Chapter Twenty-six: Valcaraucë

A/N: Please be aware that there are a couple of descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks in this chapter!


Azshar's heart was pounding in her ears so loudly that she couldn't hear anything else.

She was aware that they were inside the Mines of Moria, that Gandalf was holding a light, that the Fellowship was gathered by what had once been the Doors of Durin, but all that was fading away. She struggled to draw breath as panic engulfed her.

The door had caved in. It had caved in, mere steps away from where she was standing. She could feel the weight of the mountain on top of her, feel it crushing the breath from her lungs. She felt like she might die.

Hands took her by the shoulders and squeezed, and gradually, the ringing in her ears dulled, and she could hear.

'Azshar! What happened?'

It was Glorfindel, trying to help her. He could help her. She struggled to breathe in.

'I can't be here,' she wheezed. Her hands were shaking, and he seemed to realise what the problem was. He led her back a few steps and sat her down on a step.

'Slow down,' he murmured. 'Slow down. You're alright.'

'Is she hurt?' came a voice. Aragorn.

'She's fine,' Glorfindel said. 'She hasn't had good experiences in places like this.'

The cave, near the Blue Mountains, where she'd been in agony for years. The underground room on Weathertop, where she'd waited in the silent dark for weeks, slowly dying with no company except her own despair. Azshar squeezed her eyes shut and let out a dry sob.

'Glorfindel…' came Gandalf's voice. Glorfindel didn't let go of her.

'Give her a minute,' he snapped, a hint of anger colouring his voice. 'Just a minute.'

'We need to move,' the wizard said. Azshar swallowed thickly and raised her head. Glorfindel stepped back to allow Gandalf room to crouch before her. 'Azshar. We need to move.'

There was something in his voice which pierced the fog in her mind, and she nodded.

'Yes,' she whispered. 'Yes. Let's go.'

Glorfindel didn't let go of her as they walked, following the rest of the Fellowship up the stairs before them. As it turned out, her terror of the cavernous mines was only the beginning of their problems.

'They're dead,' she whispered. The stairs were littered with old, decomposed bodies that had once belonged to dwarves. It looked like they'd been trying to reach the Doors of Durin, but they hadn't quite made it.

'Orcs,' Glorfindel said quietly. They walked on through the darkness.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed. When the hobbits said they couldn't go on any further, Gandalf called a stop, and they made a doleful camp. Most of them had left their packs outside the mountain in the panic of getting inside.

Azshar's panic faded into a persistent, painful buzz at the back of her skull. She felt physically uncomfortable, and she longed to be under the open sky again. Glorfindel kept touching her as they sat with their backs against a wall, pulling at her hand, brushing his arm against hers. It helped.

But in the back of her mind, she kept thinking about the village, the people he'd killed. He'd done something horrific, and she couldn't push him away. She'd been too reliant, not strong enough alone to let him go. He felt like a reflex, like her body and her mind had been wired to need him. He burned under her skin. How had she come to be like this?

Was surrendering to need her only option? In the inky blackness of the mines, she didn't want to contemplate being without Glorfindel. She pushed the thought away, squashed it down, and instead let herself sink into the comfort his presence brought her.

'So Balin's mission was a failure,' she whispered into the darkness when it seemed everyone else was asleep. Aragorn was sitting watch, and she saw him glance over at her words.

'We don't know what happened here,' Glorfindel murmured.

'They're dead. That's really all that matters. Balin and everyone who followed him.'

'I'm sorry, Azshar.'

'Be sorry for Gimli,' she whispered numbly. 'They were his kin.'

'They were your friends.'

She tilted sideways and leaned her head wearily on Glorfindel's shoulder. He rested a hand on her leg, and Azshar let her eyes drift closed. They stayed that way until it was time to move again.

Moria must have been magnificent in its prime, she thought as they walked through the heart of the mountains. If they had been able to risk more light, maybe she would have been able to see more of its glory. And if her heart could stop hammering in her chest, maybe she would have been able to stand it.

It took them more than a week to cross through the mines and the underground city, and Azshar didn't sleep. Every time they stopped moving, she felt like her skin began to crawl.

On the eighth day, they saw Gollum. It was Frodo who saw him first, crawling across a faraway wall like a pale spider. He ran over to Gandalf, and they talked in low voices. Legolas casually laid an arrow on the string of his bow, but he lowered it again when Aragorn shook his head.

'How did he make it into Moria?' Azshar murmured. 'The doors were collapsed right after we went in.'

'There are probably dozens of ways to get in,' Legolas said, 'if you're patient enough to search for them.'

She exchanged a glance with Glorfindel, who pursed his lips. If Gollum was patient enough to find another way into Moria, she knew who else would be too.

'Azshar, your knife,' Aragorn said, suddenly leaning forwards. Azshar drew her dagger and caught her breath; the blade was glowing a faint blue. She looked over at where Frodo and Gandalf were sitting, their heads bent together in conversation, the other two carriers of Gondolin-forged blades. She could see dim blue light emanating from their scabbards too.

'Orcs,' she said in a low voice. 'But not too close.'

'Yet,' Aragorn muttered, sitting back again and looking irritated. 'Gimli, how long to the other side?'

'Hard to say,' Gimli said. 'A day, perhaps. Two at most.'

'We've made it this far undetected,' Legolas said.

Aragorn folded his arms. 'We're not safe until we're safe,' he said grimly.

They saw sunlight again the next day as they wearily trudged up more steps, for the first time in almost ten days. Glorfindel saw it first, and when Azshar saw a little of the tension leave his face, she tapped his shoulder with concern.

'What is it?' she asked. He nodded at the path ahead.

'Daylight,' he said. She turned to look, and she realised he was right. There was a faint light spilling from a room ahead of them. Soon the others saw it too.

'Oh – we must be nearly there!' Pippin exclaimed, to a chorus of shushing.

'How many times have we said to be quiet in here?' Boromir scolded him.

'That makes thirteen, not counting the time I was talking in my sleep,' Pippin said. 'Sorry.'

The light was entering the room through a hole drilled through the thick layer of rock that remained between them and the outside. It created a single beam of sunlight which slanted down onto the white marble headstone of a tomb, engraved with dwarven runes.

'Balin son of Fundin,' Gandalf read aloud. 'Lord of Moria.'

Gimli fell to his knees at the base of the tomb and dropped his head on it, his helm connecting with the marble with a quiet thunk. Azshar stepped forward and traced her fingers over the letters. They came up coated in dust.

'Balin,' she whispered. How many of Thorin's Company had died in these mines with him? What had they been fighting?

But then someone cleared their throat exaggeratedly, and Azshar heard several blades being drawn. She whirled, her hand going to the hilt of her own sword, and then she froze. In the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded, stood Maglor.

Glorfindel had the tip of his sword pressed to Maglor's throat, but Maglor barely seemed to notice. He had his eyes on Azshar.

'By the Valar,' Gandalf muttered, sheathing his blade. 'Swords away, everyone. We'd better talk this out.'

Boromir, Aragorn and Legolas sheathed their swords, but Glorfindel didn't move an inch. He stared Maglor down, his eyes cold. Maglor's mouth curved upwards, but there was no happiness in his smile.

'Lalaith,' he said to Azshar. 'Beautiful as ever.'

She swallowed, moving slowly forward, stepping around Gimli and the wide-eyed hobbits until she was beside Glorfindel, face-to-face with Maglor. He watched her every move with his glittering blue eyes. Azshar hoped she didn't look as terrified as she felt.

Moria was the perfect place to hide the body of a sleeping elf.

'Maglor, meet my friends,' she said quietly, her voice level. 'My friends, Maglor, son of Fëanor, who is bent on putting me back in the ground.'

'Call Glorfindel off,' Maglor said, ignoring the surprised intake of breath from Legolas and Aragorn.

'Tell me why you've been following us,' she said, ignoring his request. Glorfindel pressed the tip of his sword a little harder into Maglor's neck. Maglor's cold smile faded away.

'I've only been following you,' he said. 'You know that.'

'Our mission is bigger than whatever is between you and her, Maglor,' Gandalf spoke up. 'Let her be, and go on your way.'

'There is nothing bigger than what is between me and her,' Maglor said, his eyes flicking back to Gandalf and the bitter smile returning. 'Wars have been fought for it. Tears have been shed for it. Thousands and millions of lives have been destroyed for what is between me and her.'

The silmaril, Azshar thought, suddenly feeling the weight of her locket around her neck. Her hands felt sweaty. He didn't know she had it. He couldn't know, or this would be going very differently. She looked up at Glorfindel and nodded. After a short pause, he lowered the sword, and she turned back to Maglor.

'Tell me what you want from me,' she said calmly.

'You need to come with me.'

'She doesn't need to do anything,' Legolas said, and Maglor frowned.

'Stay out of what you do not understand, princeling,' he said with an edge of frustration.

'I go with you,' Azshar said, ignoring Glorfindel suddenly stiffening. 'Then what? You put me back to sleep and bury me in another cave?'

'Yes,' Maglor said. 'If you remember who I am, I imagine you remember what I said your choices were last time we spoke.'

'Sleep or death,' she said, and he nodded.

'I want you to choose sleep. But if you force my hand, death will do just as well. Death seems more permanent.'

Glorfindel was practically vibrating with fury beside her, but Azshar maintained her façade of calm. 'Why have you confronted me now?' she asked.

Maglor glanced around at the Fellowship. 'There are orcs in these mines,' he said, addressing them all. 'Orcs and something much, much worse. Something Glorfindel might remember from a previous life.'

Azshar saw Glorfindel's free hand clench into a fist out of the corner of her eye. His hands had started shaking.

'What of it?' she asked quietly. Maglor looked over at Gandalf.

'You give her to me, or I bring them after you,' he said. 'And whatever little quest you've embarked upon here comes to an untimely end. Understand?'

'Your threats are useless,' Aragorn said levelly, and Maglor arched an eyebrow.

'Really? Because bringing your enemies after you will be as easy as raising my voice. And you have a long way to run before you get out. You can give Lalaith to me, or all ten of you die. I win either way.'

'We're not letting you have her,' Boromir said, stepping forward. 'I don't care who you are or what you want, but if you want to get out of here with all your limbs still attached, you'd best turn around and go back whence you came.'

'If only I could,' Maglor said drily, turning back to Gandalf. 'If your lackeys have said their piece, old man, we'll be going.'

'She's not going,' Gandalf said guardedly. Maglor almost growled, losing patience.

'You know who she really is, Mithrandir, though you might not know how she came to lose her memory and name. You know about all that happened before I told everyone that she died. You know who Glorfindel is too, and you know the parts of his mind that are missing.' His voice became quieter, cajoling. 'Don't you think it might be better to leave the past in the past? The First Age was a terrible time.'

'If Azshar is here, I believe it is because she is meant to be here,' Gandalf said, taking another step forward. 'My question is, why do you want her gone?'

'What I want gone is not Lalaith, but something Lalaith knows,' Maglor said, his eyes finding Azshar's again. 'There is a secret that must not be remembered. That is all.'

'You mean the silmaril, don't you?' Azshar said quietly, and Maglor went deadly still. She nodded. 'I thought so. I know where it is.'

'No,' he breathed.

'Leave, Maglor,' Glorfindel said. 'There is nothing for you here.'

'Your choice remains,' Maglor said. His face had drained of all colour. 'She comes with me, or I call the orcs and their master. Choose before I choose for you.'

Just then, there was an ear-splitting crash, and Pippin leapt a foot in the air. Everyone whipped around to look at the hobbit.

'What did you do?' Gandalf asked, his tone deadly.

'It was an accident,' Pippin said quickly, holding his hands up. He looked almost as pale as Maglor. 'I'm sorry, so sorry – I knocked something down this hole, I didn't mean to –'

He was cut off by a boom and a distant roar, echoing from deep within the mines. Dread curled in Azshar's stomach.

'We need to move, now,' Aragorn said, and he grabbed two hobbits and began to run.

'On the bright side, Maglor no longer has any leverage over us,' Gandalf said over his shoulder. 'Goodbye, Maglor. I wish I could say it had been nice to see you.'

Without warning, Glorfindel kicked Maglor square in the chest, sending him staggering backwards with a cry. He stumbled and slipped off the side of the staircase which led up to the door, tumbling into the darkness. Glorfindel took Azshar's hand in his and they sprinted after the Fellowship.

'It looked like you enjoyed that,' she said.

'I did,' he said shortly. 'Run faster.'

They caught the others quickly, and then wound through the corridors before bursting out into a wide hall. Azshar could see another doorway at its end; it was frighteningly far away.

'They've caught us,' Legolas said. 'They're above us!'

Azshar looked up, and wished she hadn't. The stone of the ceiling was swarming with orcs. Without warning, an arrow slammed into the shield Boromir carried on his back.

'Faster!' Gandalf cried.

'What are the odds,' Merry panted, 'that an arrow should hit the shield, rather than any of us? Isn't that rather lucky?'

'Orcs are stupider than I thought,' Pippin wheezed.

'You don't get to make judgements about stupid right now,' Gimli growled, and poor Pippin ducked his head.

They'd halved the distance between them and the bridge before they had to stop and fight.

'Keep the hobbits safe,' Glorfindel told Azshar before shoving her behind him and whirling to fight the goblins. His sword was a blur, and he fell in beside Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli.

'Run!' Azshar shouted at the hobbits. 'Come on, while we can!'

Frodo tripped over his feet, and she caught him and dragged him up by the collar. She was hit hard by something in the back, and she drew her sword as she spun around. She'd beheaded the orc before she even knew what was happening.

Another one came for her, and she stabbed at it. It batted her sword away, and she tried again, her blade meeting flesh this time. The orc died with a gurgle as she watched, but then another three replaced it. They were overrun.

Azshar stood her ground, praying as she fought that Frodo at least might make it out alive, might salvage the quest from this. But it wasn't looking good.

Glorfindel kept looking back for her, but there was no way he could extricate himself from his own fight to get to her. Every time she killed an orc, another stepped into its place, screaming for her blood.

Gandalf suddenly held up his staff and bellowed something Azshar didn't understand. The orcs around them suddenly dropped their weapons and clapped their hands to their ears, as though they were hearing something that caused them great pain. She looked behind her quickly; to her relief, the hobbits were still there – but Frodo was on the ground. She raced to his side.

'What happened?' she gasped.

'He's been killed!' Pippin said, on the verge of tears.

'Sam got the orc that did it, but it was too late,' Merry said shakily.

Frodo was totally unresponsive, but Aragorn pushed Azshar aside and scooped him up before she could try to help him.

'Gandalf is buying us time,' Aragorn said. 'We need to go.'

They ran through the doorway at the end of the hall, leaving Gandalf to see to the orcs. The passage they were in was utterly dark, and without Gandalf and his staff, they had no way to light it. But as they felt their way further down, a dull red light began shining from the hall they'd just left. It suddenly began to grow hot.

'Keep moving,' Aragorn said when booming sounds started echoing after them, still carrying Frodo over his shoulder. 'Let Gandalf deal with it.'

Glorfindel was at the back of the pack, and every time Azshar glanced back, she grew more worried. He was sweating and pale, his face set, his expression one of barely controlled terror. He was holding his sword with a white-knuckled grip.

'What happened to Frodo?' Aragorn asked Azshar in a low voice as they descended the passageway.

'Pippin said he's dead,' she replied through the lump in her throat. Aragorn's face fell, and he said nothing. Azshar looked back at Glorfindel again, but behind him, she caught sight of Gandalf running through the doorway, slamming shut the massive doors and placing his palm against them. His mouth moved in an incantation she couldn't hear, then he was running to catch up to them.

He caught up with Glorfindel, and then he nearly collapsed. Glorfindel caught him before he hit the floor, and the Fellowship stopped. Gandalf gasped for breath.

'Well,' he panted. 'That's that, I suppose.'

'What wasthat?' Boromir asked.

'I have done what I could,' Gandalf said. 'Suffice to say that there is something coming after us that I did not expect, and I have met my match. But come, now! We have no time for waiting!'

'You're weak,' Legolas said with concern.

'Too many spells,' Gandalf said, brushing him off. 'Gimli, where are you? Come ahead with me. The rest of you, stay close behind. We are nearly out!'

The ominous booming continued behind them, though slightly more muffled now. Azshar ran on, her heart in her throat – and then she jerked in surprise when she saw Frodo move.

'Frodo!' she exclaimed, astonished, and Aragorn turned his head.

'What?'

'I'm alright,' Frodo groaned, rubbing his head. 'I can walk. Put me down!'

Aragorn nearly dropped him in amazement. 'I thought you were dead!'

'Right turn here!' Gandalf yelled, and suddenly they were in a great hall, before them a black chasm. The door to the outside was visible, but it could only be reached by a slender bridge of stone.

'Excellent,' Gandalf said. 'If it's daylight outside, we might still get out of this alive.'

But just then, an arrow whistled over Frodo's head and skittered against stone.

'Time to run again!' Aragorn called, and they did. Legolas began shooting orcs as he went, and Azshar fell back to grab Glorfindel's arm.

'What happened?' she asked urgently. He shook his head.

'Just move,' he said hollowly. 'We need to get out.'

Gimli crossed the bridge first, narrowly dodging an arrow as he barrelled over the chasm. The hobbits followed with only slightly more caution, then Boromir and Legolas. Azshar and Glorfindel went next, and it was only once she'd reached the other side that Azshar realised Gandalf wasn't yet crossing.

'I can't let you fight it alone, Gandalf!' Aragorn was shouting, his sword held loosely before him.

'This is far, far beyond you, my friend,' the wizard replied sternly. 'Now go.'

Aragorn growled and then ran across the bridge, joining the Fellowship on the other side. The booming sound grew unbearably loud, and the red light of fire filled the cavern. Gandalf began crossing the bridge, his staff in one hand and his Gondolin-forged sword in the other.

At the doorway through which they'd fled minutes ago appeared a giant, man-like figure which filled Azshar with terror to her core. Its eyes were blood-red and pure evil. Its face was blackened and horned, and flames licked at its body. There was a whip curled in its left hand, and in its right hand was a wicked blade which looked like it was made of fire. Its eyes were fixed on Gandalf.

Beside her, Glorfindel let out a shaking breath. Legolas had an arrow ready to let loose, but at the sight of the beast, he let it clatter to the floor.

Azshar knew what she was looking at. It was a balrog.

'Durin's Bane,' Gimli cried, his axe falling to the ground. Looking weary and old, Gandalf turned to face it.

'I will hold the way,' Gandalf called to them. 'Go now! Go!'

The Fellowship moved towards the door – all but Aragorn, Boromir and Glorfindel. Aragorn and Boromir seemed unable to leave Gandalf to face the battle alone. Boromir put his horn to his lips and blew. A great sound filled the echoing cavern, and for a moment the balrog stopped and the orcs behind it quailed. Then it resumed its advance.

Glorfindel seemed frozen, his eyes fixed on the balrog and his breathing uneven. Azshar grabbed him by the arm and shook.

'Glorfindel, we're going,' she said. 'Glorfindel.'

He didn't move. The balrog stopped, and the flame in it seemed to die, overwhelmed suddenly by inky darkness that seemed to grow out of it.

'You cannot pass,' Gandalf cried. 'Go back to the shadow!'

The balrog gave no answer except a hiss, leaping onto the bridge. It strode toward Gandalf, its whip curling through the air. Gandalf raised his staff and smashed it down upon the stone of the bridge, which cracked and then crumbled. With a piercing shriek, the balrog tumbled into the abyss.

But the tail of its whip hissed up and wrapped around Gandalf's knees. He staggered forward, and then fell into the darkness.

'Fly, you fools!' came his cry, rising from the abyss, and then he was gone.

'No!' Aragorn cried. The rest of the Fellowship stared into the void in horror. Azshar felt tears spring to her eyes. Gandalf was gone.

An arrow whizzed by her head, and she jerked into action.

'Get out!' she shouted raggedly. 'Get to the door! Get out!'

Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas and Boromir ran as the hail of arrows began, each pulling with them a hobbit. On the other side of the bridge, Azshar could hear the orcs screeching and roaring. And near the start of the bridge stood Glorfindel, still frozen, his eyes fixed on the spot where Gandalf and the balrog had disappeared.

Azshar ran back to him, her cloak billowing behind her.

'Glorfindel!' she shouted over the growing cacophony. 'Come on!'

He didn't move, and she wondered if he'd even heard her. His dark eyes were glassy, and when she put her hand on his wrist, she could feel his pulse racing. He was panicking, she realised. She took him by the shoulders and shook.

'Glorfindel, please!' she yelled. 'Wake up, please! Come on!'

There was no response, no sign he'd heard or understood – until an arrow embedded itself in his shoulder with a sickening sound. He staggered backwards with a groan, and Azshar cried out, catching his other arm.

'With me!' she said, and dragged him bodily towards the door until he found his feet and began to follow her. They ran up the steps together and burst out into blinding sunlight.

'Thank the stars,' Boromir exclaimed when they appeared.

'He's been shot,' Azshar gasped, leading Glorfindel to Aragorn by the hand. Aragorn's eyes were red-rimmed, but he moved quickly, his fingers probing around the arrow that was still stuck in Glorfindel's shoulder.

'Sit down,' he said, and Glorfindel lowered himself carefully down, moving like he was in a daze. Azshar dropped to her knees beside him; he looked shellshocked, pale, but more himself than he had back at the bridge.

'I'm breaking the arrow,' Aragorn said in warning, before snapping the arrow shaft. Glorfindel flinched violently, but he made no sound. Azshar put her hand on his uninjured shoulder.

'Are you back?' she asked quietly. He nodded.

'I'm so sorry,' he said roughly, and she frowned, not understanding.

'I think I'll pull it out,' Aragorn said, sitting back on his haunches and tearing a wad of cloth from his cloak. The medical supplies they'd carried had been lost on the other side of the Misty Mountains when the door had collapsed. 'Azshar, take this and press it on firmly when the arrow comes out.'

She nodded numbly, folding the strip over itself. 'You won't take off his tunic?' she asked.

'He can't move his shoulder to take it off right now,' Aragorn said. 'I'd cut it off, but he'd have nothing to wear when we go on.' He pressed his fingers to where the arrow had pierced Glorfindel's skin, and Glorfindel gasped.

'I was killed by a balrog,' he said abruptly, through his teeth. Azshar looked sharply up at him. Aragorn's movements stilled momentarily before he continued.

'During the fall of Gondolin,' she said softly, remembering what he'd told her in the ruins of Esgaroth. He nodded jerkily.

'We had almost escaped. We were in the mountains, but it followed us. I went back to fight it so the others could get away.'

Azshar squeezed his hand. Of course he had, she thought.

'It went over the side of the mountain, and I thought I had won,' he said, his voice growing colder and more distant. 'But it caught hold of me as it fell, and I fell too. I still remember how it felt to – to fall. But I don't remember landing.' Aragorn pulled the arrowhead from his shoulder, and he turned paler still, his teeth clenching against the pain. Azshar pressed the pad of cloth hard against the now bleeding wound.

She placed her other hand on his cheek, and he looked up to meet her eyes. There was physical pain written plain on his face, but there was nothing she could think of to say. She said nothing.

Aragorn bandaged the wound quickly.

'The arrowhead doesn't look poisoned,' he said. 'But that doesn't mean we shouldn't be careful. I think…' he ran a hand over his face. 'I think we'll go to Lothlórien.'

Azshar glanced up at him, a tear sliding down her cheek. Now that Gandalf was gone, Aragorn was to lead the Fellowship. He looked afraid, overwhelmed, and her heart went out to him.

'I think that is wise,' she said, and he nodded before she spoke again. 'But Aragorn – we need to move. The sunlight won't hold them at bay for long, and they'll move much faster than we do.'

Aragorn swallowed, glancing back at the door to Moria. 'You're right,' he said. 'Glorfindel, can you move?'

Glorfindel nodded, getting to his feet. Azshar was still worried at how pale he was. His hands were shaking violently, and he kept clenching and unclenching them.

'I'll wait with you, if you can't,' she said in a low voice as Aragorn moved away. 'We'll follow them when you're strong enough to go.'

'The wound is nothing,' he said stiffly, and she touched his arm. She realised her hand was red with his blood.

'I know,' she said gently. His eyes met hers, and he swallowed and looked away.

'I'll be fine,' he rasped. 'Let's go.'

Azshar and Boromir helped gather the hobbits from where they sat, shocked and weeping.

'Might he still be in there?' Merry asked as she pulled him to his feet. 'Might he have caught hold of something on the way down?'

'I don't think so, Merry,' Azshar said through the lump in her throat. 'Come on.'

'If he's still alive, we'd be leaving him behind,' he protested, wiping tears from his cheeks.

'If we stay, he will have died for nothing,' she replied. Merry fell quiet.

They moved as quickly as they could, half-walking and half-jogging for the rest of the day, and then walking through the night. As soon as the sun had sunk below the horizon, Azshar had been able to hear the far-off howling of wargs and screeching of orcs. A quick glance from Legolas told her that he'd heard the same thing. She hoped the others couldn't.

Glorfindel didn't talk, but as the night drew on, he grew angrier and angrier. Azshar saw the tightness in the way he held himself, the fury written into the hard lines of his face, the cold glitter of his eyes. His panic was fading and replacing itself with rage.

It wasn't directed at her or anyone else, she was sure. He was angry at himself for losing control when he'd seen the balrog, seen Gandalf die in exactly the same way he had died thousands of years ago. She couldn't blame him, but he, of course, blamed himself. It was weakness, and he hated weakness.

She imagined he was grieving too. During all his lonely years, Gandalf had been present, if not a friend. Now Gandalf was gone, and instead of letting himself be sad, Glorfindel was angry. It was so typical of him that Azshar almost felt frustrated.

When they stopped at dawn for the sake of the hobbits, Azshar went to sit beside Glorfindel. She put her hand on his knee when he didn't look at her, trying to find a way to be there for him in a way he would accept. But after a minute, he stood and walked away, going to stand watch.

They followed the Silverlode River southeast. On the third day after Gandalf's death, the golden-leaved trees were visible in the distance. Night was falling again, and Azshar could hear the sound of the orcs, steadily gaining.

'We need to push on,' she said to Legolas in a low voice. 'They might catch us tonight.'

'Aragorn knows,' Legolas replied. 'But the hobbits are struggling.'

'I would rather the hobbits be struggling than dead,' she said harshly, then shook her head at herself. 'I'm sorry. It's all getting to me.'

Legolas glanced at Glorfindel, then back at her. 'It's alright. I'll tell Aragorn what you said.'

'I'm sure he knows already. But thank you.'

'We're going to make it,' Legolas said, squeezing her shoulder. 'Have hope. Lórien is on the horizon.'

It was near midnight when they finally reached the woods, but that was when the orcs found them. The howls of wolves chased them into the trees.

'Move,' Aragorn hissed. 'Quickly, quickly!'

'I can't run another step,' Pippin panted in genuine misery as Frodo dragged him along. 'I simply can't. You'll have to leave me behind.'

'We're not leaving anyone behind,' Boromir told him. An arrow thunked into a tree trunk close behind Gimli, and the dwarf jumped a foot in the air.

'It's growing late, Aragorn!' he called. 'Time to make a decision, or make a stand!'

'Not an option,' Aragorn panted. 'Up into the trees, everyone!'

Glorfindel and Boromir lifted each of the hobbits up into the branches, Glorfindel grimacing as he moved his injured shoulder. Azshar went next, leaping up and pulling herself into the tree. She climbed quickly, passing the hobbits in her haste to get to a good vantage point so she could see the orcs.

But to her surprise, she was suddenly faced with the business end of an arrow.

She stopped short, balancing on the branch and holding up both hands to show her good intentions.

'Who are you?' the elf asked her in Sindarin. A second and third elf dropped onto the branch beside him, both of them armed and suspicious. The first elf continued.

'Who are your companions,' he asked, 'and what are you doing in our forest?'


If you are wondering where the cave troll was... I wrote the chapter, realised that I'd forgotten about him, and then decided I was too tired to fit him in. Which is a shame, considering our old friends Bill, Tom, and Bert from a few chapters back.

I'll see you next chapter when Nerwen makes a cameo, the Fellowship tries tightrope walking, Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted (by Haldir), and Gimli is only into blindfolds if everyone else is too. Lots of love, Sige