I know. This update was very long on coming. I had only set myself in front of the key board a few days ago, in fact. Now that I have finished the chapter, however, I am at a loss. You see, I could make a thousand excuses, a thousand lies as to which I have not written until now: that my grandmother died and I was struck with depression, or that I was stranded in a deserted island after my private jet crashed down. I thought of many, many reasons that were not –quite—lies as well. But enough. I decided (or rather I decide) in favor of the most difficult reason of all: the truth.

The truth is that I fell into the most common trap known to writers. I started with a love for this story—my story. I loved Tera, loved her imperfection, loved the possibilities surrounding her. I loved her horse, loved her life, and I wrote for the love of writing. At the start of this journey, my story was pure.

But somehow, along the way, something changed. Pleasure at receiving a review turned into the need for a review, a kind of greedy want that sullied the whole purpose of this piece. It turned corrupt, and I began to turn into the largest disgust of all. I began writing for my own ego.

I began second-guessing myself, second-guessing my characters, my story, my writing. I nearly fell into the traps of the mainstream. Twice now have Tera and Glrofindel almost fallen victim to the commonplace Nora Jones syndrome. I do not know who to thank that it did not. Nevertheless, my love for this story died somewhere along the way. I would find myself staring at a half-written page, simply not wanting to write. Then one day I did not write. I stopped. I forgot about it.

But just the other day, on a rare bout of free time, I (out of curiosity) logged onto my account at this site. I was thinking to give it a cursory glance, to see what I had done. Instead, I found myself reading this story. And I fell in love again. I found that I had missed it. I do not know what comes next in the story, any more than you do. When I write, I simply sit down in front of the computer and let my fingers weave through keyboard, and then the story flows. When I stop typing, the story stops, and I do promise you, I know not what happens next. And now I think I want to.

And then I started reading the reviews. It is rare for me to feel quite so chastised as I felt when I read them. I realized, then, the extent of my ingratitude. Was this what had driven my ego? To the readers of this story, who loved it just as much as I do, I would like to apologize. If you are still there (though after two years it is hard to be), I would like very much to apologize.

But enough. I have kept you too long now, and shall only give a final word. I come before you now an older, and perhaps wiser, individual, and I promise you this: even though I cannot promise the speed of my updates (what with my eleven hour work day), I can promise you that this story will be finished. I can promise you that I will write for the pure love of this story, and allow it the uncompromising originality it deserves. And it will be finished.

I apologize again to everyone who has waited, and everyone who has given up waiting. And I thank you all,

Sultar

Chapter 13

They rode in silence until the sun filtered through gaps in the canopy of trees. The tension was palatable; it hung smoky through the very crevices of air and silent mist enshrouding the two riders as they ventured through the dark corners of polluted wood. Signs of abuse had started to show: trees, oaks as wide as Tera was tall, mutilated into stumps, one here, one there, one not quite dead but marked with the slash of a heavy blade. Though Tera was not one to care overmuch about the livelihoods of plants and the like, she felt immediately the wrongness of the destruction, tasted the acrid scent of corruption slithering its dark tentacles to mar the beauty of Rivendell. Mayhaps it be only the outskirts of the wood, but its exploitation still filled the common man with disgust and unease, a certain violence of emotion that is termed so simply as despair.

If Glorfindel noticed, he showed nothing. He had ridden as if set in marble and stone, unmoving and silent. Seeing him so only increased the unspoken guilt that had tormented Tera now for hours.

"Glorfindel?" She finally spoke, "I'm sorry, I—"

"You did nothing wrong. The plan was sound. The execution was faultless. It is hardly your fault." But the way his eyes grew more even more distant betrayed him.

Tera knew what he was thinking: What if, what if, what if…

I could fill the world then half again with every "What If" that I hold.

"Then I am sorry for your loss. For his life."

"It is difficult for a mortal to understand," the elf bit out, control lost in the quiet outburst.

"A life is a life, Glorfindel," she argued, stung, "no matter how short or long it may be."

"And in that way you do not understand. Humans, dwarves, halflings, all mortals are born with no escape from death. You are born knowing you will die. The way you live is determined with the knowledge that you will die. You accept it because you must, because no matter what may come, you will fall as the aspen leaf, turn green to gold to brown and crumpled and withered. And then death. You must understand, it is not so with the elves.

"They could have lived an eternity in peace. They should have left," he whispered hoarsely, more to himself than the listening thief, "the fools, they should have left."

"And what makes you stay, then?" Tera ignored (for the moment) the undermining tone of the elf, "Why should you not go?"

"I stay," he replied harshly, "to avenge those who should have gone."

Tera closed her eyes in a brief interlude of enlightenment. Now she could see, sense, the bitterness that surrounded the elf, the tautness of emotion dampened down by layer upon layer of control. The sudden outbursts of intense rage. How much pain had he held? How much pain did he hold? His grief, she realized, had become him.

"I hear what you do not say," she said softly, "what you mean between the lines you speak. You choose death."

"Then you hear wrongly, human. I choose life; therefore, I am living."

"There is nothing wrong with my hearing, nor my interpretation, elf," she snapped suddenly, "you live, yes, but you do not live for the sake of living. You do not live because you would have your life. You live because you would deal out death.

"From what I see, there is no escape for you, either. You will die after this death. It matters little if you sail or no. If you live for death, you will die after it is gone. It is a bitter thing, a relentless thing, this darkness you hold. You would do well to fight it."

"Imagine, all this from the mouth of a mortal," Glorfindel smirked caustically, flaying out in hopes of snaring the more familiar, less dangerous anger of the other, "why should an elf follow such untried wisdom?"

Tera clenched her teeth to hold her temper.

"You only live to deal out death," she snarled softly, "tell me, what does that make you, elf?"

The was silence for a moment, as the cold blue of the ellon's gaze finally shifted to meet hers with icy clarity.

"I have not yet thought of the answer. But since you have had the time, tell me: what does it make you?"

—page break—page break—page break

It was several hours later before Glorfindel broke the tension with his peace offering.

Of food.

Tera received the piece of lembas with silent gratitude, focusing on the process of chew and swallow to stave off the bitterness of their surroundings. Indeed, the wood had grown darker, and they had come upon recent tracks or orc some time ago. The feeling of growing unease in the forest that could only be described as a stench had grown as well.

"I would apologize, lady," he started softly, for now they both knew to be quiet and wary, "That was uncalled for."

"Yes, it was," she agreed heartily, munching on lembas bread with as much content as this dratted place would likely give her. Glorfindel threw her a scathing glance that mixed somewhat with relief and amusement.

"And that it has given you cause for such brooding," he went on smoothly, waiting for the desired effect.

"I was not brooding!" Tera hissed quietly despite herself, "and who are you to say that to me, anyway? I was the one pai-tent-ly keeping watch on a-l-l our surroundings while you, the great, glorious warrior elf sat there moping around."

"I fear you are quite mistaken, lady," Glorfindel replied coolly, "elves do not mope."

"Oh but of course they mope," she mocked in a light hearted, singsong voice, "they mope all the time, about how their world is contaminated by mortal filth, about how their trees are lonely, about how their wonderful platinum blond hair isn't caught by the autumn sun just so--"

"About how they find themselves trapped in the company of ruthlessly annoying thieves," the elf muttered, cutting in.

"And that," Tera chirped agreeably, "but they do mope."

In truth, her good humor was not only to disgruntle the ellon. Tera was also vastly relieved to find that the elf had recovered his control enough to converse with her. She had had her doubts, both on him and on her ability to keep them both alive if he had succumbed to grief.

"A deer swept through the forest eighty paces back. We came across a half dozen rabbits two miles back. Just before we had disturbed a squirrel and acquired its ineffective wrath. Was your watch as productive, now, lady?"

"I said I had kept watch to be aware of any enemy, elf, not to start a nature diary," Tera replied lazily.

"Ignorance," Glorfindel sighed, though he could not—quite—swallow the faintest trace of a smile.

Tera shot him a half-hearted glare before returning her gaze to her surroundings. As they rode deeper into the heart of the corruption, both riders knew that they would be hard-pressed to spot the orc sentries and be rid of them before any alarm was sounded.

As it was, they did not need to wait for long.

It was Glorfindel who spotted the first one (not so much by the sound of his footsteps as the stink of filth and darkness gathered to one solid object, he'd explained to a bemused Tera). He had fitted an arrow into the side of its head before Tera even noticed he had moved. She glared at him, startled; he'd only smirked his victory. There was not a lot she could do about it, however: his elvish sight, hearing, and apparent darkness sensing module downed orc before she even guessed that they were there. Annoyed, she quietly sulked as Reggie fell back to follow the elven stallion.

If it were night, she consoled herself, I would have found them first. Damned elf.

Finally, he motioned them to halt behind the cover of dark green bushes, as tall as a young tree and shielded from light.

"Here we must leave the horses," he said, albeit a little hesitantly. He avoided her gaze.

"What? No." Was the automatic response.

"Lady, please," Glorfindel said softly, "the entrance to the cave is not far from here. Silent though the horses may be, it will be difficult to hide them from the enemy from here on. They will stay here until we return."

He did not have to mention that the horses would be safer here than anywhere else. Tera glared harshly, trying to ignore the sense in his plan. Her occupation, however, overrode mere emotion. She knew as well as he the soundness of his suggestion. And a newer, less welcome part of her realized as well that if she argued, it would only be for argument's sake. Sullenly, she nodded her agreement, not entirely missing Glorfindel murmuring praise to the Valar at her consent.

If I call him, Reggie will come. Wherever I am. I know it. In truth, she had her doubts on whether her voice would carry once they'd entered the orcen stronghold. Nothing held sound like solid stone and darkness, she knew. She shivered, biting her lip against the foreshadow of danger, and dismounted slowly. The black stallion seemed to understand, neck tense and coiled with wariness when she stroked him reassuringly in farewell.

Through it all, Glorfindel was silent, averting his eyes to keep a careful watch. Tera noticed the change in his eyes the moment she had turned from her horse. They were cold now, and glinting. She recalled her words: You choose death. For a moment she thought of turning back.

She didn't, however. Her pride was strong. She had a job to carry out.

Tera nodded silently again, letting concentration chill her gaze as well. Enough. There was no more room for thought.

They were going in.