“This is the library.” Glorfindel led Orophin into the vast archive of Rivendell. The young Galadhel was in awe, despite the fact he preferred archery and swordplay to reading and writing. Three rows of scribes, murmuring softly to one another, rewrote and illuminated copies of books either on loan for transcription or to be sent to other libraries in Middle-earth. At the front, a group of ellith worked to arrange books on wooden carts and check items in and out at a tall desk.

Off in a corner, surrounded by numerous plants and vases of flowers, was a desk with three surfaces to it, making a U-shape around the one sitting behind it. Scratching his head as he regarded a book in a rather serious fashion, Erestor had small piles of books on every available spot of his desk. A large bin of books was behind him, and as soon as he scribbled something inside of the book he was holding, he deposited it into the bin.

“As you can see,” whispered Glorfindel loud enough to be heard, “only the head librarian gets to deface the books.”

Glancing up from his work, Erestor gave Glorfindel an appropriate glare. Orophin chuckled, putting his hand over his mouth after realizing where they were.

“This is called cataloging. It is an art and a science, which is why it tends to be a little complex for him.”

“Good morning to you as well, darling.” Glorfindel received another glare for his compliment, and began to walk toward the stacks. Orophin dutifully followed his mentor. “I thought, since we have been going through the practical aspects of guardianship for some time now, that it might be a good idea to go over, ahm, some of the lesser known tactics and possibilities.” Glorfindel walked effortlessly to his destination and pulled from the shelf a book bound in red leather. The title’s golden letters had long ago rubbed away. “I would like you to read this, and present a report to me by next week.”

Orophin took the small volume and opened to a random page. The title, displayed upon the top, read, ‘Balrog: Friend or Foe?’. “Whoa... this is great... I had no idea there was anything on this topic here!”

“Shhh... library,” warned Glorfindel, despite the fact Orophin was speaking softer than he had. He rushed Orophin up to the front to one of the clerks. “He wants to check this out and we are terribly late, so, just under my name perhaps.”

The clerk took the book and opened the cover, then frowned. “Master Erestor,” she said, calling over her shoulder, “what should I do if there is no space left on the check-out card?”

“Just put another in.” Erestor was standing up, which was causing Glorfindel to look slightly panicked. “If it has circulated that many times, though, perhaps we should have another copy made. Some sort of tactical guide?” he asked, coming closer.

The clerk had just stamped the new card and closed the cover, so Glorfindel grabbed the book from her hands. “Thank you, really, we must hurry, I appreciate it, great, thanks.” He turned on his heel, only to have Erestor standing directly in front of him now. “Garh! How did you get here so fast?” he wondered as the book was yanked from his hands.

Erestor examined the outside of the book warily. “Is this what I think it is?”

“No,” answered Glorfindel quickly, trying to snatch the book away. Erestor turned away, blocking Glorfindel’s attempt with his shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Fin!” Erestor had just opened the volume and shook his head at what he saw. “We have been over this before! I do not need your unsolicited manuscripts in my collection!”

“But look at the circulation!” Glorfindel finally managed to retrieve the book and displayed the record. “It goes out all the time!”

“I have discarded this thing eight times! How does it keep getting back?”

Glorfindel shifted from one foot to the other. “You really need to remember to lock the doors at night,” he mumbled as Erestor stole the book back.

“I am ending this once, and for all,” declared the librarian as he marched with the book to his desk.

For a moment Glorfindel stalled, but then he followed. “What are you going to do to it?”

“What I should have done a long time ago.” Erestor set the book on his desk, took a rubber stamp and a plate of red ink, and stamped the word ‘discard’ on the inside over all of the previous stampings that Glorfindel had later crossed off. Then, he opened a drawer of the desk, set the book inside, closed the drawer and locked it.

Glorfindel’s eyes were wide. “You... you... I need that!”

“Then it should have stayed in your personal collection,” scolded Erestor as he settled back into his chair.

For nearly five minutes, Glorfindel stood to the side of the desk, frowning and glaring at Erestor. When he received no response, he finally sighed and walked back to the door, ushering Orophin out. “Fine,” shouted the warrior back as he left. “Reading is stupid anyway.”

“Do I still need to write that report?” questioned Orophin as the pair disappeared from the library.

One of the clerks turned around after the doors closed and asked, “Could we just recatalog it, into fiction, perhaps?”

Erestor shook his head and tried to concentrate on his work, but it became difficult. As the end of the work day drew near, he found he had accomplished nearly nothing since Glorfindel’s visit. When he locked up the library that day, he took from his desk the small red book, and hid it in his robes before he left.

- - -

He sat now, alone again, the little red book in his hands. Why he had brought it, he would never know. It was not as if he could ask the creature to pause a moment so that he could recheck something on page 143. Gone were Erestor’s extravagant robes and delicately braided hair. His dark mane was gathered up and tied back tightly with thin leather strips, and his clothing was tight as well, inexpensive black shirt and black leather pants and boots.

The sword was not his, the horse was not his. The bow was, but the arrows were not. He had raided the weaponry as he left, and taken Asfaloth instead of his own mare. Only a very small fire was lit for light and cooking, which was all he could manage in the barren land he was in. The rocky terrain had few trees, and even less kindling wood.

A sudden, soft rumble of rocks caught his attention, dragging him from his thoughts. The sword was in his hands immediately, and was only lowered when he noted it was another elf. “Orophin, what are you doing here?”

“I... well, good evening, Master Erestor!” Orophin lightly stepped over the rocks and boulders until he was seated at the fire, opposite of the other ellon. “Nice night for balrog hunting, I hear.”

Erestor sheathed the sword. “Go home, Orophin.” He sat back down, picking up the book again.

Orophin made no move to leave. Instead, he set down a sack he had with him and began to untie it. “I expected to see Glorfindel here, not you.”

“He is around, somewhere. By now, Lord Elrond is likely on his way as well.” Erestor looked up as something touched his arm, and he gladly took the pear that Orophin handed him. “Where did you get these?”

“On the way. Actually, my wife tells me I am more of a gatherer than a hunter, but when I found out about this, well, how many chances does one get to kill a balrog?”

“Too many,” mumbled Erestor.

“Sorry,” apologized Orophin, but he did not know what for.

They ate for a little while, and then Erestor suggested that Orophin get some sleep. “Oh, no. I know your tricks,” he said with a grin. “You are just like my brother Haldir. I close my eyes, and you are gone, off slaying a balrog without me. Glorfindel taught me a long time ago that two fighting a balrog stand a chance; one is stupidity.”

“Sometimes two is not enough,” countered Erestor. “If one fights a balrog and invokes the name of Manwe, they will likely perish, but the balrog will as well.”

“Well,” said Orophin sternly, “I like the odds with two to one much better. So, when are we going to go find this bloke?”

Erestor looked up from where Orophin had come. “The mines were built with two entrances, and one exit. Since one entrance is blocked, and the other is on the other side of... wait, you came from the other way. Why did you keep coming this way? You knew the front door was destroyed when the fellowship came through.”

“Ents.” Orophin rummaged through his sack and pulled out a broken piece of lembas, offering half to Erestor. “They are blocking it, refusing to move. That was where I saw Haldir.”

“Haldir is here?” Erestor looked more worried now, and stood up to gather his gear. “He might find a way to sneak in... we need to start climbing.”

“Nana was given a message from Mithrandir, about this balrog. She told all of us, and Haldir, being Haldir, left immediately in secret. When I found out, I came after him. It is what I do.” Orophin tied the sack to his belt and snuffed out the fire with his boot. “I farspoke with Rumil earlier today, and he said that Adar has come after us.”

“Oh, that would be rich. Celeborn fighting a balrog,” this almost made Erestor smile, had it not been such a seriously dangerous possibility. “Asfaloth, if I am not back by this evening, go home.”

The horse bowed his head and wuffled Erestor’s shoulder, then stepped away.

“Good boy.” Erestor tucked the book into the bottom of his quiver. “Please tell me that your mother has remained home.”

“As far as I know.”

“Good. Well, from my end of it,” said Erestor as the pair began to climb, “Mithrandir came to us, and of course told Elrond, Glorfindel, and myself. It came with bad timing. Glorfindel and Gildor are... no longer together. Glorfindel, despite saying we would all wait until morning and assemble a party to come here, left at night. I found out the next day and followed him. Elrond is behind us some way; he managed to contact me a few days ago, but I have blocked him since and have not spoken back.”

“Nana said that Legolas is on his way as well, with the dwarf in tow. Allegedly, his father is following, and is not very happy.”

“No, I imagine not. For Thranduil to leave home, he would need to be rather upset.”

“Adar said there was something about them being irresponsible to let it go for this long.”

“I think we were all hoping that it was going to go away. Well, we thought it had. No one realized that there were two balrogs in Moria.”

- - -

“Just what exactly are you doing?”

Glorfindel turned around, his chest heaving. He threw another chunk of rock down, where it tumbled across the ground and landed in the water. “Digging my way in, I suppose. You have a better idea?”

Thranduil walked from one side of the entrance to the other, surveying the cave-in, and the work that Glorfindel had already done. “It would be easier to pull one of the rocks out from the bottom and let the others tumble forward into the mine or backward into the swamp. Then, you climb over them.”

“The trouble with that is pulling out the initial stone. I am fast, but not fast enough to avoid an avalanche.”

By now, Thranduil was unpacking what he had brought with him from the saddlebags of his horse, who was grazing with the horse that Glorfindel had ridden to the mines. Among the items were two coils of hithlain.

“What are you going to do, tie the rope to me and pull me to safety once I move the rock?”

“No. We are going to tie back the rocks, and... just watch, you will see.” Thranduil threaded his arm through the coils and then set to climbing up to the top of the pile of rubble blocking their way. “Have you seen my son, by chance?”

“No... do not tell me that Legolas thought to take up this task!”

“He did. He took the dwarf with him. It has something to do with being afraid every time he has seen one and running away. Kids,” added Thranduil with a sigh. He shook his head as he secured the rope at one side and then tossed the other end to the ground. Moving to the other side, he tied the other rope off and let the other end dangle down. Carefully he climbed down, and then secured the other ends, making an X over the pile of rocks.

Despite how strong hithlain was, even Glorfindel was skeptical. “Maybe you should move the rock from the bottom instead,” he suggested, only half-serious.

“I intend to. Move the horses away and yourself to higher ground.” Thranduil picked up a thick branch and wedged the narrower end between two rocks and used a smaller stone to pound the branch in further. Then he moved far away from it, climbed some rocks, and got behind a small, round boulder.

On his own, Thranduil was unable to move it, so Glorfindel joined him. “I think I understand,” said the warrior as they managed to shove the stone off of the ledge, sending it rolling toward the makeshift lever.

The boulder his the branch, the branch pushed the rock, the rock popped out of the debris, and a rumble later the rocks began to shift, cascading down from the entrance. As they rolled into the swamp, the water bubbled and churned. Glorfindel was grinning, patting Thranduil on the back, when they both came to a horrible realization: As they could not see into the cave, they had no idea what was on the other side. Hundreds of spiders, the size of those found in Mirkwood, scattered about as the light flooded into their domain. Both elves drew their weapons, knowing it was not long before they were noticed. “The horses,” said Thranduil, looking to where their mounts had been, but something else had spooked them to run away. Churning up from the dark water, massive tentacles rose up and swayed away.

“Oh, no.”

“Not good.”

Thranduil and Glorfindel realigned themselves so that they stood back to back. “Do you have flint?” asked Glorfindel.

“In my saddlebags. You?”

“Same.” Glorfindel was also woefully aware of the fact he had on him only a pair of long knives, having left his other weapons with his horse. Thranduil was better prepared with bow and arrows, but those would run out eventually as well. “Best way to kill these things?”

“Any way you can,” said Thranduil, aiming his first arrow. Glorfindel saw an opportunity as a rather large spider climbed out of the cave and leaped onto her back. As the warrior rode the spider through the others, slashing with both knives as he went, Thranduil pulled back the bowstring as far as he could, managing to shoot the arrow through three spiders and into a fourth, all of them shuddering on the ground in the throes of death.

They managed to kill half of them before the creature in the pool took note of what was happening. A long tentacle reached out and grabbed hold of Thranduil’s ankle. The king looked down and stamped upon the beast with his other foot as another tentacle stretched towards him. “Glorfindel! We have another problem!”

Glorfindel turned to look, and, stabbing the spider he was riding through the skull, rolled off of her and ran through the skittering arachnids to reach Thranduil. Before he made it, a spider jumped upon him from a tree, closing its mandibles around Glorfindel’s arm and closing them hard. More piled up, jabbing with pointy legs and biting at him, spinning webbing around his feet as he fought hard against them.

Thranduil crouched down lower and used an arrow to jab the tentacle attached to him. His ankle was let go, but another tentacle loomed over head. He had only enough time to shoot an arrow toward the beasts assaulting Glorfindel before the beast’s slimy grasp was around his chest.

The situation was dire, and indeed, nearly impossible, until they both heard the unmistakable sounds of a rider approaching. Amber arrows fletched with blue and grey feathers arched through the sky, landing in the water where the beast was. A grey horse with a spotted coat carried the Lord of Imladris into the battle, and he used a spear not so unlike the one of his mentor to pierce the bellies of the offensive spider army.

Thranduil concentrated his efforts on the spiders attacking Glorfindel until the golden haired ellon was freed. Half-running, half-limping, Glorfindel headed right into the water, diving under to find the heart of their foe. The swamp was thick with weeds and muck, but Glorfindel pushed himself forward. When he found their enemy, he was merciless, slicing the creature open and gutting it before returning to shore to aid with the disposal of the spiders.

- - -

“Arrows have no effect. That is why they are so dangerous.” Erestor paused, Orophin stopping right behind him, and listened. The ventured deeper into the mines, watching for signs of their foe. “Water is also important. Ecthelion defeated three, yes, before Gothmog appeared, but he did it with much aid from his fountain. The water splashed them, putting out their flames, and making them easier to defeat.”

“Too bad we cannot lure it out to a river or something.”

“If Mithrandir’s assumptions are correct, and I believe they are, this one is a male. Females have wings, and the one he killed had wings. The females are very territorial, and I cannot imagine two in the same place. This is a male, and stronger but it will not be able to fly. It will be smaller than the one Mithrandir faced, but make no mistake, it is equally dangerous.”

Orophin nodded solemnly as they continued on. “How does water come into play?”

“That was why we replenished our supply at that well. I was surprised there was still water in it. Before we fight him, we will use it to soak ourselves. It will help... we would burn badly otherwise.”

Before Orophin could question if what Erestor really meant was that they would be burned, but not as bad, a low, rumbling growl echoed from down one corridor. “I think he knows we are here,” whispered Orophin.

“For the last time, let me scare them with mah axe.”

“Tell the dwarf he is an idiot,” muttered Haldir.

Legolas rolled his eyes disdainfully at Haldir. “Gimli, that is not an option. Besides, the last ten times you asked were the alleged ‘last time’. No axe.”

“They will never move without proper motivation,” argued Gimli.

“I have my doubts that they will ever move, period.” Haldir drummed his fingers upon the ground impatiently. “What is wrong with them?”

At the so-called ‘backdoor’ of the Moria mines, Haldir, Legolas, and Gimli had reached an impasse: The entry was blocked by a dozen Ents, determined to keep anything in the mine from coming out. That also meant keeping anyone else from coming in. For hours they had argued back and forth, though little was said. It took the Ents a very long time to answer any question that the group asked.

“There has to be a way. There just has to be.” Legolas got up and circled the area again, looking for a crack or a crevice that they could use. Finally, he sat back down again.

“Let me use mah axe!”

“NO!”

As they continued to ponder, the exaggerated sounds of someone coming around the side of the mine was heard. Stumbling into view, looking a little singed, Celeborn fanned out a few embers clinging to his tunic. “Am I glad to have made it out alive!” he declared loudly. “Whew!” He stumbled forward a few steps, and announced, “That balrog is setting EVERYTHING on FIRE!”

Looking surprised to just notice the trio sitting on the ground at that moment, Celeborn ran toward them and waved his arms. “Run! Run! The balrog is coming to get us all!” He turned his head and looked mournfully at the Ents. “O, brave Entfolk, your sacrifice will not be unnoticed! I shall be sure to have ballads sung in your honor, at having been set aflame by the great balrog of Moria!” Celeborn jogged toward some large rocks and disappeared.

Glancing worriedly at one another, Haldir, Legolas, and Gimli all ran in the direction they had seen Celeborn go. “When did he get here and how did he get in?” wondered Legolas as they passed the rocks.

“Shh! Get back here!” hissed a voice.

The trio turned to see Celeborn hiding behind the rocks, and they turned around to join him, crouching down as he was. “What is going on?” asked Haldir.

“I saw you arguing with them as I came up the ridge. The fire is an act; but listen. They are considering what I said, and I think now they are leaving.”

Sure enough, the Ents began to move very quickly (for an Ent) away from the entrance and down the hill, as far away from Moria as fast as their trunks could carry them. “Give it a few minutes, and then we will go in,” whispered Celeborn.

- - -

“He... he is much larger than I expected him to be.”

“Agreed.”

Orophin and Erestor were standing beneath an archway of a chamber, in which a giant balrog slept. His growls were snores, and the pair began to approach cautiously. “If we can cut out his eyes as he sleeps, it will make our job that much easier when he wakes,” said Erestor. “Ready?”

Pouring the rest of the water over his head, Orophin tossed the waterskin aside and nodded, raising his sword, both hands on the pommel. The balrog was on his belly, looking like a monstrous, fiery cat with some fur and some scales.

“Wait!”

Orophin and Erestor turned at the sound, seeing Rumil standing at the entrance of the room. “Rumil, how did you- nevermind, get out of here!” yelled Orophin.

“You cannot kill him! I-“

Terror seized Orophin as one giant eye snapped open and stared right at him. Ignoring Rumil’s words, the Galadhel shoved his sword into his target just as Erestor did the same.

A mighty roar echoed through the chamber, and Orophin shouted out once again. “Rumil, get out of the way! So help me, go hide, you will not survive where you are standing!”

Unable to take the time to see if his brother heeded his words, Orophin jumped onto the balrog’s shoulder just as he and Erestor had planned, and began to slash at the creature’s neck from one side as Erestor did the same on the other. Blood, black and foul, began to rush forth. The task seemed too easy, and it was. The balrog shifted and stood, screaming out his fury. Neither elf was able to keep his balance, but they both managed to leap clear of the deadly tail and the whip that burst into flames.

As the creature rose up to his full height, Orophin came up with a sudden idea. He had no time to convey what he was doing, and so he just did it. Erestor, upon realizing that their plan had changed, ran around to the front of the balrog as he readied his bow. It was useless, he knew this, but it was a distraction to whatever Orophin had in mind.

The younger ellon was busy climbing up the stony wall. Once above the balrog, he judged the distance, said a prayer, and pushed himself off of the wall, sword in hand. With a loud roar, he fell towards the beast, and slashed his weapon down through the side of the balrog’s wrist. The impact slowed Orophin’s fall, and the blinded creature now struggled to shift his whip into the other hand.

“Stop it!” screamed Rumil, stepping into the room. “He did nothing to you! Stop hurting him! He is just protecting his-”

“Orophin, get him out of here!” Erestor shot another arrow at the balrog’s head, while Orophin attempted to race around to the doorway. It was Erestor who was closer, so when Rumil came even further in and the whip was drawn back, the dark elf ran over and shoved Rumil back out. As the blazing whip sliced over his back, Erestor fell to his knees. Another strike came before he was able to stand again.

Now Orophin’s goal was different, and he ran the rest of the way toward the door, but now he slid the rest of the way on his knees. He rolled, and pushed Erestor out of the way before he could be assaulted a third time. “Thanks,” offered Erestor as he was helped back up to his feet.

“I think this guy really means business,” said Orophin as the balrog slapped the whip around, trying to locate his prey.

Erestor’s eyes darted about as he threw his broken bow onto the ground and unfastened his quiver. He pointed at the balrog’s wrist, which was gushing blood. “Idea. Follow me.”

As the pair ran around behind the creature, each of them with their swords, Orophin said, “I know we seem not to see eye to eye on a lot of things, but-“

“-help me kill this thing, Orophin, we can talk about our differences later.”

“Yes, but... I meant... in case we... you know—“

Erestor laughed. “I thought I was the pessimist and you were the optimist.” They reached the root of the balrog’s tail. “We have to do this fast. Ready?”

- - -

“We just killed a whole pack of spiders, and something big and nasty in the water. You?”

Celeborn crossed his arms over his chest. “Defeated some Ents.”

“What?” Elrond shook his head. “You-“

“Defeated Ents. We did not kill them, we just... nevermind. Where are Orophin and Rumil?” demanded Haldir.

Glorfindel shrugged. “Where is Erestor?”

With one group coming in from one way, and the other group coming in the other direction, they were all bound to meet. They did so nearer to the back side of the mine, as Celeborn’s group needed to accomplish some fancy climbing in order to make their way in. Elrond’s group managed an easier time, but had a much longer path. Thus far, neither had encountered a balrog. A thunderous crash came from down one of the corridors, stopping everyone in their steps.

- - -

Holding his injured arm, Orophin’s chest heaved as he spat upon the corpse of the balrog. “I need a drink,” he said, wandering over to where Erestor was slumping down against a wall. He offered his hand out, but when Erestor did not take it, Orophin sat down beside him. “I think we get to go home now.”

“Where is Rumil?” asked Erestor.

Orophin looked toward the doorway. “RUMIL!”

The younger Galadhel peeked his head into the chamber. His eyes were red, and he sniffled. “You killed him.”

“What did you want us to do, invite him to supper?”

Rumil stepped in a little further. He held something small and screeching in his arms. “What are we going to do about the baby?”

“The baby?” Erestor looked up and groaned.

---

A group of confused horses grazed happily, most of them oblivious to the danger that had been narrowly avoided by their riders. Sitting around a small fire, the group recounted to one another their encounters.

Celeborn finished sewing the gash in Orophin’s arm shut, and poured a little more alcohol from Glorfindel’s flask over it. “Rumil, you know you cannot keep that.”

“I know. Gimli already said he has some cousins in some caves who can take him.” Rumil fed some lembas to the little balrog he had carried out of the mines.

“Are you sure that is safe, Gimli?” asked a worried Legolas.

“Bad balrogs are made, Legolas. They are not born this way.”

“The fact that they are born at all is something I could have done well with never knowing.” Elrond finished cutting away the burned skin from the whip wounds Erestor had on his back. The pair of red stripes had already stopped bleeding, but Elrond smeared a good deal of salve over them anyhow and then wrapped linen bandages around his patient’s torso to keep the area clean. “Let me see your hands,” he said, and after checking over the rest of Erestor, nodded. “Good. I will take a look in the morning again before we set out.”

“You know, this is probably going to be the last time we all see one another like this until we reach Valinor,” commented Thranduil. “I suppose we have to thank the stupid balrog for that.”

“Thank you, stupid balrog,” shouted Orophin in the direction of the mines, before adding an ‘ow’ as his father dug a small stone out of his skinned knee.

Rumil covered the ears of the little balrog in his lap. “Pay no attention to them.”

- - -

In the early hours, Haldir woke Glorfindel. “Your shift,” he said before finding a comfortable spot to rest.

Looking around, Glorfindel saw one empty bedroll. “Where is Erestor?” Haldir pointed toward a little hill not far away.

Glorfindel rummaged around for his flask and took it with him to where Erestor was. “Let me guess. You were unable to sleep with the snoring of that little balrog.”

Erestor smiled briefly, and took the flask as it was offered to him. “I have a difficult time sleeping in the open like this.”

“You never used to.”

“Not in Gondolin, but the ground in Gondolin was not so rocky.” Erestor took a sip, drank again, and handed the flask back. With a sigh, he looked over his shoulder to make sure no one had followed them, and then looked back at the shining moon. “Balrogs are Ainur.”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Makes me a kinslayer,” mumbled Erestor. He took hold of the flask again, and drank deeper. “Never wanted to do that, but what else was I supposed to do?”

“Let me handle it.”

“No. This one was my fight. I had to. But... still.”

Glorfindel took the flask from Erestor’s hands, sipped, and then said softly, “I killed another elf once.”

Erestor turned his head, looking a little surprised. “When?”

The flask was turned back and forth in Glorfindel’s hands. “I was in a small town in Gondor about a thousand years ago. There was a group in a bar talking about how they were going to kill the king. It was noisy, and I only heard them because they thought everyone there was a man. That night, I went back into the inn they were staying at. I scaled the side of the building, slipped into the window, and went room to room slitting all of their throats. The final one, I hesitated. In the bar, he wore a hat. I saw now he was an elf. As I stood there, he blinked his eyes and reached for his knife beneath his pillow. I stabbed him in the heart, and then I slit his throat.”

Glorfindel took another sip, and then handed what was left back to Erestor. “I never told anyone about that before. However, a very wise friend of mine once told me that Eru forgives those sorts of things, especially if there are reasons behind it. I only saved one man. Think of how many you have saved.”