"When Sauron learned of the repentance and revolt of Celebrimbor his disguise fell and his wraith was revealed; and gathering a great force he moved over Calenardhon (Rohan) to the invasion of Eriador in the year 1695. When news of this reached Gil-Galad he sent out a force under Elrond Half-elven; but Elrond had far to go, and Sauron turned north and made at once for Eregion. … Sauron's host was far greater than theirs, great enough both to hold them off and closely to invest Eregion. At last the attackers broke into Eregion with ruin and devastation …"

– History of Galadriel and Celeborn, Unfinished Tales of Numenor and Middle-Earth

"Elrond!"

The elf had not fallen far by the time Azog raced to his side; the orc caught him mid-fall, his good arm going round the man's waist. His upper body went limp, bending back over Azog's hold, his head dropping like a stone in the air. Panic shot through Azog, sharp and heavy, like a well-aimed spear.

"You know this elf, my lord?" Artig asked in the common tongue. Azog barely heard him through the drumming in his ears, the frantic pounding of his heart echoing through him.

"A friend," He said simply, carefully maneuvering the elf in his grasp, until Elrond was leaned forward, resting upon his chest. He hiked him higher, and spun round, taking long, heavy strides down the path. "One I owe a great deal." As he walked, the others followed unbidden, his shadows along the way. They came soon enough to a small field, where their wargs remained patiently waiting. The clearing had been too tight for them to aid in the attack; they were all restless, pacing and growling.

Azog gave a sharp call that brought them all to attention, and drew his own warg's eyes to him. She was not so fine as the warg he'd had before, but she was loyal, and young yet. She would learn. Azog swept up to her, leaping onto her back, setting Elrond before him.

"You're taking him with us?"

All he had to do to silence the orc who'd spoken was turn a fierce glare on him; he cowered, turning to his own warg, and all the others followed suit. Barking orders somewhat more roughly than he might have in other circumstances, Azog led the way, setting his warg, Chaznuk, running a steady pace.

Dire need, Elrond had said. Azog's mind raced, thinking of what could be wrong. His dream from some months ago returned to him, and he remembered the haughty blond elf's words. Elrond was still sick. Glancing down, Azog took in his pale, wan skin, almost waxy, and he felt how thin and frail the elf had gotten.

At the time, there had not been much he could do, whether the elf's words were true or not. By then, he was more than a fortnight away from Rivendell; more than that, his existence had become known amongst elves. If he had returned, Elrond's allies may have tried to take him captive. (And, much as he hated to admit it, they may have succeeded.) Still, even with those risks, he'd have gone back to save Elrond's life – before he'd become enmeshed in the chaos that was the invasion of the Shire.

By then, he'd come to be deep in the North Downs. After all was said and done, he'd been assured that Elrond's sons – including the young Estel – would be returning to Rivendell to help him. But Elrond must have left before they returned, and thus was never healed by them. He could not imagine any other answer for why the elven Lord was so ill.

Fear and nerves wracked his heart, and Azog pushed Chaznuk to run faster.

They took to the north-east, avoiding the main road by running dangerously close to the Fields of Fornost, or what Men called Dead Men's Dike. It wasn't much cover; there were no forests here, only long wide plains far as could be seen. They risked it for Elrond's sake, and luckily it wouldn't be long before they'd be off the plains and out of sight.

Towards the east, built upon a high hill near the base of the mountains, was Minas Vrûn, an ancient city of Men fallen into ruin and decay. Destroyed by Angmar when Arthedain fell, Minas Vrûn had long been abandoned by her people. None came near it, and those passing it on the Greenway gave it a wide berth. It stood quite close to the ruins of Fornost, where ghosts and ghouls wandered the wastes, and men were of the mind that all those places were haunted. That suited the orcs; they had not the manpower or the resources to build a like city of their own, and Minas Vrûn was far enough away from all else to give them some secrecy.

They came upon the city's stone entryway and rode through. It was more than wide and tall enough for all the wargs to enter, side by side, and the road they came in upon was wider still. They came to a halt, spread out amongst the main courtyard. Azog's warg reared round, and he shouted orders to his men, before barreling off on his own. Orcs in the streets leapt out of his way as he charged through alleys and down stone paths.

He passed under the archway to his home, entering the central courtyard. On all sides were towering walls, blocking out the outside world, and high balconies overlooking them, held up by ornate pillars. A few of these were crumbling; one of the balconies had completely fallen. Azog stepped down off Chaznuk, gathering Elrond in his arms quickly as he could, before making for the door.

Once, perhaps, this had been the home of a mighty noble. Now, it was a decrepit shithole, barely worth living in. But Azog made do. It was better, perhaps, than the ruined halls of Moria, forever reeking of ash and death.

Azog took to the main staircase, practically leaping over the steps towards his bedroom. It was a large chamber, overlooking the eastern wall of the city. Originally, perhaps, it was a sitting room, but as the main bedchambers had collapsed centuries before, it would have to do. Inside, a few pieces of furniture, orc made, were scattered about, including a large hammock, tied to either wall in the back corner. Azog laid Elrond upon it, and set to removing his many extra layers. Riding boots, traveling cloak, shawl, robes, all came off, until he was in only his under things.

He did not seem to be wounded… Azog could not find any injuries, of the body, at least. It was the mind, then, where the sickness lay. Frowning, Azog turned his gaze to Elrond's face. The elf's expression was tight, pained, and he did not seem restful. The orc made to kneel beside him, reaching out to touch his face, when he heard footsteps in the hall.

"My lord?" Looking up to the doorway, Azog saw Thurag running towards him. "Lord Azog, what's going on? I've heard all sorts of weird shit about you bringing an elf into –" She slid to a halt in the doorway, faltering, mouth and eyes both going wide. "Oh, Sauron's sweaty tits, it's true. You brought an elf into Goi-suk!"

Grunting, Azog turned his back to her. "What of it?"

"What of – Zlurik will have your head!"

That brought a rumbling laugh out of him. "I'd like to see him try." Gently, the orc ran his hand along Elrond's cheek, beginning his first attempts to seek out that bond they'd once shared, the bridge that brought their Lights together. Elrond's end was weak, so very weak… he could barely feel it.

"What are you doing?"

"This elf is a friend, to whom I owe my life." Azog told her. He heard her approaching. "I trust him, and Zlurik will have to trust me."

Thurag cursed. "Why have you always got to shove your weight around? He's an elf! We don't let the damn golugs in here for good reason. Zlurik's going to want more of an explanation than you demanding he trust you and leave it at that."

"Yes!" Frustrated, Azog finally spun round. "Yes, I know. Just…" Sighing, he turned back to Elrond. "Distract him for a few hours. Give me that."

Thurag was quiet for a moment, before she sighed, too. "Fine. Fine! You owe me, you shithead." Throwing her hands up, she turned and walked back out, and Azog paid her no mind.

He had thoughts only for his lover, and the frail strength left in him. Placing his hand along Elrond's cheek, he closed his eyes, reached out, and dove into the elf's fading light…

Running, running endlessly, without destination, without direction, moving in desperation to attempt to outrun the force at his back. Elrond did not know how many followed; he could not tell. His soldiers were scattered, their ranks broken, all but slaughtered by the might of Sauron's armies. They had failed – failed to keep him back, failed to give the elves of Eregion time to escape.

The thought was enough to slow him down, but he stayed such darkness for a time. Those who were left needed him. They would have to regroup, to make some attempt at waylaying the Dark Lord again, or else he would cross the River Lhun undeterred and take Lindon next. Something had to be done…

Elrond came to a halt, and reached out, grasping for the nearest tree, to rest his weight upon. Pain and guilt weighed down on him heavily, and he sunk to its base, gasping for breath. He lifted his eyes; about him, soldiers came running, all slowing to a halt at varying intervals. Glorfindel came to stand by him.

"They have given up the chase," He said, looking back. "They'll return to the main force and make for Ost-in-Edhil."

Forcing himself to rise, Elrond stammered. "We have to reform ranks. We can come upon their rear as they enter the city, perhaps – divert some of the attack away from the civilians."

Glorfindel turned to him, disbelief clear on his face. "We haven't the numbers. It's suicide."

"So we stand and do nothing?" Elrond spat, huffing. "Our High King trusted this to me, and I shall not fail him, or die in the attempt."

"Die for what?" Glorfindel replied dryly. "You will not earn Gil-Galad's favor as a corpse. We must make for the Havens and join with him in its defense. Eregion is lost."

"My lords!"

Both turned as one; the soldier who called for them gestured towards the east. They followed his gaze. Through the trees, they could see elves running for them; not soldiers, not those who served in Elrond's army.

"Survivors?" Glorfindel asked. "Escaped from the city?"

"They may know something of its fate." Frowning, Elrond approached as the elves came towards them, stopping near them. One fell immediately to her knees, blood flowing from a wound in her side. Elrond knelt by her, examining the wound.

"You come from Eregion?"

She nodded. "T – The capital," As she spoke, Elrond tore at his sleeves, and began wrapping them around her torso.

"Ost-in-Edhil is taken," The elf standing beside her continued. "Sauron came upon it yester eve. The city guard was far outnumbered; they could not hold."

Elrond stood, aiding the woman to stand as well. "And the House of the Mirdain?"

"Ransacked," Another elf, some feet away, replied breathlessly. "I saw it fall. Lord Celebrimbor stood against the Dark Lord himself outside its gates, but he was outmatched."

Elrond's chest tightened, and he struggled to speak. "He is dead then?"

The elf shook his head. "Taken," He replied. "And the rings with him."

"Not all of them," Glorfindel, turning to Elrond, said. "The Three and the Seven were already removed from the city."

"It may not be long before he has them all, if Celebrimbor is his captive." Elrond did not think ill of the man; but he knew the methods the Dark Lord used on his prisoners. If the mighty smith did know of the locations of the other rings… "We must return to the King. He needs to know."

Suddenly, the world began to fade… the reality of the memory morphing into something more dreamlike. Elrond stood alone in an empty field, his friends and soldiers-in-arms gone. Turning round, he looked upon the whole might of Sauron's army… and above them, carried like a standard over the field, was Celebrimbor, his body riddled with wounds and arrows, hung naked from a pole over the orcs.

Tears stung Elrond's eyes. I failed you, he thought. Valar, forgive me. I failed you all.

No, Elrond.

The voice came suddenly, and from what seemed like nowhere, and yet everywhere. Elrond jumped. "Who is that?" He called desperately. "Who are you?"

You know who I am, golugizub. Their deaths are not on your head. You did all you could, and saved many lives.

The elf hung his head, hands clenched tight at his sides. "It wasn't enough." Elrond whispered, lifting his head to the invading army again. "It is never enough." He stood, defenseless, before the oncoming storm, ready to let it sweep him away – then, from beside him appeared an orc, who quickly stepped in front of Elrond, sword raised.

"What are you doing?"

"Fighting with you." The orc said, turning to grin at Elrond. He was… so familiar. "I will not leave you to fight your darkness alone, Elrond."

"You…" Elrond's eyes went wide. "Azog."

"Good. You do remember."

"Azog, this fight is impossible, you'll die!"

"Perhaps I will," The orc shrugged, stepping into a battle stance. "But then, this fight has already been fought, hasn't it?"

Yes, it – it had. Elrond remembered suddenly that this had happened long ago. Why was he here? What was…

Elrond woke and came to himself slowly, with a steady groan.

"Azog?" Blinking rapidly, his vision finally cleared and he set eyes upon the delight of his heart. "It is you!" In his joy he tried to sit up, only to feel his body fight him with every move. Exhaustion seeped into his very bones, and he fell back with a heavy sigh.

"Do not strain yourself," Azog replied, moving his hand to rest upon Elrond's shoulders. "You've been through quite an ordeal, it seems. Did your ride here from Rivendell alone?"

"Yes," That did not seem to please the orc, who frowned at his answer. "It was necessary. I left in secret, and without the blessing of my kin."

"For what purpose?"

"For you, of course." Elrond smacked his thigh lightly, able to move his arm at least that much. "What did you think?"

Azog looked stunned. "You… I don't understand."

Rolling his eyes, Elrond made to move to sit up again, this time taking it slowly and gently. "I missed you." He admitted quietly. "All the music and wonder of the valley seemed cold and empty without you at my side. With some… cajoling, from my friends, I was convinced that seeking you out would benefit me. I have given Glorfindel rule of the valley for some time, so that I could remain with you."

"Remain with…" Azog's eyes went wide. "You wish to stay?"

Elrond felt his throat tighten, and go dry. "Do you… would you rather I go? I – I do not want to impose…" He was silence by a finger upon his lips.

"Do not mistake my shock for disapproval." In fact, the orc was grinning, practically beaming. "You – I cannot believe you." Then, his look darkened. "Still, to have ridden all this way in your condition? That was foolish!"

"I was not quite so – weak, as this when I left." Elrond huffed. "But travel wearied me more than I expected."

"You could have been gravely hurt." Azog continued. "You could have died! Had my patrol not seen you –"

"Yes, I remember." Elrond said. "I must admit, I was surprised to be saved from orcs, by orcs."

"We try to keep our enemies from attacking anyone in this land. We do not reveal ourselves, and I fear most mistake us for Rangers." Azog's expression was almost comical in its distaste, at that. Elrond smiled at it.

Reaching out, he clasped Azog's hand, tight. "It is so good to see you." It truly was; he felt better, simply sitting beside him. Tears pricking his eyes, Elrond lifted the orc's hand and kissed his palm. "By the Valar, I missed you."

Azog leaned down, enveloping the elf in a gentle, chaste kiss. He leaned away, leaving only a hair's breadth between them. "I have missed you gravely, golugizub. I am honored and overjoyed to have you here with me, now. I would keep you as long as I am able."

Elrond smiled in response. "Just try to get rid of me." They both chuckled at that.

The moment ended with a knock on the door. Elrond watched Azog's expression twist into a grimace, heard him growl as he sat up. "What?"

"Look, I gave you plenty of time," An orc in the doorway said, holding their arms up. "But Zlurik's hardly a patient orc. He –" The orc had barely begun to speak before another shoved past them, storming into the room.

Azog leapt to his feet, growling, placing himself between Elrond and the other orc, Zlurik. Elrond could not see him well, given the rather large figure standing in his way. He tried leaning to the side, and got a small glimpse of a tall, lanky figure, dressed in browns and greens. He wore a shawl around his shoulders, pinned with a metal insignia Elrond did not recognize.

The two orcs were clearly arguing in their own tongue. Elrond let them have at it, for a moment, but when he saw that it was obviously growing more heated, not less, he spoke.

"Since I am undoubtedly the subject of discussion here," He began, "Perhaps it would help if you spoke so I could understand?"

Both orcs turned to look at him. The stranger, Zlurik, seemed wary, narrowed eyes glowering at him. "Who are you?" The orc asked. "What is your business here?"

"I am –"

"He is Elros," Azog interrupted him sharply, turning to Zlurik. "An elf I met some time ago, who saved my life. I owe him a debt."

Zlurik turned his bitter glare on Azog. "I do not believe I asked you."

"Please!" Holding his hands up, Elrond turned to place his feet on the floor, and attempt to stand. With Azog's help, he just barely managed it. "I realize my being here is – unorthodox, at best." Elrond said. The orc behind both Azog and Zlurik snorted. "But I mean no harm. I am here out of affection and loyalty to Azog, and I will do nothing which might endanger him or his kin."

Zlurik eyed him carefully. "We cannot let you go." The orc replied. "Either you die by our blades, or you remain here."

"Any who attempt to harm him will die at my hand!" Azog barked sharply.

Elrond held up a hand. "I understand." Zlurik seemed skeptical. "I have no plans to leave. I came to stay with Azog, and that is all I desire."

The orc looked him over, let out a quiet line of orcish, before sighing and turning his back. "He will speak before the Elders tomorrow. We shall see what they have to say." He turned, and hesitating in the doorway, said something to Azog in orcish that made the orc growl. Then he was gone.

The other orc watched him go, turned and looked at Azog, shrugged, and followed after him.

Elrond let out a heavy sigh, before turning to his lover. "Elros?"

Azog gave a little jump. "I – it was what first came to mind." Frowning, he turned to Elrond. "I apologize if it is uncomfortable for you."

"It is fine." Of all names, taking his long-lost brother's was perhaps the most comfortable and familiar. "I suppose I should have thought to use such a name in the first place?"

"I fear how the others will react to you." Azog continued. "They are already fearful, but hearing that an elven lord is amongst them?"

"Yes," Nodding, Elrond agreed. "I will keep my birth name and title to myself."

Satisfied, Azog nodded in return, and helped Elrond back into the – bed?

"What is this?" Elrond eyed the hammock curiously, even as Azog helped him into it, and then followed him. They settled together quite comfortably in the center of it, Azog's arms wrapped around him. (The claw was set aside, removed perhaps before Azog began to heal him.)

"This is how orcs often sleep." Azog told him. "We are usually cramped into small places with large numbers. Lifting beds off the ground creates room for more. I have always preferred this way to those ridiculous things you call beds in Rivendell."

Elrond smiled sleepily in reply. "I do not care where we rest," He said, drifting off. "So long as I rest with you."

He felt Azog smile against his neck, just before he fell into a deep slumber.