Chapter Twenty-Three: Firinga

They travelled across the brown, grassy lands that lay between Rivendell and the Misty Mountains. The first two days, they walked mostly in silence, a mood of foreboding hanging over them.

Frodo and Sam would walk together, talking quietly. When they stopped, Gandalf and Aragorn would bend over maps, discussing their course. Boromir and Gimli seemed to get on well, and Legolas and Azshar would often speak quietly in Sindarin at the back of the group. Glorfindel spoke to no one, but he rarely left Azshar's side.

When they stopped for their second night, Boromir came to sit beside Azshar. She smiled in thanks when he offered her food.

'How goes it all with the elves?' he asked her, and she huffed a laugh.

'We're alright. How are you?'

He shrugged. 'Fine. I wish we could move faster, though.'

'Gandalf is taking us at a manageable pace,' she said, lowering her voice a little so Frodo and Sam wouldn't hear. 'The hobbits would soon tire if we pushed too hard.'

'We might have taken horses.'

'Horses would have drawn attention. Stealth is our best hope.'

Boromir smiled reluctantly. 'I suppose you're right. And I shouldn't complain, anyway; I am accustomed to walking, to my own dismay.'

'Oh?'

'I rode north from Gondor. It is a long journey to Imladris, even with a horse. But I lost mine at Tharbad.'

'Where is Tharbad?' Azshar asked. He shot her a curious look.

'It sits on the banks of the Greyflood. It used to be a very great town, but it is deserted now. I am surprised you don't know it.'

'She has very few memories,' Legolas said, sitting down on the other side of Azshar. 'Geography has been a lower priority in her re-education.'

'Strangely enough, I probably know the locations of dwarven settlements better than any others,' Azshar said. Legolas snorted.

'Strange indeed,' Boromir said, the curious light in his eyes all the stronger. Azshar watched him wryly.

'No doubt you're wondering whether it was wise that I came on this quest,' she said. 'Don't worry too much. I can fend very well for myself. Though I have forgotten my name, it seems I haven't yet forgotten how to fight.'

'I wasn't wondering anything of the sort,' Boromir said. 'Frankly, I'm glad you've come. I never knew any elves until I came north, but I've come to be of the opinion that the more of you there are on this journey, the better.'

Glorfindel came over to sit down next to Legolas. He shot Boromir a cursory glance, and Boromir nodded politely, his smile fading into a look of mild caution.

'An astute observation,' Azshar joked, drawing Boromir's attention back onto her. 'Though I'm sure Gimli might not agree with you.'

Gimli was sitting on the opposite side of the fire, talking animatedly to Sam. He'd taken a special dislike to Legolas after the past two days, one that Azshar was sure hadn't been helped by the fact that Legolas' father had imprisoned Gimli's on the Company's way through Mirkwood. Legolas was alternating between being amused and annoyed.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Glorfindel suddenly stood up, his brow furrowed. Azshar and Legolas both stilled, looking up at him. Boromir frowned, confused.

'Did you hear that?' Glorfindel asked Legolas in soft Sindarin. Legolas got to his feet.

'No…'

They listened for a moment. Azshar could only make out the quiet voices of the Fellowship.

'Are you sure it was something?' she asked.

Glorfindel nodded, and Legolas picked up his bow. 'Shall we?' he said. The two of them disappeared into the darkness.

The others fell quiet, realising something was wrong. Azshar got to her feet and smiled.

'Nothing to worry about yet,' she said to Frodo and Sam. Gandalf raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged in reply. She fought the urge to loosen her sword in its scabbard.

It was only five minutes before she heard Glorfindel and Legolas returning, with company.

'Just – let go of my arm! You're holding it much tighter than is necessary!' someone spluttered indignantly.

'I wish it had been Strider who found us,' said a second voice.

'I don't. He's going to be so cross – ow! Come on, now, that was just plain mean!'

Two curly-haired hobbits were dragged into the circle of firelight by Glorfindel and Legolas, who was fighting a smile. Gandalf groaned quietly and put his face in his hand. Aragorn got to his feet and stepped forward.

'You are quite right, Pippin,' he said sternly. 'I am severely unimpressed.'

'What is the meaning of this?' Gandalf said, his face growing thunderous. 'What on earth do you think you are doing, aside from endangering yourselves and putting Frodo's mission at risk?'

'We're joining the quest,' Pippin said, yanking his arm from Glorfindel's grip and standing up straighter. 'We were severely unimpressed that we got left behind in the first place.'

'It was us who made sure Frodo got to Rivendell in one piece,' Merry added. 'We thought it reasonable that we accompany him a little further.'

'A little further!' Gimli spluttered.

'It was Aragorn who got you all to Rivendell, you fools,' Gandalf snapped. 'I am shocked you haven't yet been eaten by wolves.'

Pippin looked at Merry, alarmed. 'There are wolves out here?'

'Good grief,' Gandalf sighed. 'Frodo, Aragorn, come here.'

The three of them retreated from the circle a little and began discussing in low voices. Merry and Pippin found themselves the centre of attention, and they exchanged a nervous glance.

'Mithrandir will allow them to come,' Legolas said in Sindarin. 'They haven't given us much choice.'

'We can't very well send them back,' Boromir agreed in the same language. 'They won't go by themselves, and it will waste our time and numbers to send one of us back with them.' Azshar blinked at him, surprised, and he smirked. 'Everyone in Minas Tirith speaks the old languages.'

'Noted,' she said drily. 'Well, I suppose we must accept that the Fellowship has grown by two members.'

'I don't like it,' Glorfindel said quietly, his eyes fixed on the hobbits. 'They are a liability. Two extra weaknesses to protect. And they will slow us down.'

'They're definitely talking about us,' Pippin whispered to Merry.

'We will make do,' Azshar replied to Glorfindel. 'They are Frodo's friends. I don't doubt he'll be glad to have them here.'

'He could use some cheering up,' Boromir agreed.

'Very well,' Gandalf announced, his little conference apparently complete. 'Meriadoc and Peregrin shall stay.'

'Hurrah!' said Merry.

'Until we reach Lothlórien,' Aragorn said, shooting them both a quelling look. Azshar hid a smile; he seemed stern and disapproving, but she could see in his eyes nothing more than irritation and faint amusement.

'We're going to Lothlórien?' Boromir asked with a frown, stepping forward. 'I didn't know that was the plan.'

'Nor did I,' Gimli added, folding his arms across his chest in the spitting image of his father.

'The plan, right now,' Gandalf said crossly, 'is to get some sleep. We have a tremendously long way to go before we need to even consider Lothlórien. Now, for goodness' sake, go to bed!'

'Why does that name sound familiar?' Azshar asked Glorfindel as everyone, duly chastened, began unrolling their blankets.

'Lothlórien? It's a forest, one of the last elven realms this side of the sea.'

'Should I know it?'

'I suppose you might. It is a powerful place. Its queen, Galadriel, is powerful too.'

'Galadriel,' Azshar repeated quietly. 'Do you know her?'

'She is an old friend.'

Her eyebrows shot up. 'Ha!'

'What?'

'You said you have a friend!'

He rolled his eyes, and not far away, Legolas snorted. 'She is. A friend,' Glorfindel said, lowering his voice further. 'I have known her for thousands of years, and… I don't know. She knows how I am.'

'Then I hope I will meet her,' Azshar said.

As they did most nights, she and Glorfindel sat and kept watch together.


As loath as Gandalf was to admit it, Merry and Pippin did wonders for the morale of the Fellowship. The silence and morosity of their first two days of travel seemed a distant memory.

The four hobbits formed a unit. Frodo started smiling and eating again, and Sam seemed to relax. Gimli delighted in telling them sordid tales of the Lonely Mountain, and Boromir took all four of them under his wing.

Azshar found herself walking beside Sam and his pony Bill about a week and a half into their journey. She liked the hobbit; the best word to describe him, she thought, was earnest, and that was a quality she could respect.

They walked quietly at first, but late in the morning, Sam cleared his throat.

'I – I heard you've lost most of your memories,' he said. 'Is that true?'

'It is,' she answered with a smile. 'Word spreads fast among us travellers, it seems.'

He blushed. 'I don't mean to say that I was listening – or asking for that matter – in fact, I knew about you when I was still a boy.'

Azshar glanced down at him, bemused. 'How do you mean?'

'Mr. Bilbo is a very great storyteller, and I've always been a very great listener, when I've been allowed.'

'I see,' she said, amused. She couldn't quite imagine Bilbo sitting in Bag End, telling stories to a young, curly-haired Sam. 'I shall have to have a word with Bilbo when we get back, to make sure he has been doing me justice.'

Sam's face brightened just a little at her offhanded confidence that the Fellowship would survive to return. Azshar's heart went out to him.

'He made you out to be very brave, sometimes a little frightening, and very beautiful too.'

She laughed outright at that. 'And what do you think, Samwise?'

Sam's face had turned redder still at his own words. 'I think you have the look of someone out of a story,' he said. 'You have a – a noble face, and you're quite tall, even for an elf. And what with your long hair and your old sword… well, you're just how I imagine a princess out of Bilbo's stories of how the world used to be.'

'And do you think I'm frightening?' she asked.

'Well – I find all elves a little intimidating, I think. I haven't known very many, I suppose, but you all seem terribly old to me. No offence intended, of course.'

'Well, if we add up all the time that I actually remember living, it isn't actually much longer than a year,' Azshar said. 'That makes me not very intimidating at all, I think.'

'I think,' Sam said, with a cautious glance over his shoulder at Glorfindel and Legolas, a little way back, 'that you are the least frightening of the three elves among us.'

Azshar glanced back too. Glorfindel caught her eye, and she detected the faintest hint of amusement in his face. Legolas was very determinedly looking at the sky, his mouth fixed in a straight line. They could both hear every word of what Sam was saying.

'You flatter me, Sam,' she said with a smile.

When everyone had fallen asleep that night, Azshar made her way over to sit beside Glorfindel. He was under a tree, staring out at the plain. The long, brown grass, stirred by a faint breeze, looked like liquid silver in the moonlight. Neither of them said anything for a long while, but then Glorfindel stirred.

'That hobbit is in love with you,' he said. Azshar smiled.

'He has quite the poetic turn of phrase.'

'What, you want me to tell you that you look like you've come out of a story?' Glorfindel asked, glancing down at her with an arched eyebrow. Her smiled widened.

'It wouldn't hurt.'

'You have the look of someone who slept in a cave for seventy years.'

She covered her mouth to stifle her laugh. Glorfindel found her free hand and interlaced his fingers with hers. 'You should go to sleep.'

She shook her head. 'I'll dream. I don't want that.'

'I'll wake you before you do.'

'You should be concentrating on watching the plain, not watching me,' she said. 'I can't use the flowers until we're somewhere safe, or I won't be able to wake up if something goes wrong. I'll… I'll sleep when there's time.'

He frowned at her. 'You can't operate on no sleep. Legolas sleeps every night, because that is what should be done. Just because we can endure wakefulness doesn't mean we should.'

'You do,' she pointed out, and his frown deepened.

'I'm different.'

She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. 'The hobbits, Gimli, Boromir… I don't know. I don't want them to see me screaming in my sleep. It's not that they wouldn't understand, but… I don't know.'

'I understand,' Glorfindel murmured. 'I won't let it happen.'

'Tomorrow night then,' she said. 'I'll sleep.'

'Good,' he said.

There was another long, peaceful silence before Glorfindel suddenly stiffened. Azshar lifted her head and let go of his hand. He stood up, staring out at the plain.

She couldn't see whatever he had. Quickly, Azshar drew her dagger to check it wasn't glowing blue. It wasn't. Whatever was out there wasn't an orc. Glorfindel leaned over to whisper in her ear.

'I'll be back. Be watchful.'

He moved silently into the grass.

Azshar got up and went to where Legolas was sleeping. She laid a hand on his shoulder and he sat immediately, his hand going to one of his long knives. She put a finger to her lips and beckoned for him to follow her to the edge of their camp.

They both stared out at the plain before them, scanning it for movement. Glorfindel had disappeared into the darkness. Legolas turned to her and shook his head. She shrugged, and nodded her head back out in the direction Glorfindel had gone. They watched for another minute before she saw it.

It was the shadowy figure of a man, far away but creeping closer under the cover of night. It wasn't Glorfindel, she could tell by the way he moved. Her heart leapt up into her throat; she had a sneaking suspicion of who it might be.

'Are you seeing what I am?' she breathed to Legolas. He nodded slowly, and then inhaled sharply.

'Azshar – north-west.'

She turned her gaze to where he was pointing, and her eyes widened. There was a pack of wargs hurtling towards their camp. The two of them sprang into action.

'Glorfindel!' she shouted out at the plain as she sprinted back towards the others. Legolas woke the hobbits, and Azshar squeezed Gandalf on the shoulder. He woke suddenly. 'Wargs,' she said. 'Less than a minute.'

Aragorn was scrambling to his feet, bleary-eyed. 'Stoke the fire,' he called. 'Swords out. We'll make two circles, hobbits on the inside and us on the outside. Quickly!'

They arranged themselves as best they could, their backs to the fire and their swords at the ready. Azshar scanned the darkness for Glorfindel, and nearly sagged with relief when he came back into view, sprinting towards them.

The wargs came only seconds later. Azshar had Helcaruivë in one hand and her dagger in the other, and as the first wolf came at her, she dropped to her knees and drove her sword up into its jaw and through its skull. As she'd anticipated, another came at her while her sword was stuck. But she was ready; she drove her short knife into its eye, narrowly avoiding its snapping teeth. Merry gasped in terror behind her.

She yanked her blades free with an effort and turned to face the next threat. The others seemed to be keeping the wolves at bay, and their numbers were already thinning. Another went for Azshar and she dropped her dagger to hold her sword with a two-handed grip. She swiped at the warg once, twice, and on the third time it managed to catch her blade between its teeth.

She kicked it in the face and slashed at its leg with a grunt. It howled, and she stabbed it where she hoped its heart was. It died quickly.

In another five minutes, they were nearly all gone. The last three turned tail and ran, but Legolas took out his bow and shot them dead with flaming arrows before they could get far. They stood there, panting and spattered with blood, the hobbits shocked into silence behind them.

Aragorn was on one knee beside one of the dead wargs, and he got to his feet, breathing heavily. 'Everyone alright?' he asked. They all nodded. Azshar caught Glorfindel's gaze and nodded again in reassurance.

'Frodo?' Gandalf asked, and Frodo cleared his throat.

'I'm fine,' he said, his voice a little higher than usual. 'We're all fine, I think.'

'Good,' Aragorn said. 'Let this serve as a warning of what is to come. Our road will not be easy.'

'Good,' Gimli muttered to Boromir. 'That was fun.' Boromir guffawed.

Azshar made her way over to Glorfindel, who was scanning the plain again. 'Did you find anyone out there?'

'No,' he said. 'I saw nothing. Maybe I imagined it, but I don't think so.'

'You didn't,' she said in a low voice. 'Legolas and I saw him.'

'Him?'

'I think – I think it might be Maglor.'

He cursed, glancing out into the darkness again. 'Tell Gandalf.'

'I don't know,' she said. 'He doesn't really pose a threat to the Fellowship or Frodo's quest.'

'He poses a threat to you,' Glorfindel said flatly. 'I want them aware of him. He's dangerous.'

Azshar let out a slow breath. Just knowing that Maglor might be nearby made her nervous; she'd hoped maybe he'd moved on, forgotten about her, but that clearly wasn't the case. She never should have let her guard down.

'What do we do if he comes?' she whispered. Glorfindel grabbed a hold of her wrist and squeezed it gently.

'We'll deal with it,' he said. 'He's one elf. We're three elves, two men, a dwarf and a wizard.'

'And four hobbits,' she joked weakly.

'Don't remind me.'

His hand was warm, even through the sleeve of her tunic. 'I can't drink that water again,' she murmured. 'I can't.'

Glorfindel put his other hand on her shoulder. 'Azshar, you won't. He can't get to you.'

'I thought he would be gone by now. It's been nearly a century.'

'Tell Gandalf,' Glorfindel said, letting go of her. 'Then we'll continue as usual.'

They set off before dawn broke, too filled with adrenaline to rest more and too worried that their campsite had been detected by more than the pack of wargs. Azshar made her way up to the front of their march where Gandalf and Aragorn were walking.

'I have some news,' she said quietly. The wizard raised an eyebrow, and she went on. 'I believe Maglor is following us.'

Aragorn's expression shifted to disbelief, and Gandalf frowned. 'What makes you think so?'

'We saw him last night. He's close.'

'Indeed,' the wizard said slowly.

'I don't think he will disturb the Fellowship. I think he wants me,' she said.

'We won't let him have you,' Aragorn said, and she smiled at him.

'Thank you for saying so. I hope it won't come to that.'

'I don't think there is anything to be done for now,' Gandalf said. 'We are aware, and that is something. We have a watch set every night, and that will have to do.'

They ended their day early to make up for their lack of sleep the night before. Azshar sat with her back to a tree, her knees drawn up and her cloak wrapped around her. It was a cold night, and there was a sharp, chill wind that made her fingers numb.

'If you're not going to eat, then sleep,' Glorfindel said, sitting down beside her. She shook her head.

'Maglor is nearby.'

'So am I. Legolas and Gimli are taking the watch.'

Her lips quirked. 'Who came up with that idea?'

'Not Legolas. But that means I will be by your side all night.'

She groaned. 'You are relentless.'

'Sleep. Come on.'

She gave in, sliding down the tree until she was only half propped up. She narrowed her eyes at Glorfindel before closing them completely.

'It's too cold.'

'No, it isn't.'

'Do I get a bedtime story?'

She could almost hear the eyeroll. 'No.'

She lay there for an hour before she began to relax. She could feel Glorfindel near her, and the sound of the wind through the branches above her oddly helped to calm her. It blanketed the silence, meaning she couldn't listen for footsteps. Finally, she drifted off to sleep.


She dreamed of the white city. The evening was fair, and the stars were visible in the half-light that filled the sky. Azshar was fully grown in the memory. She was wearing a dress of pale purple with sleeves that reached the floor, her dark hair half braided and half loose down her back. She could feel a thin circlet resting on her head.

Nerwen was beside her, radiant in a similar gown of white, her silver-gold hair out instead of braided. They were walking slowly together down a winding path of white stone that occasionally glittered in the dim light of the stars.

'My father told me I need to think before I speak,' Nerwen was saying ruefully. 'I disagreed vehemently, and of course that became a case in point.'

'Well, what did your mother say?'

'She was laughing. As were my brothers. Do you think I talk too rashly?'

Azshar smiled. 'Hm…'

'There, you're thinking too much before you speak.'

She laughed. 'You're probably right. There is a spectrum; on one end is your father, who thinks far too much and speaks rarely, and in the middle is you, who says exactly as much as you think.'

'And at the far end?'

'At the far end of the spectrum is Fingolfin, who speaks much more than he thinks.'

Nerwen laughed heartily. It was a full, contagious sound. 'Oh – that is unkind to my poor uncle.'

'I'm only teasing,' Azshar said with a grin. 'And besides, you know he would say as much about me.'

'You are right, I distinctly remember him mentioning something about the size of your brain…'

They came face to face with another elf before Azshar had the chance to reply. He was tall, dark haired and bright eyed, and he looked shockingly like Maglor. The smile faded from Nerwen's face.

'Fëanor,' she said coldly.

'My darling niece,' he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm at the word darling. Nerwen glanced at Azshar, then strode away, brushing past Fëanor in the process. His gaze found Azshar again, and she shrugged in a kind of apology.

'She is strong-willed,' she said. 'She won't be polite if she doesn't want to be.'

'I care little,' he said. Azshar felt cut at his careless tone, though she didn't know why.

'Were you looking for us?' she asked shortly, and he shook his head.

'I was heading for the King's chambers,' he said. 'I'm already late.'

Again, part of her felt disappointed that he hadn't wanted to see her. She moved to the side of the narrow path. 'Well. I'll let you be.'

He moved past her, but then paused and glanced back, his eyes on the golden locket around her neck. 'You're wearing it.'

She smiled despite herself. 'Of course I am. It was a gift.'

'Is there anything inside?'

'Ah. I wish I could tell you, but it's secret.'

'You forget I know the password,' Fëanor said, a glint in his eye and a smirk tugging at his mouth. Just like that, Azshar felt she was the centre of the world. Her hand closed around the locket and her smile grew.

'I'm sure you wouldn't abuse your power,' she said. Fëanor shrugged and turned away.

'Goodbye,' he said over his shoulder. 'And… pirindë.'

The locket popped open in Azshar's hand, and Fëanor disappeared around a bend in the path. Azshar laughed, and the dream dissipated.


Everyone else was getting ready to leave when she woke up. The sun had risen, and the fire had been put out. Glorfindel was still beside her, and he looked down when her eyes opened.

'Alright?' he asked.

She couldn't reply yet. Her heart was thumping in her chest, and her hands shook with anticipation as she sat up.

'I – remembered something. In a dream.'

His brows creased slightly. 'Really? What?'

'Ready to go?' Aragorn called over to her, and she got to her feet.

'It – Valar. It will have to keep until we stop today.'

Glorfindel's frown deepened. 'Are you sure? Is it important?'

'I don't know,' she said, pulling together her pack quickly. She felt imbued with restless, buzzing energy. She'd had a full night of sleep, and discovered something potentially ground-breaking.

She knew how to open her locket.

She was silent as she walked beside Glorfindel through the morning. The locket was suddenly heavy under her cloak. It felt bulky and substantial where before she had mostly forgotten it was there.

She was suddenly conflicted when she realised that opening the locket might trigger a return of memories. Hadn't she promised Glorfindel that her past was behind her, forgotten, not to be disturbed or pursued again? But that promise had been made when she had no way of remembering. It felt like a very different matter when a key to her history, her friends and family, was very much within her grasp.

There was another fact to dwell on, too: she had known Fëanor. The legendary elf about whom books were written and songs were sung. Maglor's father, who had died in the early days of Middle-earth. She had known him, and he had known her.

He was handsome, certainly, but there was something else in his face, in his eyes, that had drawn her in. A genius, maybe. An ideology. Whatever it was, it seemed he had been one of those people who could make you feel loved and special in one moment, then ignored and insignificant the moment you lost their attention.

She couldn't open the locker. It might bring back her memories, which would kill her. It would seem to Glorfindel that she was trying to get back her past, the lover she had left behind, when she'd promised him she wouldn't. And yet…

It felt important. She couldn't not do it.

At midday, they stopped at a rocky outcrop to rest and eat. The sun was high in the sky above them, and the Misty Mountains finally appeared to be growing closer. They were making progress.

'How many battles have you been in exactly?' Merry asked Boromir.

'One doesn't really count that kind of thing,' Boromir said vaguely.

'That means loads,' Pippin said. 'Loads of battles, right?'

'Quite a few.'

'Have you ever been stabbed?' Pippin asked. Sam elbowed him.

'You can't ask that, Pip!'

'Have you ever been injured?' Merry amended.

'How is that better?' Sam said despairingly to Frodo, who smiled and shook his head.

'Many times,' Boromir said. 'And I shall injure you if you get between me and my food. I'm hungry.'

'Aren't we all,' agreed Merry.

'Could you teach us to fight?' Pippin asked eagerly. 'I mean, it seems clear after the wolf attack –'

'They're called wargs, idiot,' Merry said.

'– that we hobbits may be in slightly over our heads, if you'll excuse the implication to do with our height there.'

'We asked Strider once and he said it would be a waste of his time,' Merry said pleadingly.

'That was before I knew they were planning on commandeering our quest,' Aragorn muttered to Gimli.

'Please?' Pippin asked, and Boromir sighed.

'Very well. But I'm eating first.'

'Obviously,' Pippin said.

'Azshar,' Glorfindel said, drawing her attention to him. 'Is now the time to…' he trailed off, dropping his pack on the ground and watching her with concern. She swallowed, glancing around.

'I had a dream,' she said in a low voice, closing the distance between them and drawing out the locket. 'And in it I opened the locket. I remember how.'

Glorfindel's eyes widened. 'You could do it now?'

'I think so.'

'Will you?'

She hesitated. 'What do you think?'

He looked down. 'It's dangerous.'

'I know that.'

'But…'

Her eyes widened. 'You think I should?'

He shrugged. 'I don't know. I don't want there to be any chance of you… you know. It could be bad if it triggers the rest of your memories.'

'So…'

'I don't know.' He shook his head. 'You decide, and we'll do it.'

She felt a rush of gratefulness for him. He didn't even ask, he just assumed that whatever happened, they would handle it together. We'll do it.

'I want to open it,' she said.

They moved quietly behind one of the bigger rocks so that they were obscured from the others' view. Azshar took the locket off from around her neck and held it in her palm. The engraved sun pattern on its front glinted back at her. She looked up at Glorfindel, and he nodded once at her, his eyes apprehensive.

She cleared her throat. 'Pirindë,' she whispered. With a quiet click, the locket opened.

Her heart thundering, she opened the little door on its hinge. Out fell an assortment of small items.

The most eye-catching was a jewel about the size of a chickpea, that at first glance seemed white in colour, but in fact caught the sun's rays and reflected them in gold-tinged blues, greens, purples and silvers. Azshar picked it up reverently, wondering how much of it was from the sun and how much of the light was emanating from the jewel itself.

'It's so… beautiful,' she whispered, unable to tear her eyes from it. 'It's…'

'It's a silmaril,' Glorfindel said in a low, dark voice. 'That's why Maglor is following us.'

Azshar looked up at him; the dappled light of the silmaril was reflected in his face. 'How could I have a silmaril?' she whispered. 'I read that they were lost, all three of them.'

'They were,' he said, his eyes still glued to it. She held it out to him, offering for him to take it, but he leaned away from it as though he was afraid of being burned. 'You should put it away.'

She closed her fist slowly around the small jewel, still unable to believe what she was holding. 'There are other things,' she said, picking up a ring that had fallen from the locket. Her eyes widened. 'Look at this.'

Glorfindel took it from her, and his jaw tightened. 'It's… exactly the same as mine,' he said, holding out his hand so the ring on his little finger was visible. Both of them had silver bands, and each was embedded with a topaz of equal size and cut. Azshar shook her head in confusion as he handed it back.

'What does this mean?' she murmured.

'I don't know. Try it on.'

She put it on her index finger, but it was slightly too big. She tried it on her other fingers, and even her thumb, but in each case the ring was loose.

'It's too big,' she said. 'It isn't mine.'

'Look at this,' Glorfindel said, picking up something else. It was a long strand of light-coloured hair, looped around so it would fit in the locket.

'Nerwen,' said Azshar. 'It matches the colour of her hair.'

Glorfindel looked up sharply at that, but he didn't comment. The last item left was a scrap of paper, rolled up tightly and folded over. It felt fragile and old, and after a moment's hesitation, Azshar passed it to Glorfindel.

He read it without a word, and then looked up at her warily. Azshar's hand tightened around the silmaril.

'What does it say?' Still, he hesitated, and she felt herself go cold. 'Does it… does it say my name?'

He swallowed. 'It think it might, yes.' She stared at him, holding her breath. He looked back down at the parchment. 'There are a few things written here. It says pirindë, and then Finwë, the name of the first King of the Noldor. Then there's a line that says, Fëanor is also called Curufinwë. The line after that says a similar thing, but with someone else's name. A woman's name.'

Hers. She blinked rapidly. 'Do you recognise it?'

He shook his head. 'I've never heard it before, no.'

She let out a slow breath. 'So you didn't know me.'

The ghost of a smile crossed his face. 'I think we would have figured out if I knew you by now.'

She nodded, her eyes fixed on the back of the paper. 'Is it Lalaith?'

Glorfindel shook his head again. 'It's… no. No, it isn't.'

'Don't tell me,' she said quickly. 'If anything is going to trigger my memories, it's my own name. So don't say it.'

'I won't.'

'Don't say it by accident when you're calling me or talking to me.'

'I won't, Azshar.' He reached out and put a firm hand over hers, holding her gaze calmly. 'We'll put it back in the locket. We won't take it out again.'

She nodded, letting his words slow her breathing. She'd found herself more often on the verge of panic after escaping from Weathertop. With hands that trembled faintly, she gathered the objects – the piece of paper, the ring, the strand of hair, and the silmaril – and pressed them back into the locket. It was a tight fit, but she sealed it closed. The seam disappeared, and it was like it had never opened at all.

'What does this all mean?' she whispered. Glorfindel took her hand in both of his.

'I don't know. The ring that you have, that is the same as mine…' he shook his head. 'It's confusing. Disturbing.'

'You can't remember where you got your ring?'

He shook his head frustratedly. 'I've always just worn it.'

She sighed. 'Maybe it doesn't matter. The past is behind me.'

'The silmaril matters,' he said. 'It matters a lot. Those jewels… they have a tendency of not staying hidden for long.'

'We'll deal with it,' she said. 'I don't think Maglor knows it's in the locket, or he would have taken it already. Maybe he's just afraid that the longer I stay awake, the more chance there is that I'll remember where it is.'

'So he keeps trying to send you back to sleep,' Glorfindel said slowly. 'Maybe.'

'I know about the river water now,' she said. 'I won't drink anything he gives me. I won't let him near enough to throw it at me.'

'He might not be as patient next time he catches up with us,' he said softly. 'He might just try to kill you. Then the secret would be safe forever.'

'But it wouldn't,' she pointed out. 'You know where the silmaril is now.'

'That's not the point,' Glorfindel said sharply. 'You would be dead.'

'If he was prepared to kill me, he would have done it by now,' she said. His face tightened, and she sighed. 'Let's not tell anyone about the locket,' she said. 'Not yet.'

He nodded. 'Alright.'

'Azshar,' came Legolas' voice, and a second late he appeared around the rock. 'Oh. I thought you'd gone missing.'

'We're coming back,' Azshar said with false brightness. 'We just wanted – a moment.'

Glorfindel stood, and offered her a hand to help her up. Legolas nodded, his eyes curious, but he didn't say anything more. They returned to the Fellowship together. Azshar's footsteps felt heavier with the knowledge that she carried a silmaril around her neck.


A/N: Guys, genuinely help me, I just compared a silmaril to a chickpea and I can think of literally nothing else of that size that would be less weird to compare a silmaril to. Please help. Chickpea-sized suggestions will be much appreciated because this has had me questioning my whole existence.