A/N: Gday everyone! Here is the last chapter of the first part of this story. It will be a little bit longer than the usual week before I start posting part two, because for once I need to make sure everything in my real life gets some attention too, and make sure the old mental health doesn't go pear shaped. But don't give up on me; follow and favourite, and the next chapter will be out before you know it.
Till then, this is me sending you love, well wishes, and chapter eighteen. As always, thanks for reading, drop me a line, and I'll see ya ron!
Sigebeorn
Chapter Eighteen: Nulda
Azshar was subdued for the rest of the day, haunted by Thorin's cruel words to her, and by the fact that not one of the Company had stood up for her. She knew she should have been glad that the deal had been made, and the negotiations technically a success, but instead she just felt hurt.
Glorfindel didn't leave her side. She supposed that was his way of showing support, though he said nothing about it. He led her to their fireplace, where Legolas and Tauriel were sitting, talking quietly, and offered her food. He sat beside her in silence while she ate, watching her whenever he didn't think she'd notice.
Gandalf and Bilbo joined them after a while, the hobbit downcast and tired-looking. The camp quietened as the moon rose through the sky and people went to sleep. Sometime near midnight, after Bilbo had nodded off, Azshar finally spoke up.
'I feel like I'm back at square one,' she said softly. Across the fire, Legolas and Tauriel glanced up at her. 'When I woke in the cave, I had no family, no friends that I could remember. So I made new ones. The Company.'
'He might see reason,' Legolas murmured, but Azshar shook her head.
'He's changed. Something about him is different.'
'You're not starting from scratch,' Tauriel said. 'You have other friends. Us, the wizard and the hobbit. Even Bard might agree to talk to you.'
Azshar smiled slightly as Legolas nodded. Bilbo shifted and murmured in his sleep. Silence fell again, and the fire grew low. Azshar turned to Glorfindel.
'Let's go somewhere when this is all over,' she whispered. He looked down at her. 'We can have our hidden cottage. We'll leave when you need to save the world, but in between, we'll go back to our house and just… be happy.'
'You're not coming with me to save the world,' Glorfindel murmured, but his eyes were warm. Azshar smiled.
'You can't control everything all the time.'
'Hm. I can try.'
Legolas was still awake, staring into the embers of their fire, but Azshar paid him no heed. She rested her head on Glorfindel's shoulder, and to her relief, he didn't push her away. Instead, he threaded his fingers through hers in the shadows between their two bodies. The gesture was sweet, almost plaintive. Azshar could feel the promise in it: once they were alone, once they had time, he would be close to her. When she was all his, he would be all hers.
An hour later, his hand started shaking. He pulled it out of hers and stood up, walking away into the darkness without a word of explanation. Azshar met Legolas' curious, wary eyes across the embers. He'd warned her about Glorfindel, and here she'd been holding his hand right in front of Legolas.
She offered no justification, but nor did he offer judgement. They simply looked at each other for a moment before Azshar sighed and pulled her cloak closer around her. She was cold without Glorfindel there. It felt like time passed more slowly without him.
The next morning dawned dull and grey. The sun had barely risen before there were shouts from the east side of their camp. Dain and his army had arrived from the Iron Hills.
There were five hundred of them, and they were dressed for war. Their beards had been braided and tucked into their belts, and all of them were armed to the teeth. Each of them carried large packs on their back too, to see the mountain through winter if it came to a siege. They stopped before crossing paths with the encampment of elves and men, and a small party of them detached, hands held in the air to show their peaceful intentions.
'I'll talk to them,' Bard said, glancing at Legolas. 'I don't know that it's a good idea for any elves to come with me. No offence.'
'You couldn't offend me if you tried,' Legolas said amicably. Tauriel turned a snort into a cough.
'Quite right, Bard,' Gandalf said. 'Bilbo, you can go instead.'
'This was not in my job description,' the hobbit said, aggrieved, but he went with Bard to meet Dain's envoy anyway.
Tauriel and Legolas went to the Gate of the Lonely Mountain to see whether Thorin had put forth the payment yet, but the moment they were within range, they were shot at. They returned to the camp empty handed.
Glorfindel returned to Azshar's side, offering no explanation of where he'd been. She didn't ask, but he seemed utterly unsurprised at the news of Dain's arrival. Azshar suspected he'd seen them coming in the night.
Bard was frustrated at the disastrous turn in events, and he paced back and forth in the command tent when he returned from the futile parley, thrusting his hand through his hair.
'These dwarves don't know what they're doing,' he said. 'I'll put archers and spearmen in the rocks on their right flank, and attack from the other side. They'll be trapped.'
'You can hardly afford a battle right now, Bard,' Azshar said gently. 'Especially against five hundred dwarven warriors.'
'Nor am I eager to begin this war for gold,' Thranduil agreed. 'Dain can't pass us while we are camped here, so he cannot reach the mountain. There is nothing forcing our hand at the moment. Let us be patient.'
'We have the advantage in numbers,' Legolas said. 'That should be enough, if it comes to it.'
'I hope that it does not,' Gandalf said forebodingly.
Azshar exchanged a look with Glorfindel. There was battle brewing here; she could feel it, and so could he. But it wasn't their fight. Azshar wanted no part of the gold in the Lonely Mountain, and Thorin had cut her ties to the Company quite decisively. She could walk away with a clear conscience.
Glorfindel, however, was obliged to be at the epicentre of conflict in Middle-earth. That had been his deal with the Valar, and what he held himself honour-bound to do. She could leave, but she could see in his eyes that he would stay behind. She looked away, biting her lip. If he stayed, so would she.
There was a roll of thunder from outside, and Azshar heard the first fat raindrops hit the outside of the tent.
'I don't want to sit here and wait for Dain to make the first move,' Bard was saying. 'We have their Arkenstone, and we saw firsthand how much that means to them –'
He was cut of by the sound of shouting to the east, and everyone in the tent suddenly got to their feet. Azshar felt her skin tingle. It was beginning.
Tauriel burst into the tent, flanked by two guards. 'They have attacked,' she said breathlessly to Thranduil. 'They are firing volleys and advancing.'
'Return fire,' Thranduil said, and he glanced at Legolas. 'Ready?'
Legolas nodded to his father, and they left together. Bard followed, and Gandalf too, leaving Glorfindel and Azshar alone in the tent. He rounded on her.
'Stay here. Please.'
She shook her head. 'I'm not going to make promises like that, it won't end well.'
'Fine,' he said, glancing to the flap of the tent. It was growing strangely dark outside. 'I'm going to stay and fight, but you don't have to. You should get out while you can. I'll meet you somewhere.'
'Glorfindel, we have to –'
There were screams from outside, and Azshar could hear Gandalf shouting. Together, she and Glorfindel stepped out of the tent and turned their gaze to the sky.
It was black with bats, swarming in the sky like locusts. Riding under them on the backs of wargs and wolves was an army of orcs. It seemed they had a new enemy. Glorfindel took her by the shoulders and kissed her searingly, desperately. He pulled away before she had the presence of mind to respond.
'There's no time,' he said, his hands on her face. 'Don't run, they'll catch you. Stay safe, Azshar, please. I'll find you.'
'After this,' she said, the words half promise and half question.
'After this,' he said firmly.
'Don't go far,' she pleaded, feeling for her sword at her hip. Her fingers closed around the cold metal of its hilt.
'Don't follow me,' he countered, and then he turned and ran.
The elves, men and dwarves had no choice but to quickly unite against the massive gathering of goblins and wolves. Azshar followed the bellowed instructions of Bard and Gandalf, rushing towards the Lonely Mountain and then turning to defend it with the disorganised ranks of Esgaroth men and women. It wasn't long before the swarming horde caught up with them.
Helcaruivë felt light in her hands as she twirled it a few times, her mouth dry. She was relatively high on the slopes of the mountain, in the midst of Bard's army, but the first orcs reached them with frightening speed. Azshar took off her cloak and drew in a deep breath before whirling around and plunging her sword into the neck of a goblin.
She wrenched it out and parried a clumsy stroke from another before it was caught in the back of the head by another man. Azshar tried to focus through the unsettling sensation of her mind knitting itself back together. Battle, killing, orcs… it was familiar. It was something she'd known before.
She didn't know how long she fought for. It was impossible to gauge the time of day with the cloud of bats shrieking and swarming above them. Rain poured down, making everything slippery and treacherous. Azshar couldn't tell how well the battle was going for them, but she hoped desperately that their combined forces would be enough.
She eventually found herself fighting near the Gate to Erebor. Every time she had a moment to spare, she would look around, desperately trying to catch sight of Glorfindel or someone else she knew. Every time it was fruitless.
The battle was brutal. Azshar was covered in blood, gore and mud when Fíli and Nori found her. She almost laughed with joy when she saw them, and seconds later, Fíli had her wrapped in a bear hug.
'Durin's beard, it's good to see you!' he shouted.
'You too!' she replied, hugging Nori tightly as soon as Fíli had let her go.
'Thorin was an ass before,' Nori said. 'A right booby, as the trolls would say!'
'We have bigger problems now!' she yelled, and they separated as a pair of goblins broke through to them. Fíli thumped her on the back once they'd been dealt with.
'We're off to catch up with Thorin and the others!' he said, the rain streaking down his dirty face. He looked quite the dwarven prince, grinning wildly and decked out in elaborate armour which she assumed had come from the treasures of Erebor. 'We'll find you afterwards!'
'Afterwards!' Azshar agreed. The two of them barrelled off into the confusion.
Half an hour later, Azshar heard the unmistakeable bellow of Thorin echoing through the valley. Elves, dwarves and men alike passed the call back and began running towards the sound, rallying behind him to drive a wedge into the ranks of the orc army. Azshar pushed her exhaustion aside and ran with them.
But she soon paused, looking up when her eye was caught by a glimmer of light. With shock, she realised that massive eagles, the same kind that had rescued them from the goblins in the Misty Mountains, were swooping through the sky, picking off the bats two and three at a time.
She grinned ferociously, gripping her sword harder. Things were looking up –
'Azshar!'
'Glorfindel!' she cried, whipping around in an effort to find him, and he raised an arm so she could see him. She ran to him; he was filthy, covered in red and black blood. She couldn't tell if he was injured through the grime.
'You're alright?' he asked, panting. She nodded and pointed up.
'The eagles came!'
He almost smiled. 'It's looking good for us.'
Impulsively, she stood on her toes and kissed him. He bent forward and returned the kiss heatedly, the hand that wasn't holding his sword running up her back to press between her shoulder blades. She pulled away after just a moment, and he rested his forehead to hers. They were both panting, and she laughed breathlessly.
'We're going to win!'
'We'll see,' he said.
'We have to –'
'Get away from her!' came a cry, and Glorfindel and Azshar both looked up. She saw the dark-haired elf from Bree striding down towards them, and it felt like her heart physically twisted in her chest. Glorfindel straightened, but didn't let go of her.
'You…' he whispered, and the elf scowled at him.
'Get your hands off my wife,' he said.
Glorfindel's head jerked down to Azshar. In that split second, she could read everything in his dark eyes. He had made himself vulnerable, and he'd been betrayed. Horror, shock and hurt flashed through his gaze, but they were soon replaced by cold anger. He dropped his hand and stepped away from her like she'd burned him.
'What?' he said, his voice deadly quiet. Azshar's breath was coming in short, panicked bursts as she looked between Glorfindel and the stranger – who wasn't a stranger. Her husband.
'You – you didn't say –' she choked.
The elf came to a stop before them. 'But you knew, didn't you?' he said, his eyes on her and his voice low and deadly. 'You knew the truth in your heart, and you were kissing him anyway.'
'I…' She trailed off. She had no idea what to say. She hadn't been sure, she hadn't known… but part of her had. She'd known, and she'd acted despite it all. It felt like the world was falling apart. Her eyes found Glorfindel's, and the look in his eyes broke her heart.
'I'm sorry,' she whispered raggedly. 'I'm sorry.'
He took another step away from her. His face became a mask, utterly emotionless. It betrayed nothing at her words, and instead, he turned to her husband.
'Who is she?' he asked. Her husband's mouth became a firm, unforgiving line.
'I have nothing to say to you, Glorfindel,' he said flatly, and he began walking onwards. When Azshar didn't follow him, he stopped and glanced back at her. 'You need to come with me.'
His tone brooked no argument. Azshar looked at Glorfindel in panic, not knowing what to do. The ground had been ripped out from under her feet. The second he'd told her he wanted her, she'd mentally grafted herself to him. He'd been her stability, her surety, and now –
'Now,' said her husband, and Glorfindel was the first to turn away. He strode down the mountain and towards the fighting, his steps filled with furious purpose. Tears sprang to Azshar's eyes as she watched him go, watch him find an orc and almost fold it in half with the furious brutality of his swing.
She didn't look away until the dark-haired elf grabbed her arm and began dragging her. Azshar stumbled alongside him, jerking her arm free and following him herself. She sheathed her sword and dashed the tears from her eyes.
'Who are you?' she asked roughly.
'Are you injured?' he asked instead of replying. She had a shallow cut on her thigh, and she thought she might have broken a finger.
'I – nothing major.' He was walking so quickly that she needed to run to keep up. She felt like she was in pieces. 'Please, please, who are you? Where are we going?' The tears came back. 'Why – why didn't you tell me about this?'
'We will get clear of this battle,' he said coldly. He hadn't looked at her once since Glorfindel had gone. 'Then I will answer what questions I can.'
'I have friends – I should tell them what happened –'
'It's too late. We need to go.'
She wiped her cheeks again and followed him.
He led her away from the fighting, until the sky was clear above them and the sounds had faded into the distance. Night fell, and still they walked in silence. When dawn came again, the rain finally stopped and the sun came out. Still, they walked.
All Azshar could think of was Glorfindel. He'd trusted her, in his own cautious way, and she'd –
She'd seen in his eyes what she'd done to him. She'd utterly betrayed him. There was no way in the world she could come back from that look. Remembering it made her chest hurt, but she could think of nothing else.
That night, they finally stopped on the shore of the Long Lake.
'You should wash off,' the elf said, breaking their days-long silence. 'Stay here, I'll return soon.'
Azshar washed the dirt and blood from her skin and clothes in the freezing water. She braided her hair and did her best to clean and bind the wound on her thigh with shaking hands. Her fractured finger had bruised and stiffened, and she couldn't bend it as she redressed in the tunic from Mirkwood.
Far away, she could see campfires reflecting on the water. She prayed they were the fires of her friends, resting after victory. She prayed Glorfindel had made it through, and her chest hurt again.
The elf returned with two horses to find Azshar shivering. Her cloak had been lost in the battle, and wordlessly, he gave her his own before crouching and setting a fire.
They ate waybread, sitting on opposite sides of the fire in silence. Still, he didn't look at her. When the moon was high in the sky, Azshar finally cleared her throat.
'Is my name Lalaith?' she asked. The elf looked up at her.
'Yes,' he said after a long moment.
'And… what is your name?'
There was an even longer pause before he answered. 'My name is Maglor.'
'Where are you taking me?'
'I'm taking you home,' he said stiffly. 'Everything else will be explained to you there. Don't ask me anything more. Do you understand?'
She shook her head slowly. 'I don't know.'
'No more questions. Not for now.'
'Alright.'
'You should sleep,' he said. Azshar thought of the nightmare, and then, inevitably, of falling asleep with Glorfindel's hand in her hair, him waking her gently before she made a sound. She bit her lip and shook her head.
'I'm not tired,' she whispered.
They left the lake and rode west, cutting through Mirkwood. Maglor seemed to know the way, steering them clear of spiders and hallucination-inducing toxins. The journey was much faster on horseback than it had been on foot with the Company, and even then, Maglor pushed them on faster.
She refused to sleep. She was terrified of what would happen if she had the nightmare and woke shouting and screaming. Maglor didn't seem to be the understanding type.
In fact, she couldn't gauge what kind of person he was at all. He travelled in absolute silence, speaking to her only to tell her when they were to stop and start again. His face was permanently fixed in a frown, and he almost never looked at her.
In the depths of Mirkwood, Azshar's exhaustion grew too much for her. She sat with her back against an uncomfortable tree, staring with wide eyes into the forest, but inevitably, they drooped. The first two times, she jerked back awake. The third time, she finally fell asleep.
She dreamed that she was standing in a burning town. The unmoving bodies of dozens of elves were slumped against buildings, and their blood ran through the dirt of the road.
Maglor was standing in front of her, his gaunt face streaked with red. Another tall elf stood looking down sadly over two bodies, both red-haired and unmoving. A tear fell down his cheek and he dashed it away. Azshar realised he was missing his right hand.
Maglor watched her with a mixture of caution and concern. His hand slowly moved to the hilt of his sword. Azshar didn't care.
'Kill me, Maglor,' she said woodenly. She was surprised at the sound of her own voice; it was hoarse and dead.
'What happened to you, Lalaith?' Maglor whispered.
She woke suddenly, the forest black and foreboding around her. It was frighteningly quiet, and Maglor was gone. Azshar got to her feet and drew her dagger, her breathing loud in her ears. The blade was dull, no blue glow; there were no orcs around, then. The thought wasn't enough to comfort her.
'Maglor,' she whispered, squinting through the darkness. There was no reply. 'Maglor!'
She turned in a slow circle, scanning the trees around her. If Maglor had gone… she didn't know if she'd be able to find her way out. Both of the horses were still with them; surely he wouldn't have gone far…
After another five minutes, he appeared behind her.
'Lalaith.'
She spun, her knuckles white around the knife. 'I thought –' she stopped, trying to calm down. 'You should have told me you left.'
'I'm sorry.' He turned and tucked something into his saddlebags.
'Where were you?'
'We're moving on,' he said, ignoring her question. Azshar bit her lip and mounted her horse.
When morning came, a familiar smell began permeating the air. Azshar's stomach turned. Minutes later, they reached the Enchanted River. She looked up sharply at Maglor, the cloying smell making her nervous, but he didn't look at her.
She followed him to a bridge, and they crossed without incident.
They travelled on for weeks, ever eastward and ever silently. Twice more Azshar slept, and both times she woke thrashing and screaming, to find Maglor watching her with guarded eyes.
She tried to reconcile him with the man she'd dreamed of, the man who she'd woken up beside and who had pulled her into him and kissed her. She couldn't. Something terrible must have happened to them, she thought, to bring them to this point. Something had made him cold and distant, and had caused him to take her memories.
They had crossed the Misty Mountains and were in the Trollshaws when she finally couldn't resist asking any longer. It was snowing in the woods, and she felt bad for having taken his cloak. They were walking beside their horses, Azshar following behind Maglor, as the trees had grown too low for them to comfortably ride.
'Will you tell me what happened?' she asked, her voice breaking the monotony of snow crunching underfoot. There was a long pause before Maglor replied.
'Not yet.'
'How can we go on if I don't know what happened to us?' she asked, a note of pleading in her voice. She felt utterly in the dark, utterly at his mercy. It was unfair.
'It could be dangerous,' Maglor said impatiently, stopping and turning to face her. He looked frustrated. 'The enchanted water is a strange magic. Recovering your memories could kill you.'
'If it's so dangerous, why did you give it to me to drink in the first place?' she asked. Her horse whickered quietly beside her.
'We had no choice,' Maglor replied, his eyes fixed on her. 'Believe me, Lalaith. It was – your best option. And I thought…' he trailed off and sighed.
'Thought what?'
'I thought it would last longer,' he said, and he turned and started walking again.
Something cold settled in the pit of Azshar's stomach as she followed him. He'd thought the poison would last longer. She remembered what he'd said to her in Bree, when they'd first met: I can still fix this. You need to go back. She swallowed hard. He was supposed to be her husband, but he hadn't spoken to her for weeks. He'd barely looked at her.
'I wanted to ask you something else,' she said. Maglor's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't stop. 'I read a book while I was in Mirkwood,' she went on. 'It mentioned an elf named Maglor, whose hands had been burned by a hallowed jewel.'
At this, Maglor jerked to a halt. He turned around again, this time his eyes wary and haunted. 'And?'
'Is it you? Are you a son of Fëanor?'
He swallowed visibly. 'Yes. Yes, I am.'
'I'm sorry,' she said quietly. 'About all your brothers. Your family.'
'More than you know,' he replied abruptly. 'Please, Lalaith, no more questions.'
'Just one more,' she insisted. 'I just – I want to know where we're going.'
'Home,' he said evenly, but she shook her head.
'Where is home, Maglor?'
He hesitated for a beat too long before answering. 'It's on the west coast, near the Blue Mountains.'
The cave. He saw the instant realisation in her face, and he took a step forward at the same time that she took a step back. He raised his hands in a gesture of peace.
'Lalaith, let me explain –'
'Please don't take me back there,' she whispered. 'You're the only link to my old life that I have, I'll follow you if you tell me I must, but please, please don't take me back there. Don't do it. If you have any love left for me –'
His face hardened. 'It's sleep or death,' he said. 'You can make the choice, if you disagree with mine.'
'It caved in on me,' she said. 'Did you know that? The cave you put me in, it collapsed on top of me. I woke up, and I was trapped, crushed. I was in agony for years.'
Maglor's head jerked up, and he looked at her with growing horror. 'I…'
'I don't want to sleep again. Please. Even if it's something I wanted then, something I begged you for before I lost my memory, I'm telling you now that I don't want it!'
'It's not about what you want, or what I want,' Maglor snapped, taking another step closer. 'It's about things beyond our control. It's about a promise I need to keep, a secret that cannot be uncovered.'
'Let me help you,' Azshar whispered. 'Help me to remember, and I'll help you.'
'I can't take that chance,' Maglor replied, shaking his head. 'I'm sorry. I really am.'
Azshar took a step back. 'Then… we're at an impasse.'
He sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a moment. He seemed to come to a decision, and he opened them again. 'Let's stop here, make camp and get warm. We can make decisions in the morning.'
Azshar nodded numbly and began unsaddling her horse. 'That's the most you've ever said to me, I think,' she said.
Maglor smiled slightly. 'That's the most I've said to anyone in a very, very long time.'
'I'm sorry,' she said earnestly, pausing in her movements to look at him. 'That you've been alone for so long.'
He studied her, his smile fading into an expression of great sadness. 'You were always like this,' he said. 'Kind, while the rest of us just chased glory. I suppose the cursed water didn't take that from you.'
She went to get firewood while Maglor saw to the horses. Sunset wasn't far away, but the low clouds overhead meant dusk was coming early. When she returned, she lit the kindling, the act making her think of Óin and Glóin, and travelling with the Company. She sighed, hoping they were all alright after the battle. She didn't even know who'd won.
Maglor handed her a piece of waybread and a waterskin before sitting down heavily beside her. His black hair glistened in the light of the struggling fire. Azshar looked at his hands. Both of them were blistered and scarred. If the stories were true, they'd been burned by the jewel, the silmaril, thousands of years ago before he'd thrown it into the sea and it had been lost.
She wondered whether she was as old as him, or if he knew the name of the white city from her memory. No more questions. She supposed that it would have to be enough that he'd given her a name, Lalaith. She sighed, unstoppered her waterskin and drank.
It was already too late when she realised what had happened and threw the waterskin down, coughing and trying to make herself vomit the three mouthfuls of water she'd already swallowed. Maglor caught her shoulder, steadying her, and she stared at him with wide, horrified eyes.
'You liar,' she gasped. Numbness was already creeping into her belly, the taste of the river water foul in her mouth. She fought it desperately.
'I'm sorry,' he said softly. 'I'm so sorry. I don't want to hurt you.'
'You betrayed me…'
'I'm sorry, Lalaith. I'm sorry.'
Her vision was growing dark. Fighting it was useless. Utter panic filled her. 'Help me,' she whispered, sagging to the side. 'Save me…'
She saw him shake his head as he lay her down. 'It's too late, Lalaith.' He got up and retrieved the waterskin, and the last thing she knew was him pouring the rest of the water into her mouth and over her face.
'Please…' she choked, and then she was gone.
Everything was gone. Azshar was no more, and the elf slept without remembering why.
END OF PART ONE: HRÍVË
