AN: Content warning! This chapter contains (vague) descriptions of torture, mentions of suicidal thoughts, and also a (not very graphic and quite brief) sex scene. Read at your own discretion and look after yourself!

This chapter is coming early because some legend came along and reviewed every chapter I've written so far, nearly making me cry (in a good way). The rest of you cracked me up with your comments and messages. You really thought I made Azshar a part of the Company just to not make her a tenth walker? It's cliché city over here, loud and proud. Watch me squeeze her gracelessly into every quest that has ever happened in Middle-earth.

So anyway, this is for my reviewers, and for all you other beautiful readers!

S


Chapter Twenty-Two: Ungwalë

It took two days for Glorfindel to come around to her idea, and Azshar refused to let him change her mind.

'It isn't safe,' he said stiffly.

'There will be war,' she replied. 'That's what you told me. What place in the world is safer than by your side?'

He hesitated at that, twisting the topaz ring around his finger. She knew his constant, subconscious need to stay in control, and she knew that keeping her within his sight would be a weight off his mind. He disappeared for a day, and when he returned, smelling of horse and sweat, he finally agreed.

'But make your case to Elrond first,' he said. 'If I cannot stop you, maybe he will.'

Azshar, dreading the conversation, told Arwen first.

'I haven't seen you in days, and the first thing I hear from you is this?' Arwen said in a half shout, her arms folded across her chest. 'What has gotten into you? How can you be so foolish?'

'I prefer to think of myself as foolhardy,' Azshar countered with a faint smile, 'and I'm doing it for Glorfindel.'

'What, he is speaking to you now?'

Her lips twitched. 'Yes, he is.'

Arwen didn't return the smile, taking Azshar's hands in hers. 'This is dangerous, meldir nín. The world has changed since you last went east. And the Enemy is a greater adversary than Smaug the dragon.'

'I can't let him go, Arwen,' she said quietly. 'I have thought about it, and… I don't think I could. Besides, I have made him a promise not to leave him.'

'You could die. Then what of your promise?'

'I will trust in fate,' Azshar said with a shrug. 'What must be shall come to be. The important thing is that I will be with him.'

She meant it. When she was with Glorfindel, she was calm, sure, happy, and when she wasn't, her world started falling apart. It defied logic, but for Azshar, there was no point in denying it.

Arwen sighed, pulling her hands away and closing her eyes. 'I can't say I don't know how you feel, with Aragorn set on going… but my father won't even allow my brothers to go. And I have always been more of a healer than a fighter.'

'I will do what I can for Aragorn,' Azshar said. 'I promise.'

'You have some further obstacles to overcome before you go swearing oaths,' Arwen replied. 'I wish you luck with Elrond.'

Elrond was in his office speaking with Erestor when she knocked. Both elves smiled at her when she stepped inside, Elrond looking markedly tired.

'Azshar,' he said. 'At last.'

'At last?' she echoed.

'I visited your quarters once or twice in an effort to speak with you, but you were not to be found,' Elrond said with a quirked eyebrow.

Azshar's eyes widened slightly. Since she and Glorfindel had reconciled a fortnight ago, she'd spent the days outside and the nights in his quarters. Judging by Erestor and Elrond's carefully neutral expressions, they both knew that.

'I am very sorry,' she said awkwardly. Erestor's lips twitched as he held a smile, and he bowed to Azshar and then to Elrond.

'I'll leave you two alone,' he said, and he left, closing the door behind him. Elrond gestured to the chair he'd vacated, and Azshar sat.

'How are you feeling?' he asked, and she smiled.

'Good. Very good. I think I can say I have made a full recovery from the memory return.'

'And from the river water?' Elrond said. Azshar shrugged.

'I am awake, aren't I?'

'Here is what we have gathered from your years asleep: the water of the Enchanted River, if consumed or even touched, will put someone into a state of near death for what seems to be an indefinite period. In this state, the body will endure without food, water, and perhaps even air. We cannot say what the lasting effects of the water might be.'

Azshar hesitated, wondering if she should bring up her newfound proneness to panic and feeling that part of her had been rubbed away. 'Who is we?' she asked instead.

'Mostly Gandalf and myself,' Elrond replied, sitting back. 'We have discussed at length the Enchanted River, and the chances of you regaining your full memory.'

'And?' she said, half hoping and half afraid.

'And we came to the same conclusion to which I expect you arrived too,' Elrond said. 'It might be possible, but it would kill you. And there would be no waking up this time.'

Azshar swallowed and nodded. She had suspected as much, but even though she'd told Glorfindel she wanted to leave her past behind, it was a blow. 'So, I am to steer clear of any triggers for the rest of my life,' she said.

'If you wish to live,' Elrond said. 'Yes.'

'That might be a challenge on the road to Mordor,' she said abruptly, meeting his eye, and he stared at her for a long, silent moment.

'Ah,' he said at last.

'You don't disagree?' she asked when he said nothing more.

'Of course I disagree, Azshar,' he sighed, clasping his hands and shaking his head wearily. 'I have hope that the quest will succeed, but even so, its chances of failure are frighteningly high.'

'I want to help. I want to do what I can.'

'Is that all?'

She hesitated. 'I want… to stay with Glorfindel, too.'

'As I thought.'

'And do you disapprove of that?'

Elrond smiled thinly. 'I was in love once, believe it or not,' he said. 'I think I can understand your reasoning, though I wish you had the patience to stay behind.'

'Instead, I only have the courage to go,' Azshar said. 'You won't stop me?'

'Were you a member of my household, I would order you to stay,' he replied flatly. 'Alas, you are not. If I knew what to do with you, Azshar, I could say more, but I have never known what to do with you since you awoke in that cave. Knowledge and wisdom have failed me, and I have decided to trust in fate.'

Azshar's shoulders relaxed slightly, and she realised how worried she'd been that Elrond would say no. 'Thank you,' she said.

'This is not approval. It is a strong warning to stay.'

'I understand.'

'You will be the ninth member of the Fellowship,' he said. 'Two hobbits, two men, three elves, a dwarf and a wizard. May the Valar save us all.'

'When do we leave?' she asked.

'At the end of the month,' he said. 'To wait any longer would be to openly invite disaster.'

She stood. 'Thank you, Elrond,' she said. 'For understanding.'

'Let it be said that I counselled you to stay,' he said wearily.


She met the rest of the Fellowship over the next few weeks.

Frodo and Sam were funny and light-hearted, always joking and laughing with Pippin and Merry, who were to stay behind. But in quiet moments, Azshar caught them with their heads bent together, talking in low voices. She had a feeling Frodo was a lot more apprehensive about this journey than Bilbo had been about his own adventure seventy-seven years ago, and that was saying something.

Aragorn had already won the love of the hobbits, and it wasn't long before he endeared himself to Azshar too. He was tall, rugged, and serious looking, but his smile was warm, and there was nobility in the way he carried himself. He seemed as prone to acts of kindness as he was to acts of greatness.

When he wasn't with the hobbits or Arwen, he spent a lot of time with Boromir, the other man. Boromir was broad-shouldered, almost as tall as Aragorn and a good deal younger. Merry and Pippin had taken to him, because as princely and honourable as he seemed, he always seemed to have the time and patience to show them how to set a trap, tie their gauntlets, or to make a move with their blades.

Gimli had established himself as the grumpiest of the Fellowship, doubtless with the blessing of Glóin. According to him, there were entirely too many elves coming along (though he excused the famous Azshar, of course). Sam had taken to asking Gimli for stories about the Lonely Mountain, and Frodo told Azshar it was because he wanted to see exactly how much Bilbo had been exaggerating.

Legolas told Azshar on no uncertain terms that he was against her going with the Fellowship.

'We are marching into Mordor,' he said sharply. 'You might not remember exactly what that means, but often it entails death.'

'I have made a decision, and I am not asking for approval,' she replied.

'Oh? And what does Glorfindel think?'

'Glorfindel is not my keeper,' she retorted. 'But in any case, he wants me where he can save me.'

'Damn it,' Legolas muttered, and that was the last they discussed it.

Glorfindel rarely acknowledged anyone in the Fellowship except Legolas, and, on occasion, Gandalf, and he spoke not a word to anyone but Azshar. When they gathered together to talk about their journey with Elrond, he would stand silently in the corner with his arms folded. The hobbits didn't dare go near him. Merry and Pippin once talked about playing a prank on him, but in the end, they didn't dare go through with it. Aragorn fell victim instead.

Gandalf seemed resigned to the fact that Azshar was coming with them.

'I'm just so pleased to see you again that I can't muster enough crossness to talk sense into you,' he said one evening. 'And anyway, if Elrond, Glorfindel, and Legolas have all failed, what chance do I have?'

'None at all,' she agreed with a smile. 'Just think, it will be like old times, travelling east together.'

'You're incorrigible. Really.'

'Don't be bitter, Mithrandir.'

In the back of her mind, she worried what would happen if something triggered a memory return. She would lose consciousness for weeks, if she didn't die immediately, and she was sure that Glorfindel would stay with her. The Fellowship would be short two members, and that wouldn't be fair to Frodo.

'It's a risk,' Glorfindel acknowledged when she brought it up to him, and then he said nothing more. Azshar worried at her bottom lip.

'I suppose that for all we know, the risk would be the same if I were to stay here.'

'I suppose,' he agreed.

'What do we do if… it happens?' she asked quietly, and he stilled and turned to her.

'It won't happen,' he replied bluntly.

'Glorfindel –'

'It won't happen,' he repeated, his eyes like ice. She didn't mention it again.

He left for longer and longer periods, scouting the area with Aragorn and Elrond's sons. Azshar would wait impatiently for him to return; she wouldn't sleep during the days and weeks that he was gone, pacing the halls restlessly instead.

'I don't mean to doubt you,' Gimli said to her one morning. The scouts had been due back two days ago, and Azshar was constantly pacing to the balcony to stare out over the valley. 'But if I hadn't heard stories of you with Thorin's Company, I might question why you were coming with the Fellowship.'

'How do you mean?' Azshar asked, glancing back at him over her shoulder.

'Only that you and the curly-haired elf never seem to leave each other's sides, and that you coming along might only be an extension of that.'

Azshar bit her lip. 'I want to help, Gimli.'

'I can understand that. But if Glorfindel had stayed in Rivendell, would you still be coming?'

She turned back to the valley. 'No. I won't lie. But that doesn't change the fact that I want to help, and I'll do all I can to get Frodo to Mordor.'

'I believe it,' Gimli said, holding up his hands. 'I do.'

'I think I can be of some use to the Fellowship,' she went on, spinning to face him fully. 'I can fight. I'm not helpless.'

'Aye. I've heard how you took down the troll.'

'As far as I'm concerned, I have just as much reason to be on this quest as you, or Sam, or Legolas, without taking Glorfindel into account at all.'

'True,' Gimli said, thoroughly chastised. 'True. I'm sorry I asked.'


When Glorfindel returned from his last scout, he found her in her room and kissed her immediately. She could feel the fatigue in him.

'I want to marry you,' he mumbled against her lips. Azshar pulled back in surprise.

'You what?'

'Marry me.'

'Now?'

'Yes, now.'

She traced his jaw with her thumb. 'I'm not marrying you now.' Uncertainty flickered in his eyes, and she kissed him quickly, smiling. 'Don't doubt me. We can be married if you want to, one day. But we're leaving in a week. We need to focus on what's ahead, for our own sake if not for that of the others.'

He rested his forehead on hers, gripping her shoulders. 'But you will.'

'One day. One day I'll marry you. Then we'll run away together.'

He didn't say anything to that, but he stiffened slightly. Azshar stared up at him earnestly; he was so close that his features blurred and drifted together. 'I mean it,' she said. 'Once this is over, once the enemy is defeated, I am holding your debt to the Valar fulfilled.'

'That is not your decision to make. The debt is not to you.'

'They can take it up with me if they don't like it,' she said fiercely, her hands fists in his cloak. 'They can come and ask me to return you to them. If they want to keep taking and taking from you, they can make their case with me.'

His dark blue eyes flickered before he kissed her again, slow and heady.

That night, he went to sleep. Azshar lay on her side and watched him; she was almost never awake when he wasn't. In sleep, his face was finally relaxed, lit by the pale moonlight. He looked so sad, strangely vulnerable, younger. She suddenly felt enormously protective of him.

His hands were resting on his chest, and as she watched, they both twitched and began to tremble. She wondered if that meant he was having a dream, or if it was just the usual tremors at work again. Slowly, she reached over to gently cover one of his hands with her own, her touch feather-light.

He jerked awake, inhaling sharply and yanking his hand away. He blinked a few times, disoriented, and propped himself up on his elbow before he seemed to realise where he was.

'What happened?' he murmured, his voice gravelly. 'Are you alright? Is there someone here?'

'There is no one,' she whispered. 'Just us. I touched you, I'm sorry.'

Slowly, he lay back down, his hair pooling in the pillow as he stared up at the ceiling. 'You're allowed to touch me.'

'Your hands were shaking,' she said, and without a word he pulled up the blanket and then tucked his hands out of sight. 'Were you dreaming?'

'I don't know. I can't remember.'

There was a stiffness in his voice that made her think he was lying. Azshar wilted inside. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask.'

He sighed. 'This is why –' he began, but then he shook his head and started again. 'It's me who should be apologising. Every day. I'm the one who is keeping – secrets. I'm gone when you want me here, I'm silent when you want to talk, I'm angry all the time, and you're – good. You're too good.'

'Don't say things like that.'

'It's the truth.'

'It's what you think is the truth, and I don't like it. I can't agree with it.'

'There is no way this is going to work, us together,' he said quietly, staring straight up. 'Not for long.'

'A few hours ago you wanted to marry me,' Azshar retorted, trying to make herself sound wry instead of broken-hearted. She failed, and he didn't reply.

'Say something,' she whispered, anxiety swirling inside her. 'Anything, come on. Tell me something.'

He closed his eyes, silent for a long moment. 'I don't want to tell you everything.'

'Not everything. Just something. One thing at a time.'

He swallowed, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. 'I… I always knew the limit to what I could do,' he began quietly. 'When I was sent back to Middle-earth after I died, I had more strength, more power. I was stronger and deadlier. But there were still limits, and I never tried to do more than I knew I could, except on two occasions.'

Azshar watched him, almost holding her breath.

'The first time was in the Second Age, not long after Celebrimbor died and Elrond founded Rivendell. Orcs were growing in numbers, and we didn't know why. I scouted one of their lairs, and… even though I knew it would probably kill me, I went in. I was captured.'

He was silent for a minute, and she wondered whether it would be pushing her luck to ask for more. 'How did you escape?' she tried tentatively.

'I escaped because they didn't want to kill me, they wanted to torture me,' he said. 'I was a prisoner there for two months, I think. Maybe more. It felt like more.'

Azshar stared at him in open horror.

'Orcs have – an appetite for cruelty. It isn't necessity, or even curiosity, but cruelty. But I escaped, in the end.' His tone of voice was even and emotionless. He might have been talking about the weather. 'I think they found they could do more to me than they could do to other elves, and I would survive it because the Valar had given me more resilience, more strength. I dreamed about it a lot, even long after I'd healed. I became cruel myself, and I took it out on orcs when I fought them. Sometimes… sometimes I would wound them mortally instead of killing them outright, just so they would suffer before they died.'

His voice turned bitter at the confession. She tried not to make a sound, but her eyes had filled with tears. Still, he kept talking.

'That was the first time. The second time was a thousand years ago. I was in the south of Mirkwood, pursuing retreating orcs. They were leading me somewhere. It was clearly a trap, but I followed them anyway.'

'Why?'

'I thought that maybe this time, they would kill me.'

A tear slid from Azshar's eye into the pillow.

'They tortured me again. That time was much worse than the first time. It was three years before I escaped.'

'The scars on your back,' she whispered, and his jaw twitched.

'How do you know about them?'

'I saw them in Mirkwood while I treated your bites.'

'Oh. I remember.'

'Were they…' she trailed off, but he knew what she wanted to know.

'Many of them – most of them – were given to me by the orcs. But they weren't the worst of it. Most of their tortures didn't involve – cutting.'

Azshar brought her hand up to cover her mouth. Still, he didn't look at her.

'I couldn't walk when I escaped from Dol Guldur,' he said. 'I was in a bad way, so I crawled. I dragged myself out. For months afterwards, while I was healing, my whole body would seize up so I couldn't move for hours at a time. I would shake and twitch. But after a few centuries, the spasms faded. It doesn't happen anymore, but my hands still shake. I suppose that is the luxury of immortality, we have the time to heal.'

He fell silent. He was done.

'That's why your hands shake,' Azshar whispered. Still, he didn't look at her. 'That's why you took the edlothialost flowers, to help you sleep.'

'It wasn't just the torture that kept me from sleeping,' he murmured.

'I'm so sorry,' she breathed. She was afraid that if she reached out to touch him, he'd push her away.

'I don't want your pity,' he replied abruptly, shaking his head. He suddenly looked angry. 'I shouldn't have said anything.'

'I'm glad you did.'

'I shouldn't have said anything,' he said again. Then he growled and threw back the blanket, getting up and striding over to pull on his tunic and boots.

'Glorfindel –'

'I'm going out,' he said, buckling on his belt and sword. Then he left, slamming the door behind him. Azshar sat up in the bed, putting her head in her hands.

She shouldn't have pushed. But she hadn't pushed, had she? She'd asked him to tell her something, and he'd been the one who had brought it up. Maybe a part of him had wanted her to know.

Telling her things like that would be good for him, she was sure of it. It was something that she didn't want him to carry alone. Maybe he just wouldn't feel better for it right away. Maybe it would take a while before he could feel better.

She started crying in earnest. The Valar had sent him back to Middle-earth stronger and more powerful than other elves, but what they'd inadvertently done was make him able to survive what wasn't meant to be survived. It made her feel sick.

She wasn't going to leave him alone, she decided. That was what she'd meant to impart on him while he told her about his past; that he wasn't alone. She got out of his bed and put on her own sword, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks.

She found him in the first place she looked, in the sparring rings that Elladan and Elrohir favoured. He had already hacked apart one dummy with his sword, and he had moved on to a second. He stopped suddenly when she approached.

'You'll blunt the blade,' she said quietly. He didn't reply, and so she drew Helcaruivë and fell into a ready stance. He shook his head.

'No.'

'You can go easy on me.'

'No.'

'It might make you more frustrated, but it will be good for me. I need the training.'

He rolled his shoulders and sighed. Then, almost without warning, he attacked.

It was a simple, four-move attack that Azshar parried almost instinctually. He fell back for a second, then he did it again, then a third time. It was too easy.

'More,' she said.

'I don't want to,' he replied through gritted teeth, and he came at her with the four-move combination again. Azshar took matters into her own hands; after the fourth stroke, she drove forward, taking the attack and moving as lithely as she could.

It felt a bit awkward and stiff, like a wheel that hadn't turned in a very long time, but the moves felt familiar to her. She had a sword, and her father had taught her to fight; it felt good to know that some of it had stuck. Now that she had no hope of ever remembering her childhood again, it felt good to have a connection to her past like this, however small.

Glorfindel, on the other hand, parried her with ease that was almost embarrassing. He was agile and shockingly quick, and she could somehow feel in their collisions that he was only using a fraction of his strength. She didn't really mind.

'What's the point of this?' Glorfindel said heatedly.

'I'm here, aren't I?' she panted. She tried a stab, and he batted it aside with ease that was borderline insulting. 'If this is what you want to do, I'll do it with you.'

His face twisted briefly, and then suddenly he was on the attack. He came at her so fast that she could barely keep up. Helcaruivë whirled and spun as he forced her back to the edge of the ring. Her arms shook from the jarring impact of Glorfindel's blows.

He disarmed her with a twist of the blade, though he could have done it just as easily with pure force. The sword clattered to the ground, and they stood a breath apart, both breathing hard. Glorfindel dropped his forehead to hers and closed his eyes for a second. Then he stepped away, picked up her sword and handed it to her.

'Again,' he said. They sparred until the sun came up.


The night before they were to leave, the Fellowship gathered together in a room with Elrond. They were silent, contemplating what was to follow the next day. Azshar and Glorfindel sat side by side, their backs to the wall. Legolas stood by them.

'There is not much left to be said,' Elrond said quietly. 'Except that the charge of taking the Ring to Mordor has been laid on Frodo Baggins alone. You others are free to do as you will.'

Frodo looked faintly grim, and Gimli snorted. 'Faithless is the one who leaves when the going gets tough,' he said. No one else said anything until Gandalf stood.

'Say your goodbyes,' he said. 'And more importantly, get some sleep. We leave at dawn.'

Arwen was waiting for Azshar at her old room. Wordlessly, she pulled her into a hug.

'I will think of you every day,' she whispered. 'May the Valar protect you. May we be reunited one day soon.'

'I hope so,' Azshar replied. 'Thank you for – everything. I'm glad to have another friend.'

Arwen smiled and squeezed her hand. 'Always.'

'Now go. I know Aragorn is waiting for you.'

She found Bilbo and Glóin in the library, and to her surprise, the hobbit started crying when he saw her.

'Oh – ignore me, please,' he said, flapping a hand at her. 'It's just – I really did miss you, and then we got you back, and now you're going off again.'

'Stay safe, lass,' Glóin said. 'I'll tell everyone I saw you.'

'Give them my love,' she said, feeling wet-eyed herself. Doubts set in yet again. 'Tell Nori I miss him.'

'I have half a mind to come with you, you know,' Bilbo said, and she laughed.

'Elrond might have something to say about that.'

'Good luck, Azshar,' he said earnestly. 'Keep your eyes open and your sword sharp, and all that. I hope I'll see you again.'

She felt emotionally exhausted when she returned to Glorfindel's room. He was waiting for her there, sitting on the edge of his bed, and she came to a stop before him. He didn't speak, but somehow, she believed he knew what she was feeling.

'I'm not wavering,' she said quietly. 'My mind hasn't changed.'

'There is no dishonour in staying,' he said.

'It isn't about honour for me.'

'What, then?'

'Love. I'm going for love.'

He stood up and closed the space between them without touching her. She could feel the warmth emanating from him. 'If you go for my sake, you'll hate me for it.'

'I won't hate you. I love you.'

He let out a slow breath, staring down at her. 'Say it again.'

'I love you, Glorfindel.'

He inched closed and lowered his head. 'Again'

'I love you,' she breathed, just before he kissed her.

It was deep and heated. Azshar lost herself in him, letting her eyes close as his hands found their way to her waist. He pushed her gently backwards until she was lying on the bed, him leaning over her. The kiss deepened, and her heart pounded in her chest.

She still had a past, a history, a family, and for all she knew, a husband somewhere out in the world, but remembering them would kill her. All she had now was a future, and that was Glorfindel. She needed this. She pulled him closer and slid her hands under his tunic.

He hummed into her mouth and then pulled away to press a kiss against her neck.

'Tell me to stop,' he breathed into her skin. She shook her head, and he unbuckled her belt before his mouth was on hers again and his hands were pulling up her skirts.

Azshar traced the scars on his back with her fingers and pressed him closer. He was so warm. His tongue slid against hers, and when he pulled away once more, she hummed in protest. His hands were still on her bare thighs.

'Tell me to stop,' he whispered. His eyes were like liquid coal. 'Azshar…'

'I love you,' she said, sitting halfway up to take off her bodice. Then she grabbed at his tunic, and he lifted his arms so that she could pull it over his head. 'I love you.'

He kissed her again as he pushed into her, then he buried his face in the crook of her neck. His arms circled her torso, arching her back off the bed and pressing her to him. She clung to him, her eyes closing again and losing herself in his warmth.

It wasn't particularly gentle, but nor had she wanted it to be. It was just like him, when his guard was down around her; achingly desperate, possessive, greedy, and in a strange way, shy and heart-breaking. It felt like a promise.

Neither of them spoke a word when it was done. Glorfindel righted her clothes assiduously, then pulled her under the covers. They folded into each other. Azshar pressed her forehead into Glorfindel's shoulder and listened to his slow breaths. The quiet between them felt holy, untouchable. They stayed like that, still and unsleeping, for the rest of the night.

'You know I feel the same way,' Glorfindel whispered into her hair an hour before dawn. 'I love you too.'

'I know,' she breathed. 'It's alright. I know.'


Only Elrond and his three children saw the Fellowship off as the sun rose; the rest of Rivendell slept, or stayed hidden in their rooms. Arwen watched Aragorn with shining eyes. Elrohir and Elladan looked on sombrely.

'Valar be with you,' Elrond said quietly when he clasped Azshar's hand. 'May we meet again, gwathel einior.'

'Goodbye,' she whispered. He turned to Glorfindel.

'Stay safe, my old friend,' he said. Glorfindel merely nodded.

Gandalf and Aragorn led them out of the valley, and the three elves of the Fellowship brought up the rear. Azshar thought of the time she'd first walked that road, headed for the Misty Mountains with Thorin and the Company. She pulled her cloak tighter around her; this time, it all felt different.