her to give him an answer, but there was a tense air of anticipation between them. Multiple times she caught him watching her with a closed expression. As the camp grew more settled, there were fewer reasons for him to stay, and she knew it was unfair of her to withhold her decision for so long. She didn't know what to do.

They marched out the next day, all the able-bodied among the refugees from Laketown with what little supplies they could gather. There weren't many of them, and they were a pitiful-looking gathering, but nonetheless, they set out towards the mountain.

The land was brown and sparse, but as the days passed, more and more birds began filling the sky.

'They are returning now that the dragon is gone,' Legolas said. He was walking at the back of the procession with Azshar. Glorfindel was somewhere ahead of them. 'This place will finally have a chance to heal.'

'I hope so,' Azshar said distractedly. 'I hope the land will heal, and the dwarves are alright, and that the people of Esgaroth will find a new home, and all of this can be put to rest.'

Legolas glanced at her. 'I hope the dwarves will know to behave well enough when the king arrives on their doorstep.'

Azshar pursed her lips. Provided Thorin was still alive, she couldn't see that going well. 'Are you ready to see your father again?'

Legolas sighed. 'Of course. He is my father, after all.'

'He will forgive you,' she said tentatively. 'He'll know you did nothing out of malice.'

Legolas smiled, a little hollowly. 'Everything has a political use for my father,' he said. 'I will be reminded of this little insurrection for years to come.'

'I'm sorry,' Azshar said, and he shook his head.

'Don't worry about it. What will be will be.' He glanced over at her again, his mouth set and a crease between his eyebrows. 'But there is something else we should talk about.'

Azshar's stomach dropped, and she hoped he didn't mean what she thought he did. 'What is it?'

'You and Glorfindel.'

She jerked her gaze forwards, scanning the crowd for a blonde head of hair. She couldn't see him, but at least that meant he wasn't nearby. 'And?'

'I am only asking as a friend,' Legolas said. 'A concerned friend. I can see that you feel something for him.'

Azshar fisted her hands in her cloak. 'What gave it away?'

'You have a very expressive face,' he said with a hint of exasperation. 'You aren't exactly hard to read.'

She pursed her lips. 'Well. I already know that you don't approve of Glorfindel.'

Legolas laughed. 'Approval has nothing to do with it. You may do as you see fit, and I will accept it. I am just… concerned that you don't have all the information.'

Azshar rounded on him. 'And do you? Because from my point of view, it seems that you're working with rumours and ghost stories that your people whisper about Glorfindel of Rivendell.'

Legolas' smile disappeared. 'I know that half the things people say about him aren't true. I've had a chance to know him, and he seems honourable enough. But –'

'Honourable enough?' she interjected incredulously. 'What does that mean?'

'– but it doesn't change the things he's done,' Legolas went on. 'Even legends have roots in truth, and the truth is that Glorfindel has done things that people only dare whisper about.'

Azshar shook her head firmly. 'He has regrets. That is clear. But he is not a bad person.'

'Azshar, you can't –'

'He's not a bad person,' she said resolutely. 'I know he isn't.'

'How can you possibly know that?' Legolas asked, folding his arms.

'Because bad people don't think they're bad,' she said. 'They believe they're in the right, or that their evil has been justified, or that they've been denied what they deserve. But Glorfindel doesn't believe any of that. He despises himself.'

'That doesn't mean it's without reason,' Legolas argued, but Azshar shook her head.

'He might not be a good person, Legolas, but he isn't a bad person –'

'Ask him about the village, Azshar.'

There was enough darkness in his voice to give Azshar pause. She frowned. 'What?'

'A village of men near the Blue Mountains suddenly disappeared in the First Age. Glorfindel will tell you why.'

Azshar stared at him for a long moment before looking down and shaking her head. 'If I do this, it's the last I'll hear of it from you?'

'I'll say nothing more on it. I promise.'

She started walking again, and Legolas fell into step beside her. 'I need to make a decision,' she muttered. 'I've wasted enough time.'

'From the sound of it, the decision has already been made,' Legolas said with a shrug.

Azshar sighed. He was right; all she needed now was the courage to say it aloud.


Since this chapter was 90% angst, 10% a strange allegorical story which is just blatant foreshadowing, and 100% nothing much happening, I might be persuaded to put out the next chapter by the weekend. See you then for Thranduil's theatrics, the stick up Thorin's behind, Glorfindel's white picket fence plans, the importance of reading your contract, and me trying to compare the size of the Arkenstone to stone fruits.

Love to youse all! S