Chapter Twenty-Eight: Cilintilla
When Azshar woke, the sun was high in the sky, filtering through the leaves. She sat up slowly and frowned. She hadn't slept that long, that deeply, since…
She couldn't remember. Maybe she never had.
She suddenly became aware of someone standing at the end of her bed. Azshar stood up quickly, staring at him. His skin was pale, and his hair white as snow. His eyes were luminous and violet, and his appearance altogether had something untouchably inhuman, ageless and eternal.
'Hello,' he said. His voice resonated deep within her.
'Hello,' she said cautiously.
'Azshar. That is your name, isn't it?'
She frowned. 'Who are you?'
'You know of me. I am Lórien.'
'I am in Lórien,' Azshar said slowly. The being smiled.
'This place is named for another place, which is named for me,' he said. 'I am Lórien, the Master of Dreams.'
She stared at him. 'You're a Vala,' she whispered. Lórien looked amused, and she shook her head slowly. 'I'm not really awake, am I?'
'No.'
'Why are you here?'
He advanced, his deep, violet eyes boring into her. 'It was I who created the Enchanted River,' he said softly. 'Many millennia ago, someone prayed for death. Instead, I gave him rebirth.'
Water that sent someone to sleep and then woke them without any memory of who they used to be, thought Azshar, feeling strangely detached from what was happening. Could that really be called rebirth?
'Yes, it can,' said Lórien. She stared at him, disturbed.
'If that is true, why do I still dream of my past?' she asked. Lórien smiled eerily.
'There are some things that are stronger than enchantments and tricks of magic,' he said. 'Memory. Family. Love. Hope.'
'I have given up hope of ever remembering,' Azshar said softly. 'Should I hope again?'
'Time will tell,' Lórien replied. He reached out and touched her cheek. His hand was cold.
'The man who prayed to you,' she whispered. 'Was he reborn? Did he get a chance at a new life?'
'He never drank the water,' Lórien said. 'He took it and gave it to someone else.'
'So much for mercy,' Azshar said, suddenly suspecting she knew who Lórien was talking about. 'Maybe you should have answered his prayer and let him die.'
'Maybe,' said the Vala, dropping his hand from her face. 'But who can say whether you would be alive today if I had?'
'I don't know what you mean,' she said. 'I don't remember.'
'Maybe you never will. But despite your troubles, you have been reborn. New life is a gift. Remember that.'
'Glorfindel was reborn too,' she said harshly. 'Do you consider what you did to him a gift?'
'If Glorfindel had not been given another life, Azshar would never have met him,' Lórien said, his violet eyes glowing. 'But everything comes at a price. His duty is his price.'
'He has paid dearly,' Azshar said, shaking her head. 'You don't know what you have taken from him.'
'Child, you do not know what we have taken from him,' Lórien said, stepping forward. 'Laurefindelë is a blade, and when a blade is blunt, it must be sharpened.'
Azshar stared at him, puzzled. What was he saying? What more had the Valar taken from Glorfindel? Why had they thought him blunt?
'I am Vala, not Elda,' Lórien said, in response to her silent questions. 'Our ways are not for you to understand. But we are not set against you, Azshar. Or against Laurefindelë.'
'Do you hear us when we call to you?' she whispered.
'If we are listening,' Lórien replied.
Azshar woke, properly this time, at dawn. Her body felt heavy and tired, and her head hurt. She supposed it was the symptoms of a long, difficult journey finally catching up with her. That, or the disturbing dream she'd just had, the eerie feeling of which lingered.
There were birds singing to each other, their high, ghostly calls drifting down from the towering treetops and intertwining with the words of a far-off song. Azshar sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. The elves of Lothlórien were singing for Gandalf.
Glorfindel was sitting cross-legged at the end of her mattress, his back to her and his head bowed, unmoving. Azshar shuffled over and sat beside him, noticing his shoulder had been properly tended and bandaged.
'Did you sleep?' she whispered. He shook his head slowly, still staring unseeingly down at the floor. She watched him with some concern. Maybe the journey was catching up with him too.
They hadn't talked about his reaction to Gandalf's death, and she suspected they weren't going to. Pushing him to say something wouldn't help. But she'd grown better at reading Glorfindel by now. Before, she'd only seen stony indifference in the lines of his face; now, she could see grief, guilt, and most of all, anger.
And she knew he communicated better with actions than by speaking. Wordlessly, gently, she put her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. As the minutes passed, he slowly relaxed into her.
He brought his hand up to rest on her arm. He was always so warm, she thought. So warm, for someone who pretended to be so cold.
'I could have helped him,' he whispered. 'But I froze.'
Her heart wrenched. 'No.'
'I could have saved him, and now he's dead, and the world will be worse for it.'
Azshar tightened her hold on him. 'Gandalf would be the last person in the world to blame you for it.'
He sighed heavily. 'I will blame myself, then,' he said. 'What's one more thing to live with?'
Azshar let go of him and moved to kneel in front of him, taking his hands in hers. For once, they weren't shaking.
'I don't like it when you say things like that.'
His mouth twisted. 'Nor do you like it when I'm silent, but those are your two choices.'
'Glorfindel, I want you to be glad that we've made it as far as we have,' she said firmly. 'I want you to realise that Gandalf died so that we could be safe here, instead of dead with him in the bowels of Moria. It hurts, but that's the cost of living.'
'What could you know of the cost of living?' he murmured staring down at her, his fingers curling around hers.
'I'm learning,' she whispered, and she moved up to kiss him.
He poured his anger, frustration and guilt into her, letting go of her hands to wrap his arms around her and pull her up to him. He kissed her hard, hungrily, mercilessly. Azshar kissed him back.
He felt warm, strong, and solid. Every time he kissed her, touched her like this, she felt like she'd been missing him for years. No matter her past, her dreams, the war being waged around them, this was right. She knew in her gut that this was right.
He pulled her forwards so that he was lying on his back, holding her on top of him. She felt intoxicated, drunk on him when he pulled back slightly, his face framed by his blonde curls.
'I think you should stay here,' he breathed, then started kissing across her jaw. Azshar felt like he'd doused her with icy water. She pushed him back, pulling away and standing up.
'What?' she said, running a hand through her dishevelled hair.
Glorfindel raised himself on one elbow, suddenly reluctant. 'I think you should stay here in Lórien.'
'You mean without you.'
His jaw twitched. 'It's safe here. Galadriel is an old friend. She's powerful and wise, there's no one who could help you better than her.'
'Help me what?' Azshar said, shaking her head. 'We agreed my history was too dangerous. I've left it all behind, I'm not going to try to remember.'
'Maglor might be alive.'
She put her face in her hands. 'Glorfindel –'
'Anything could trigger your memories. You nearly died on Caradhras, let alone in Rivendell. And let's not forget the fact that we're being hunted by orcs, or that we're on our way to Mordor –'
'So you'd rather protect me than be near me,' Azshar said flatly. She wondered briefly whether she was being unfair, then decided she didn't care.
'Yes,' Glorfindel replied bluntly. 'I'd rather you were far away than dead in my arms.'
'I made a commitment to Frodo, same as you.'
'None of us are bound to go all the way.'
'But you will,' she said, her heart twisting in her chest. 'You'll go until it kills you.'
Glorfindel hesitated. 'I have a duty to –'
'I'm tired of hearing about your duty to Middle-earth and to the Valar,' she said thickly, her voice getting higher. 'If you want to marry me, you have a duty to me too. I have a duty to you, and I take it seriously enough to want to follow wherever you go.' She shook her head. 'I just wish you'd let me.'
Glorfindel stared up at her, unable or unwilling to reply. Azshar shook her head again and stepped back.
'I'm going to walk,' she said, and she turned to go. He sat up quickly and caught her hand.
'Azshar,' he said. 'Please.'
'I wish you wouldn't ask this of me,' she muttered.
'I'm asking you to think about it. Please.'
Her fingers slid out of his and she made her way to the door before he called her back one more time.
'Azshar –'
She turned around, sighing.
'It's because I love you,' he said quietly, twisting the ring around his little finger. 'It's all because of that. I love you.'
She stared back at him, sitting on the mattress with tousled hair and a cautiously open face. The last time he'd told her that was in Rivendell, the night before they'd left. This time, it looked like it hurt him to say.
'I love you too,' she admitted, and she left.
The woods at dawn felt sacred, untouched. There was a thin mist that lay over the ground, billowing away from Azshar as she paced slowly between the trees. It was so peaceful, so beautiful that it felt sacrilegious to contemplate leaving.
She could stay, pretend Glorfindel had never told her about the damned village, pretend she'd never met Glorfindel at all. She really had a choice this time, to stay with him, or let him leave her behind.
But somehow, she still felt like she had no say in the matter. She wanted to leave. She wasn't torn about it; she wanted to stay with the Fellowship, do what she promised Frodo she would. She wanted, needed, to be where Glorfindel was. She just needed to convince him it was the right thing to do.
The sun was up and the mist gone when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned to see Celeborn approaching. She stopped and waited for him, smiling slightly in welcome. He returned the smile.
'Azshar,' he said.
'Celeborn. Should I pretend this is a coincidence?'
'If you'd like,' he said wryly, and they began walking together. 'Or I could tell you that I have been following you for a while, out of a desire to speak to you again.'
'Galadriel had no such desire?' Azshar asked, keeping her tone light.
'Galadriel is talking to Frodo at the moment,' Celeborn said. 'But believe me, she has several thousand years' worth of desire to talk to you. You've been sorely missed.'
'Did we know each other well, you and I?' she asked him. Celeborn hummed.
'Not well, no. We met a few times. I won't say when or where, but I was a very great admirer of yours. Many were.'
'You're kind,' she said, and he shrugged.
'It's true. Since you don't remember, you'll just have to believe me.'
Azshar smiled. His flattery was transparent, but it was successfully buoying her mood. 'I suppose it was my very great prowess in battle.'
Celeborn laughed. 'Actually, it was because of how compassionate you were. You had a talent for making people feel understood more than any other Noldo I ever met. When someone spoke to you, more often than not they would come away smiling.'
Azshar felt strangely embarrassed. 'Thank you,' she said, and Celeborn smiled.
'That isn't to say that your feats in battle weren't impressive.'
She laughed. 'You know, I killed a troll eighty years ago.'
'Remarkable,' he said. 'Really, you are. Your resilience amazes me.'
She was slightly saddened by his words, and she smiled at him. 'I am sorry I don't remember you,' she said earnestly. 'But I hope we can be friends again.'
'So do I,' said Celeborn, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Then he pointed over he shoulder. 'I brought you here for a reason.'
She turned and saw a still, secluded pool. Laid on its shore were new clothes and a towel. Azshar laughed with real delight.
'I can wash!' she said. Celeborn nodded.
'The rest of your companions seemed content with the water we brought for them. But for you…' he shrugged and gestured at the pool. 'Anything you want. Anything you need.'
There was more history, more significance behind his words than Azshar knew she could understand. She nodded, staring over at the glass-like water.
'I really am sorry I don't remember you,' she said quietly.
'It might be for the best,' Celeborn said. 'Let's leave the past behind. There's more than enough to think about for the present.'
He left her there to undress and bathe. She waded into the water gingerly; it was cold, but not nearly as cold as she'd expected. Azshar untied her hair and submerged herself in the water, relishing in the sudden, heavy silence of underwater.
It didn't take her long to wash, but she stayed in the water until her fingers wrinkled, thinking about Lothlórien.
Glorfindel wanted her to stay, and she wanted to as well. She liked Celeborn, and though she hadn't had a chance to properly speak with Galadriel, what she remembered of her from her youth made her optimistic. Here she felt safe, serene. For the first time she could remember, she felt she was among her own people.
But Glorfindel was going to go on, with or without her. And he was the one thing that Azshar, someone with no family, friends, history or memory, had found herself clinging to. If she let him go, she would lose herself all over again. She loved him.
She waded out of the pool and dried herself, pulling on the clothes that had been left for her. There was a long, pale blue dress that Azshar felt was similar in style to the dress she'd been wearing when she woke in the cave.
She put her locket on with it and let her hair hang loose, drying into dark waves down her back. She picked up her old clothes to carry back to camp.
The elves of Lothlórien left the Fellowship to themselves for the most part, but Azshar could see in their eyes, when she caught them watching her, that they knew who she was. They were deferential to her beyond what they were to Legolas, a prince, and even to Glorfindel. It was confusing, disorienting. She didn't know how to respond.
Haldir, Oropher and Rúmil came to visit a few days into their stay. Azshar could see something different in their eyes when they looked at her, a curiosity, or maybe even a pity, that hadn't been there before. She didn't mention it, and nor did they.
In fact, no one mentioned it, ever. It seemed to Azshar like her identity was the best-kept secret in the Golden Wood – a secret to which everyone was privy but her.
She spent all her time with the Fellowship, who spent most of their time sleeping. The hobbits were exhausted and grieving the loss of Gandalf. Aragorn was grappling with the prospect of leading them all into Mordor. Boromir had been brooding for days and was avoiding talking to anyone. The exception was Gimli who, though he was loath to admit it, was strangely taken by the woods. He and Legolas were spending more of their time talking together.
Glorfindel had been mostly absent since the first day, when he'd asked her to stay behind. Azshar didn't know whether it was because they'd fought and he thought she wouldn't want to see him, or perhaps because he'd confessed that he loved her and now he wasn't sure how to face her.
Azshar had thought that in Lórien, a land of elves ruled by Galadriel and Celeborn, Glorfindel might have relaxed a little. But the few, brief times she did see him, he seemed on edge and uncomfortable, like he did everywhere else. She wished he would talk to her about it. She wished he would stop long enough for her to be able to ask.
The days passed slowly and serenely. Azshar felt suspended in a strange limbo; she could imagine being at peace in a place like this, but not while eerie dreams plagued her and Glorfindel avoided her. She had brought too much turmoil with her into the still waters of Lothlórien.
She saw Glorfindel again one evening as she sat alone by the fire. The hobbits were lying on their backs a little way away, gazing up at the stars and talking about the poems Bilbo used to recite. Boromir was in his tent, and Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn were elsewhere.
Azshar watched as Glorfindel walked into the clearing, waiting for him to notice her there. His face softened slightly when he saw her, and he made his way over and sat beside her.
'What are you doing here alone?' he asked.
She shrugged. 'I'm not alone. The hobbits are over there.'
'You could go up into the city. You'd make friends easily.'
Azshar rubbed her hands together slowly. 'Everyone here knows who I am.'
'They know all of us. We're outsiders in their city.'
'No,' she said, half-turning to face him. 'I mean they know who I am, really. They know my name and my history, and they've all been instructed to keep it from me.' Glorfindel stared at her, at a loss for words. Azshar sighed. 'That's why I can't make friends. Everyone knows something I don't.'
He nodded slowly, looking down. 'Right.'
There was a silence, broken only by the crackling of flames, before Azshar spoke again. 'How is your shoulder?'
'The wound was superficial, you shouldn't worry,' Glorfindel said. 'Galadriel checked over it herself today.'
'So you've seen her too,' Azshar said without thinking, and when Glorfindel's brow creased in confusion, she shook her head and sighed. 'I think everyone in the Fellowship has spoken to her but me. It's been days, I can't help but wonder…'
'She isn't sure how to talk to you,' Glorfindel said quietly. 'You aren't the same friend she once had. You're Azshar.'
His words weren't meant to hurt her, but they still stung. 'I remember her,' she murmured. 'I remember some of how we used to be together. Just… not everything.'
'Maybe not the most important things.'
'Maybe not,' she agreed, looking up. 'Did she tell you anything about me?'
Glorfindel shook his head, spinning the gold ring around his little finger. 'Beyond the fact that you crossed the Helcaraxë with us, nothing. She won't tell me where you lived in the First Age, when you disappeared, how she met you, who your family was.'
'Did you ask?'
He nodded slowly. 'Yes.'
'Oh,' she said, staring into the fire as her heart sank. Galadriel had told her she wanted to be her friend again, even if Azshar couldn't recover her memories. What had changed?
'I also told them what happened the first time you got your memories back,' Glorfindel said, seeming to read her thoughts. 'When you nearly died in Rivendell. Celeborn thought it might be dangerous for you to be around Galadriel, in case she triggered a memory. Galadriel agreed.'
Azshar suddenly felt exhausted. Here was yet another item on the list of things that Maglor had taken from her: the opportunity to know her friends again.
'How can you ask me to stay here?' she whispered hollowly. 'They're all hiding secrets from me. Galadriel won't speak to me, lest she kills me. And you… will be gone'
Glorfindel was silent. He had no answer because there was none. He couldn't blame her for wanting to leave, but he still didn't want her to. The night darkened around them as they sat in silence, and high in the trees, silver lanterns were lit.
'Have you been avoiding me?' Azshar whispered into the hush, her eyes fixed on the fire. Glorfindel shifted beside her. 'No, Azshar. No.'
'I haven't seen you in days.'
'Galadriel has had a lot to say to me,' he said quietly. 'She's been asking questions about you, about me. She's been making me talk about my past. That's all.'
'That's really all?'
Glorfindel hesitated. 'And… I thought… maybe if I left you alone here, you would see you'd be fine without me.'
She swallowed thickly. 'When Maglor took me from you at the Battle of the Five Armies, were you fine without me?'
He shook his head. 'That was different. Entirely.'
'Maybe,' she muttered, returning her gaze to the fire. She loved Glorfindel, and he loved her, but she wasn't happy. There were too many things in the way of that.
'I've made a mess of it, haven't I?' Glorfindel said.
'Of what?'
'Everything. I don't know. I'm sorry.'
'I think everything around us is a mess,' Azshar said. 'So we can't really help but be messes ourselves.'
Glorfindel smiled crookedly and put his arm around her, pulling her against him. Azshar closed her eyes and rested her cheek on his chest, feeling relief fill her at his touch. Everything was suddenly alright again.
They slept together in her tent that night, Azshar curled around Glorfindel, his hand tangled in her hair. She woke before the sun rose, and to her surprise, he was asleep beside her.
She raised herself slowly, carefully, so as not to wake him. He was a light sleeper, and it was rare that she saw him like this, unconscious and oddly vulnerable. His face was relaxed in sleep, the tension and hard lines smoothed away. Now he just looked sad.
She managed to get up without waking him. She exited the tent and found herself surrounded by mist, the early morning still and quiet. The camp was empty except for a tall, graceful figure, dressed all in white, half obscured by one of the mallorn trees. Galadriel watched Azshar with piercing blue eyes.
Azshar stared back, wondering whether Galadriel had meant to be seen by her. But after a moment, Galadriel turned and began walking away, beckoning for Azshar to follow.
She led Azshar through the trees as unseen birds called above them, their songs echoing down to the moss and earth of the forest floor. They descended into a clearing, at the centre of which was a basin set upon a stone pedestal. Galadriel waited beside it, smiling when Azshar stopped before her.
'You are wondering why I have not spoken to you,' Galadriel said.
'Glorfindel explained it to me,' Azshar replied, looking down. 'I understand.'
'Perhaps one day we will find a way to spend time together without the risk of your death.'
'Perhaps,' Azshar echoed. Then she frowned. 'But if that's the case, why have you brought me here?'
'I thought we might risk one conversation,' Galadriel said, her radiant smile widening. 'I want to show you my mirror.'
Azshar stepped forwards and peered into the basin. Silvery, reflective water reflected her face back at her. She felt oddly compelled to touch it.
'Strange,' she murmured.
'Indeed. It reflects many things, remembered and forgotten, seen and not yet seen. I draw the water from a fountain that was created by the Vala Lórien.'
Azshar looked up sharply. 'Really?'
Galadriel nodded. 'Do not touch the water. The consequences are mysterious and not always desirable.'
So, the Enchanted River hadn't been Lórien's only mysterious creation in Middle-earth. Azshar looked back down at the water. 'What will it show me?'
'I cannot say. I do not control the Mirror.'
'Will it be dangerous?'
Galadriel seemed to know what Azshar was asking. Would the water show her memories that might kill her?
'I don't know,' she replied. 'It is your decision to look. But I have always found that the Mirror never shows more than it ought, and that looking usually does more good than harm.'
Azshar hesitated, gazing at the woman who had once been her friend. Glorfindel would tell her not to look, she was sure. He wouldn't want her to risk it. But he was sleeping, and Azshar had always had trouble ignoring the pull of her past. She stepped onto the dais and leaned over the Mirror.
For a moment, she saw only her own face in the gentle light of the rising sun. But then it shifted into something else entirely. She could see herself, younger and brighter-eyed.
Her father was standing before her, listening to her tell some story that Azshar couldn't hear, his eyes crinkling in amusement. He reached out and touched her cheek fondly, saying something in response. She laughed, bending double with mirth.
The Mirror shifted. She was in a city built from white stone, nestled in the mountains. It was dawn, and she was standing at the city walls, looking out over the valley and waiting in silent anticipation for the sun to rise. The edge of the sun surfaced over the mountain, and someone began to sing.
The scene shifted again, and Azshar saw herself standing at the door to a tiny, isolated cottage near a beach. She was older now, and her eyes were empty. A tall, silver-haired elf she didn't recognise was before her, dressed in armour like he was going to war.
'You can come with us,' he said to her gently, 'or you can stay. The choice is yours. But I believe this will be the battle that ends it all.'
She didn't reply to him. Looking at herself, Azshar couldn't tell if she had even heard or understood. The silver-haired elf didn't seem surprised, and he took her hand and kissed it.
'Goodbye,' he said. 'May the Valar watch over you. And may we meet again.'
The Mirror changed again. It was night, and it was raining. Maglor was leading a horse by its reins across a grassy stretch, his hood up. Across the saddle of the horse lay a body, limp and unmoving, and after a moment, Azshar realised it was her own.
There was a black hole in the hillside before Maglor, and he studied it for a long moment before his shoulders slowly slumped.
'Far enough,' he muttered to himself. 'This is far enough.'
He pulled Azshar's unconscious body off the horse and carried her into the inky black of the cave. Minutes later, he remerged. He didn't look back as he walked away, mounting his horse and riding west.
The scene shifted one last time. There was a fast-flowing river behind Azshar as she stood on a woody hill, her sword drawn. In front of her was Maglor, his face drawn and his eyes frantic. Behind her at an equal distance was Glorfindel, an arm held out in appeasement. She was suspended between the two.
'No!' Glorfindel shouted, but it was too late. Maglor drew in a reluctant breath…
The Mirror dissolved into inky blackness, and Azshar lurched upright, inhaling deeply. Galadriel watched her with keen interest and a good deal of concern.
'What did you see?' she asked.
'Things I don't remember,' Azshar said shakily. 'My father. Someone leaving me to ride to war. Maglor burying me in the cave the first time I drank the cursed water.'
'All from the past,' Galadriel said thoughtfully.
'I saw something else, something I think is from the future,' Azshar said. 'Maglor is alive, and he escaped Moria.'
Galadriel's eyes widened. 'Did you see him here, in Lórien?'
'No. We were by a river.'
'Not everything in the Mirror comes to pass,' Galadriel said carefully. 'You could stay here when your companions go on.'
Azshar looked down, reluctant to sound ungrateful. 'And if I have decided to go on with them?'
'I understand,' Galadriel said. 'But Glorfindel told me he hoped you'd stay.'
'I know,' Azshar said quietly. 'The funny part is that it's mostly because of him that I'm going.'
Galadriel watched her sadly. 'I am sorry for you, Azshar. I will never be able to tell you how sorry I am for everything. You deserve the world, and instead you have the worst of it.'
'I have Glorfindel,' Azshar said, looking up. 'He's saved me, more than he knows.'
'More than either of you know,' Galadriel said softly. 'But it is hard for him to love, and even harder for him to let himself be loved. He has led a long, difficult life.'
'I'll take the worst of the world, as long as I have him,' Azshar said. 'He's… a nightmare, sometimes. He scares me. But I know in my heart that we were destined to meet, to be together. Maybe that's why I woke up when I did, so I could finally meet him.'
'Maybe,' Galadriel agreed. Azshar closed her hand around her locket, suddenly hesitant.
'Nerwen… can I ask you something?'
'Yes.'
'Have you heard about what Glorfindel…' she trailed off, unwilling to even say it.
'What is it?' Galadriel asked quietly.
'Have you heard of the village?' Azshar asked. 'What Glorfindel did there?'
She stilled. 'I have.'
'How… how do you look at him the same way?'
Galadriel clasped her hands. 'You don't,' she said. 'But you must know that Glorfindel was the lowest he has ever been when he killed those people. He was grieving to the point of madness, and he thought he was exacting revenge, dealing justice. He has paid a very hard price for his actions ever since.'
'He doesn't remember why he did it,' Azshar said.
'That is between him and the Valar.'
'Why was he grieving?' she whispered, but Galadriel shook her head.
'Here is what I will tell you: Glorfindel's heart was broken, and he wanted revenge. He went to that village, and he killed nine people. Every person he killed had attacked him first, trying to defend their village from his attack.'
Azshar stared, confused. 'That's not the way he told it,' he said slowly. 'He made it sound as though he – he killed all of them. And that they were defenceless.'
'Rumours become exaggerated when they spread,' Galadriel said. 'And the memory of that village has haunted him for a long time. Perhaps he has exaggerated it in his mind too. But it does not change the fact that he became a murderer that day.'
Azshar nodded slowly, and Galadriel stepped forward and laid a cool hand on her cheek. 'Promise me something, Azshar.'
'What is it?'
'You must remember that there is always, always hope.'
Azshar frowned, concerned. 'Is… is something going to happen?'
'There is a truth that needs to be told,' Galadriel said gravely. 'Perhaps it will change nothing. Perhaps it will change everything. But over my long life, I have learned that things have a way of doing what they should in the end.'
'You're going to tell me something?' Azshar murmured, apprehensive. Galadriel smiled and dropped her hand.
'Not you. Not yet. Azshar, will you go tell Glorfindel that I wish to speak with him?' Azshar stepped back and nodded cautiously. The sun suddenly flooded the clearing, glancing off the water of the Mirror and making Galadriel's hair shine like gold.
'We will talk again,' Galadriel said warmly. 'I have hope in that. And I know that you are still my friend, though you have changed your name.'
Azshar nodded once and left the clearing.
To her surprise, Glorfindel was still sleeping when she returned to the camp. She knelt beside him and touched him gently on the shoulder and he stirred, turning and inhaling deeply. He half sat up before seeming to realise where he was, then he slumped back down.
'Good morning,' Azshar said softly.
'Mhmm,' he responded, putting an arm over his eyes.
'You slept for a long time,' she said pushing a strand of hair out of his face with her finger.
'Mm. Sorry,' he mumbled, his voice still gravelly with sleep.
'You apologise too much,' she said, and she leaned down to kiss him. It was sweet and slow, and when she pulled away, he followed her up, pulling her across his lap and kissing until she'd forgotten why she came to find him. He was unhurried and surprisingly tender, and it was him who pulled away next, burying his face in the crook of her neck and draping himself over her.
'I had a dream,' he murmured into her skin. Azshar threaded her fingers into his hair.
'Oh?'
'It wasn't really a dream. It was a message from the Valar.' Azshar stilled against him, and his arms tightened around her fractionally. 'It's alright. It was good news.'
'Good news?' she whispered. Glorfindel pulled away to meet her eyes.
'Lórien appeared and spoke to me. He said the Valar had decided it was time to release me from their service.'
Azshar didn't dare breathe. 'Meaning…'
'No more duty to them, or anyone. We can get married, run away together, ignore the rest of the world. We can do whatever we want.'
Azshar exhaled shakily and threw herself forward, hugging Glorfindel tightly. He returned the embrace, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She wondered whether what she'd said to Lórien had anything to do with the sudden decision. She decided it didn't matter.
But when she pulled back, she could tell there was something wrong. There was something missing from Glorfindel's face; relief maybe, or joy. She stared at him.
'What else?'
He looked down. 'I am released from service… once Sauron has been defeated.'
Azshar wilted a little. 'Ah.'
'It isn't impossible. So much of his power is kept in Frodo's ring. If we destroy it, we destroy him.'
Azshar cupped his face in her hands, nodding. 'We can do it. We can do it for Middle-earth, and we can do it for us.'
He stared at her. 'You still want to come.'
'You think telling me that we could win our future with this quest would make me want to stay?'
'So be it,' he whispered, and he kissed her again with an urgency and fervour that had been missing before. Azshar nearly lost herself in it before breaking away, pulse hammering.
'Galadriel,' she breathed against his lips. 'She wants to see you.'
'Now?' Glorfindel whispered. 'Really?'
'She's waiting at her Mirror.'
He groaned and sat up straight. 'You can't wake me up like this and then tell me to leave.'
Azshar smiled. 'Understood. It won't happen again.'
He kept his face there, a breath away from hers, for another moment of stillness before he pulled away. He got off the mattress and stood, stretching his arms above his head.
'I'll be back,' he said, his voice still warm. Then he left her alone in the tent.
Thank you, my dear readers, for reading this far! There is only one more chapter in Part Two of this story, and I am unbelievably excited to see what you all think. Keep an eye out for Chapter 29, in which Several Things go Horribly Wrong.
Love, S
