Chapter Twenty: Angayassë

She was sitting by the window when Elrond came to see her the next morning. She stood up unreasonably quickly when he knocked on the door, hoping it might finally be Glorfindel. It wasn't. She tried not to show her disappointment.

He entered slowly and smiled at her, his eyes a little guarded. She wondered whether his eyes had always been like that, and she was only noticing now that she knew he was hiding something from her.

'Hello, Azshar.'

'Elrond,' she said, returning his smile. 'Thank you for coming to see me. And thank you for everything you've done for me. I am sure I owe you my life.'

'Not at all. In fact, there was very little that I could do to help you. The fact that you are alive it mostly down to luck.'

Azshar looked down. 'It seems you were right about the dangers of remembering,' she said. Elrond sighed.

'Would that I had been wrong. May I sit?'

She gestured to the chair opposite her, and they sat together by the window. Their view was filled with oranges and reds as autumn crept through the valley, tinting the leaves.

'I need to set something straight,' Azshar said before Elrond spoke again. 'About the way I left Rivendell with the Company.'

'I am sorry that you didn't feel you could stay,' Elrond said, and she shook her head.

'No, please. It was more a reflection of me than it was of you. When we reached Imladris… I hadn't long been out of the cave. Gandalf, Bilbo, and the dwarves were everything that I had. To be left behind, to start again from scratch… it frightened me, I suppose. So, I went.'

'I can understand that,' Elrond said, 'though the wiser part of me still wishes you had stayed.'

'I want to ask you something to your face,' Azshar went on, watching the elf carefully. 'Do you know who I am?'

Elrond didn't bother to deflect. 'Yes, I do. But I will not tell you.'

'I understand,' she said quietly, looking out the window. 'Did you know me?'

'For a short time, yes. I loved you very dearly.' She looked back at him sharply; he was smiling sadly. 'But, Azshar, I have never known anyone in my long life to be as sad as you were, before you lost your memory and disappeared. I look at you now and wonder if it isn't better this way, for you to have another chance at happiness.'

Azshar bit her lip thoughtfully. That had always been a risk, and she had dismissed it. Knowing who she was, uncovering her past, had always felt more important than whatever it was that had made her want to forget. She couldn't imagine living the rest of her life, perhaps an eternity, with the itching uncertainty at the back of her mind.

Or at least, she hadn't been able to imagine it until she'd met Glorfindel and fallen in love with him. Then, forgetting her old life had seemed like a blessing. It gave her the chance for a new life with him.

But then her husband had appeared and torn that happiness from her. And Glorfindel hadn't come to see her the past few days. His eyes, when he'd looked at her on Weathertop, had been cold and empty. Maglor had taken all the joy from her second chance at life.

'Perhaps you're right,' she said stiffly. 'Perhaps I should leave it all behind, start again. Third time lucky.'

Elrond watched her with sympathy. 'You have friends here,' he said. 'You will always have friends here.'

'Thank you,' she said, and she cleared her throat. 'Arwen said you have questions for me?'

'There are some things I would like to know,' Elrond said slowly. 'Most importantly… what happened at the Battle of the Five Armies.'

'Do you know who won it?' she asked, trying not to sound desperate.

'We did,' he answered, and she nearly sagged with relief. 'Though not without great losses. The orcs and wargs were defeated, and even those that fled were soon destroyed. It was an important victory, especially in times like these.'

'Times like these?'

'My questions first,' he said with a half-smile. 'What happened to you after the Battle? I have heard only one account.'

'Glorfindel's?' she asked, and he nodded, offering no more information. She sighed. 'I… was fighting. Just as it looked like we might win, I – my husband found me.'

'Your husband,' Elrond repeated slowly.

'Perhaps you knew him too. His name is Maglor. He took me away, immediately. I followed him through Mirkwood, over the Misty Mountains, and to the Trollshaws.'

'You avoided Rivendell.'

'He avoided Rivendell. I was following him, and he didn't like me asking questions.'

'What happened in the Trollshaws?'

'I asked one question too many,' Azshar said. Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap. 'I realised he was planning to take me back to the cave near the Blue Mountains, where he'd hidden me the first time. He seemed to repent when I confronted him about it, but –' her voice broke. 'But he tricked me into drinking more of the water. That's what took my memories, water from the Enchanted River in Mirkwood.'

Elrond looked like he was trying to supress his curiosity out of consideration for her. 'Do you remember how much you drank?'

'Three mouthfuls, this time,' she said. 'And I slept nearly eighty years. Bombur slipped and fell in the water when we passed through Mirkwood, and he slept for about a week, and lost months' worth of memories. Just by touching it.'

'How curious.'

'It was Maglor who took my memories the first time too,' she went on. 'Though that time, he didn't need to trick me. I was willing.'

'How do you know Maglor is your husband?' Elrond asked.

'I had a dream about him where he was – holding me. He seemed affectionate. And he told me that we were married when he found me during the battle.' She didn't mention that she'd been kissing Glorfindel when it had happened. Her heart squeezed in her chest. For her, the kiss felt like months ago. For him, it had nearly been a century.

'Did you see his face? In the dream?' Elrond asked. Azshar frowned.

'I… no.'

'So it might not have been him.'

'I suppose it might have been someone else,' she replied, confused.

'There is something I should tell you,' he said. 'Maglor is not your husband.'

Azshar fell still. 'Are you sure?'

'I am quite sure. He lied about it to make you follow him away from your friends.'

She couldn't quite believe it, but now that it had been said out loud, it all seemed to make sense. He had showed her no affection reminiscent of the man in her dream. He had been secretive and cold. He hadn't claimed to be married to her until she'd asked him if he was in Esgaroth…

Her hands clenched into fists; she was so stupid. She needed to see Glorfindel.

'What is he trying to hide?' she whispered. 'Why does he want me gone? Why won't he just kill me?'

'Those are complicated questions,' Elrond said. 'He could want you gone for any number of reasons. I won't presume to guess. He doesn't want to kill you because he isn't a bad person. He was not your husband, but he still had a kind of love for you.'

Azshar stared at Elrond. He was defending a man who had lied and stolen her memories. There was a lot more to tell in this story.

'Who is Maglor to you?' she asked quietly.

Elrond's mouth twisted, and after a long moment, he spoke. 'Many, many years ago, there was an elven kingdom called Doriath,' he said. 'My mother lived there with her two brothers, all three of them young children. Maglor and his brothers arrived one day, seeking something they believed had been stolen from them. They killed nearly everyone in Doriath, including my mother's parents. Her twin brothers, Eluréd and Elurín, were thrown into the woods and left there to die. It was not Maglor who did this, but the servants of Celegorm, one of his brothers.'

Azshar listened with growing unease. Some of this sounded familiar; she'd read it in the history book in Mirkwood.

'Maglor and his elder brother, Maedhros, searched for the boys for weeks, in an effort to save them. They were never found. There are stories that Eluréd and Elurín found their way to safety, but in all likelihood, they starved or froze to death. They were never seen again.'

'And your mother?' Azshar asked in a whisper.

'She escaped with the thing that had been stolen from Maglor and his brothers. She grew up, married, and had me and my twin brother, Elros.'

'But Maglor came back,' Azshar said slowly.

'He and his brothers came to seek the thing they thought belonged to them. My mother hid it, and they slew everyone around us. I believe she escaped. My brother and I were six years old, and remembering what had been done to our uncles, Maglor and Maedhros spared us. Maglor took us in and raised us.'

'That's how you know he didn't marry me,' she said slowly.

'One reason, yes. He was good to us, kind and patient, sometimes strict as a father should be. He taught us to sing and play music. And when we came of age, he let us go where we would.'

'You must have been afraid of him at first.'

'Of course. And we remained afraid for many months. But like I said, he is a good person. Fate has not been kind to him.'

'What was the thing that had been stolen from him and his brothers?'

'A silmaril,' Elrond said, and she felt a thrill inside her. 'I cannot say whether it was truly theirs to claim. But they got them, in the end. It is done now.' He stood. 'Enough with my stories. I will talk forever if there is an ear willing to listen.'

Azshar regarded him thoughtfully. 'I'll listen,' she said. 'Whenever you want me.'

'You have changed very much, and yet not at all,' Elrond said to her. He smiled. 'I would very much like to talk more, and I will. But there are others who have claims on your time now. I will leave you to them.'

'Elrond – one more thing,' Azshar said, standing up. 'Your uncles were twins, Eluréd and Elurín.'

'Yes.'

'What happened to your twin brother?'

'He died, many years ago now,' Elrond said. 'But it was what he wanted.'

'Elrond and Elros,' she said. 'And your twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir. You are all named for each other, in a way.'

Elrond smiled again. 'The old world is gone, but not yet forgotten,' he said. 'I am lucky enough to remember it with as much joy as sorrow.'


Arwen took Azshar walking in the gardens. She pointed out flowers as they went and told Azshar their names in Quenya and Sindarin. There was a bush covered with little blue flowers that Azshar recognised.

'Edlothialost,' she said. 'They help you sleep. Glorfindel –'

She cut off suddenly, and Arwen looked at her sidelong. 'Who is Glorfindel to you?' she asked, not ungently. Azshar was silent for a moment, but then she sighed. She had no one else to talk to.

'Honesty is best, as you told me,' she said. 'I am in love with him, but the situation is very… twisted.'

'What happened?'

'We were at the Lonely Mountain. He asked me, in his way, and I told him I would be with him. We had plans, or a sort, to leave and have some kind of life together. But… someone from my past appeared and claimed to be my husband. I didn't remember enough to know he was not, and I trusted him and left with him. Glorfindel… I think he was hurt.'

'You are right,' Arwen said quietly. 'He has never been the happiest of elves, but… this past seventy years, he has been worse. Darker, is perhaps the best way to put it.'

Azshar rubbed a hand over her face. 'If only I could see him, explain – but he hasn't come to see me. I think he might hate me now.'

'I cannot speak for Glorfindel's emotions,' Arwen said. 'You probably know him better than me. But I can tell you why he hasn't visited you while you were recovering. He's been away with Aragorn and my brothers, hunting the Ringwraiths.'

'The what?'

'They are deadly creatures that pose a threat to us which we do not yet understand.'

'He has a ridiculous propensity to put himself in danger,' Azshar said in a low voice. 'I wish he wouldn't. Even if he hates me, wants nothing to do with me. I wish he would think of himself for once.'

'I know what you mean,' Arwen said.

'Your brothers?'

'Elladan and Elrohir, yes. And Aragorn. Glorfindel might stand a chance against the Black Riders. He is one of the most powerful elves to ever have lived. But Aragorn… he is just a man.'

There was something in her undertone, and when Azshar caught it, her eyebrows raised. 'You love Aragorn?'

Arwen nodded. 'We're neither married nor betrothed, but… you can tell me about all the ridiculous romance you like, and I will understand. I've loved Aragorn since I met him, and I will love him until the day he dies, even if it destroys me.'

'And he loves you in return?'

'Yes.'

'You are luckier than I am, then.'

Arwen took her to a library with shelves that reached the high ceilings. It smelled of dust and parchment, and it was wonderfully quiet. They walked to the back and into a corner, which was lit by a candle. There was a very old, grey-haired hobbit sitting and writing. He looked up when they arrived, and his face broke into a huge smile. He was hugging her tightly before Azshar realised who he was.

'Bilbo?' she said in amazement. Arwen disappeared with a smile, leaving them alone.

'Of course it's Bilbo! Who else!' the hobbit cried, letting her go and leading her to a seat with surprising vigour.

'Why, you must be –'

'Terrifically old, yes. I don't like to reflect much on it. Azshar, my old friend, I can't tell you how shocked I was when I heard you had returned. Then immediately worried when you wouldn't wake up. I am tremendously glad to see you.'

'And I you. Bilbo – I have so many questions.'

'I'm sure you must. I do too, but you will go first. I have waited a very long time, I can wait a little longer.'

'We won the battle?'

'At the Lonely Mountain? Yes, we did,' the hobbit said. 'It was a very dramatic affair. I have been doing what I can to make sure that historians in the future do it justice when they think of it. That said, I was unconscious for most of it.'

'You were?'

'Oh, yes. Stone to the head.'

'I hope Thorin gave Bard and the people of Laketown what was due to them, then?'

'Ah,' Bilbo said, suddenly looking a little crestfallen. 'Thorin. Yes.'

Azshar's heart dropped. Perhaps this was why Arwen hadn't wanted to discuss the Battle of the Five Armies with her. 'What happened, Bilbo?'

'Thorin was badly wounded in the battle. Fíli and Kíli died defending him where he fell.'

She covered her mouth with her hand, and tears sprang to her eyes. She hadn't expected this.

'I saw Thorin before he died,' Bilbo went on. He reached out to cover his hand with his. It was warm and dry. 'He gave me a message to pass to you, if I could. But you were never found, and we all thought you'd left us without a word.'

'What did he say?' she asked.

'He said he wanted to take back what he'd said to you at the Gates to Erebor, and that he would part from you in friendship. He said that your courage and wisdom had been better than he deserved. That was all.'

Azshar thought she might start crying in earnest. 'He was himself, then. At the end.'

'He was the same old, grumpy Thorin we knew,' Bilbo confirmed. 'Though a little more sentimental. He really did consider you a friend, elf though you are. And so did – does – the rest of the Company.'

'Where are they now?'

'Most stayed in Erebor,' Bilbo said. 'Five years ago – I think it was five – I received word that Balin and some friends were to retake Moria. I forget what its name is in the dwarven language. But I hear from them rarely, and have seen few of them since. I used to have visitors from the Blue Mountains while I remained at Bag End, but none from Erebor. It is a long way to travel. But I hope they think of me sometimes.'

'You are quite changed since that dinner party in Hobbiton,' Azshar remarked.

'The Shire did not know what to make of me for many years,' Bilbo agreed with a smile. He looked more like his old self when he smiled, she thought. 'I was considered an oddity, to put it politely. That might be one of the reasons I moved here, years ago. The elves think I am a bit of an old fool, make no mistake, but they sing me songs and tell me marvellous stories. That's quite enough to keep me happy these days.'

'I think it's funny you have taken to the elves after spending so much time with dwarves.'

'I suppose it is. What else is funny is the fact that you came to Rivendell at the same time as Aragorn and my nephew.'

'Your nephew?' she said, puzzled.

'Of a sort. Didn't you meet Frodo?'

'I didn't realise you were related,' she said. 'I hope he's alright.'

'Elrond says he will wake soon, which was a great relief to us all,' Bilbo said. 'He's been mixed up in some nasty business. I don't know that his journey was quite the same kind of adventure that I had with Thorin and Company, but I'm glad he's had an adventure all the same. Do you know I considered becoming a professional burglar after returning to the Shire? I thought better of it, of course.'

'There seem to be strange things happening,' Azshar said. 'Something is brewing, I think. I don't like the sound of these Ringwraiths either.'

'Quite right,' Bilbo said. 'But what happened to you, after the battle? How did you disappear so thoroughly, and return only now?'

She told him what had happened. He patted her hand sympathetically when she finished. 'What a mix up. And how mysterious!'

She almost smiled. 'It's been quite a journey.'

'Well, if you have a hankering to discover who you might have been before you were Azshar, and anything more about this Maglor fellow, I will be a good deal more use to you now than I was in our questing days. Most of what I do here is reading.'

'I might take you up on it,' she said with a weak smile, knowing she couldn't. 'It's so nice to see you, Bilbo. I didn't expect you to have survived.'

He smiled and got to his feet. 'Well, fortunately, I have! I am off to visit Frodo, I think. Will you come with me?'

'I will leave him to you,' she said. 'I think I'll walk by myself a while.'

'As you will,' agreed the old hobbit. 'I hope I will see you again soon? I take breakfast every morning at seven-thirty.'

'Perhaps I will see you there,' she agreed.


She walked down the winding path through the valley. It was nearing dusk, and the late afternoon sunlight filtered softly through the trees, filling the world with gold. It was quiet, and the further she went, the quieter it became. Azshar found a stream and sat down beside it.

She began to cry.

Bilbo had told her very matter-of-factly about the deaths of Thorin, Fíli and Kíli. He'd had three quarters of a century to process them, she supposed. For her, it had been a matter of weeks.

Her whole situation felt overwhelming. Even the Company that was left alive would be old, having moved on with their lives long ago. Maglor had stolen those friendships from her, but she couldn't help but feel horribly guilty. It was her who had made the decision to trust him.

Glorfindel was another matter. Her thoughts always returned to him. Had he known that Thorin died? Had he cared? Had he ever wondered what had happened to her after she'd left with Maglor?

Everything had gone so wrong. She'd lost another seventy-seven years, just as she'd started to feel she could take control of her life. Then there was the matter of how sick she'd been when half a year's worth of memories had returned. It was a very clear warning sign: if she wanted to live, she would have to give up hope of remembering her life before the cave. After all, if she'd barely survived the memories of six months, how would she manage the memories of countless years?

She wouldn't, she knew. It would kill her.

She sat until the sun set, the bubbling of the stream masking the sound of her crying. The stars were coming out when she heard horses. She lifted her head as they drew closer, and she realised it was a party of four, riding along the path which ran parallel to the stream. She wiped her face quickly.

'There is someone down there,' she heard one of them say in Sindarin. It sounded like Elrohir, or maybe Elladan, and she got to her feet with her heart in her throat.

'Glorfindel?' she called. The last horse of the four pulled up suddenly.

'It's Azshar,' she heard Aragorn say.

'I will speak to her,' she heard Glorfindel said quietly. Azshar watched his silhouette as he dismounted and stepped off the path. The three other riders disappeared into the gloom.

Her heart hammered against her ribcage as he approached. She was hyper-aware of the fact that he hadn't seen her for the better part of a century, and the less-than-ideal circumstances under which they had parted on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain.

He came to a stop before her. His face looked pale in the dark, and his eyes were like inky pools. Azshar's mouth went dry, and she suddenly had no idea what to say to him. She was terrified.

'So,' he said at last, his voice empty of emotion. 'You survived.'

'I'm so sorry – for everything that happened,' she whispered. He just blinked.

'Where is your husband?'

'He's not… I have to tell you what happened. You have to let me in, Glorfindel, give me a chance.'

He frowned and leaned in fractionally. 'Were you crying?'

She flushed and wiped the remains of her tears from her cheeks. She was starting to feel panicked at how badly this was going. Perhaps it would have been better to continue wondering about Glorfindel, rather than knowing with concrete certainty that he didn't want her.

'I just learned that Fíli, Kíli, and Thorin are dead,' she said. He said nothing to that, simply watching her with cold eyes until she spoke again. 'He poisoned me,' she said. 'Maglor. He tricked me and poisoned me, and I've been asleep and trapped for the past eighty years.'

This got through to him. His brows creased and he moved slightly closer. 'What?'

'I'm not married to him. He lied.'

Glorfindel's throat bobbed as he swallowed. He remained silent.

'He made me drink more of the water, and entombed me on Weathertop. Aragorn rescued me, and I lost consciousness when I started remembering, and then – you were there. I saw you. You wanted to save me.'

'What do you remember?' he asked in a near whisper.

'Everything as Azshar, but nothing more from before,' she said, desperation leaking into her voice. 'I remembered everything you said to me, what we promised each other. I remembered how much it hurt to walk away from you, and I know that what happened at Erebor hurt you too –'

'You don't know anything,' he said softly, taking a step back. His eyes glinted. 'You weren't gone long enough.'

The words were like a slap in the face. She blinked. 'What… does that mean?'

'I've moved on. I have been the better for you leaving.'

The panic was rising, and the tears were returning. 'You don't mean this,' she said.

'Do what you want; find a new group of dwarves to run around with, or be sensible for once and stay where you're told to stay,' he said. 'Just don't bring me into it.'

'You can't ask me to do that,' she said shakily. 'I love you. You know that!'

'I want nothing to do with love,' he said coldly. 'Please, leave me alone. Goodbye.'

He stepped around her and climbed up the bank, mounted his horse, and rode away. Azshar stood, listless and in shock.

She'd thought that if she explained what happened – he'd been upset. She'd known that. He'd only just started trusting her, when it had all been ripped away from him. But she'd thought that if he listened and understood why

A large part of her had been holding on for the moment when she could touch him, hear his voice, see him again, and now that had been ripped away from her. She sank to the ground, still next to the brook, and wept.

It was all gone. Maglor had stolen it all from her. Her friends were old and grey. Thorin, Fíli and Kíli – dead. Glorfindel didn't hate her, he simply – didn't care. She buried her face in her hands.

Arwen found her at dawn, inhaling sharply when she caught sight of Azshar. 'What happened?' she asked gently, kneeling beside her.

'Everything,' Azshar said dully. 'My friends are dead. Glorfindel… I spoke to him, it couldn't have gone worse.'

Arwen wrapped her arms around her. 'Oh, my darling… I'm so sorry…'

'I should have stayed asleep,' Azshar cried, her voice muffled by Arwen's shoulder. 'I should have stayed trapped in that room…'

'Don't say that. It will get better, I promise you.'

They walked back to the Last Homely House. Arwen found Azshar a fresh dress of dark blue, and they ate together in the gardens.

'Did you see Aragorn?' Azshar asked Arwen.

'He came to find me as soon as he returned,' she replied. 'He knows that I worry when he's out hunting.'

Azshar's fists clenched in her lap. 'Glorfindel can be so cruel,' she said. 'It's not enough that he doesn't love me, he wants me to stay away from him, pretend he doesn't exist, stop worrying for him…'

'I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt you,' Arwen said.

'I think he did. He tries to drive people away; he thinks that if he lets people get close to him…' she trailed off shook her head. 'Valar, he could have let me be his friend…'

'You're angry,' Arwen remarked.

'Of course I'm angry, damn it,' Azshar said. She could feel tears coming again, and she pushed them down. 'It's better than being sad, at any rate, and I feel that if I let go of this anger I'll – I'll sink, or something, and then I'll never feel happy again.'

'I'm so sorry, my friend,' Arwen said sincerely. Azshar's control slipped, and the tears came closer again.

'I want to know what I did wrong,' she said in a small voice. 'I had thought we felt the same way, but clearly that can't be the case –'

'Why, you thrice-cursed little weasel!' came a deep, rumbling voice, and Azshar and Arwen both leapt to their feet in surprise. There were two dwarves staring at them, both fully armoured and looking highly out of place among the delicate flowers. The first looked confused, with a bright red beard and bushy eyebrows. The second was a little fatter and grey-bearded, with fierce, bright eyes.

'Glóin?' Azshar gasped, stepping forward. 'Is it you?'

'Indeed it is!' the old dwarf growled, his arms folded forebodingly across his chest. 'And you – alive! Alive! And not a word to us, all this time!'

Azshar's eyes widened. 'Oh, Glóin – I was kidnapped, poisoned, trapped. I only woke up two weeks ago, to learn that the better part of a century had passed. I'm sorry.'

The anger on Glóin's face dissolved into incredulity. 'What do you mean?'

'I've been asleep all this time. Alive, but asleep.'

He unfolded his arms and marched forward to pull her into a fierce hug. When he let her go, she saw that his eyes were wet.

'Who did it?' he asked gruffly. 'The orcs? The elves?'

'The important thing is that I'm free again,' she said wryly, deciding against telling Glóin that it had been an elf. There would be nothing gained by giving him another reason to hate her kind. 'But what are you doing here?'

Glóin's expression turned dark. 'There have been some evil doings over in the east,' he said. 'I have a bad feeling about it, and so does the King. We can't say for sure, but we think the threat might be greater than we alone in the Lonely Mountain can face. And when King Dáin wondered who we might consult with, I remembered our old friend Elrond.'

'Old friend?' Azshar wondered, and Glóin snorted.

'Yes, well. Dáin has a questionable policy of remaining on good terms with elves. You know, I almost thought your friend here was Lord Elrond when we were approaching.'

'I am his daughter,' Arwen said, clearly holding back a laugh.

'I'm sure you are,' Glóin said. 'I have always struggled to tell elves apart, they're all just… pretty. Anyway, I have been told there is to be a great council tomorrow. I shall make my case there.'

'Who is your friend?' Azshar asked, nodding at the younger dwarf.

'Gimli, son of Glóin, at your service,' he said, bowing low. 'Needless to say, I've heard many a tale about you, Lady Azshar.'

'He has better manners than you,' Azshar said with a smile. Glóin narrowed his eyes at her.

'We shall have to make the stories less flattering, now that we know you are not dead,' he said snidely, but then he softened. 'Which I am very glad to learn, by the way.'

'I'm very happy to see you,' she said. 'It's been – a very difficult time. I've been trying to come to terms with the lost time.'

'I suppose it is best that you've been among your own kind, then,' Glóin said. 'Eighty years would be a mere blink to them. Is that Glorfindel fellow here?'

Arwen cleared her throat delicately, and Azshar smiled awkwardly. 'He is, but I am never to speak to him again.'

'Ah,' he said. 'I see. I'm sorry, lass.'

The tears came up again. Azshar wanted to find an empty room, curl up into a ball and cry again. 'Thank you.'

'I hear someone else,' Arwen said suddenly, and to Azshar's utter shock, Legolas came into view. His eyes widened when he saw her, and she couldn't hold herself together anymore. Her tears finally overflowed.

'Azshar!' he exclaimed, and he strode towards her. Azshar ran to him, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. He hugged her back tightly as she sobbed.


Thank you absolute legends for reading, and special thanks to you extra-legendary reviewers. Reading your comments deadset makes my day.

I will see you next chapter when Azshar says what we were all thinking (shouldn't have gone with Maglor, idiot), Legolas tells a long overdue truth (Glorfindel is a depressing person to hang out with), and Glóin mispronounces elvish names (probably on purpose). See you then.

S