Forever Afternoon
Chapter One
Word Count:
2,019
Rating:
T/PG-13, with discussions of/implied torture and some... death
Disclaimer:
Normally I'm wittier, but... I got nothing. I would say I own nothing, but that's not true. I created the original characters that are driving the plot, so... I guess I own something.
Summary:
Sequel to Storms in Middle Earth. Aragorn and Legolas have a long journey ahead of them, bound to the fate of the ring and the throne of Gondor, and another elf has an equally long path to take in hopes of redemption.
Author's Note:
So... I told myself I wouldn't start this right after finishing Storms. I was going to break and be certain this was what I wanted to do and that I knew what I was doing with it. Well, I think I mostly know what I'm doing and I lost my battle not to write it, since bits and pieces of it have been annoying me since before I finished Storms. Still, I must be crazy because this is probably going to end up longer than Storms if I include all that I have considered doing.

I liked the parallels in this opening and admit that it does not do much to explain the events of Storms for new readers. I actually kind of hate that in sequels myself, and I am not big on summarizing the events of the first part of any of my series in the second, especially since I hate spoilers and stumbling onto the ending of the first story when I read the beginning of the second if for any reason I don't know it's a sequel (that ruined a mystery book I bought once and infuriated me, but then I am a bit obsessive compulsive.) So... because I am that kind of person and that kind of author, if you want explanations, I'm afraid you may have to find them in Storms or one of the other side tales it inspired.

If, of course, you chose not to read the final scene of Storms, this story is not going to be for you since it follows that ending.

I told someone that Nostalion has a sense of humor but he didn't get a chance to show it much in Storms, but here he does. I rather liked it.

The title is from the Moody Blues song, "Tuesday Afternoon," which seemed to fit Legolas and got me to write The Trees are Drawing Me Near, and it also fit the journey that everyone has to take over the course of the story.


Many Reminders

"Remind me why I agreed to do this?" Aragorn asked, looking over his shoulder at Legolas. The elf had his bow in hand and a grin on his face. Sometimes, that immortal was far too smug, and as much as Aragorn considered him a friend and wanted him to be happy, he found himself hating the elf.

"Because you have indulged my every whim since Firyavaryar died," Legolas answered, and Aragorn grunted. That was true, but he did not want to remind his friend of that dark time. Those wounds had not healed—true, the physical ones had mended long ago, or Legolas would not be out now, and Elrond would not have returned to Imladris, but Legolas had yet to recover from the emotional ones—and their friendship had yet to overcome the small rift that was between them because of Legolas' forgiveness and Aragorn's inability to understand that. He did not think they needed to be reminded of any of it, and he would not have done it himself.

Perhaps it was a sign that Legolas was improving, having willingly brought the subject up himself, but Aragorn still didn't like it.

"I might have been a little lenient when it comes to your whims, but that does not mean that I want to be surrounded by orcs every time we leave your father's house."

Legolas laughed. "Does that mean that you admit to being surrounded this time?"

Aragorn glared at him, but the elf just smiled, moving forward toward trees, placing himself at a better vantage point to watch the orcs approach. Aragorn knew that he should never have agreed to join Legolas on this patrol. That was how things had gone so wrong the last time. One night, one tour of duty, and Legolas' life had been forever altered.

The scars had faded, and even the land had started to recover, growing over the chasm where so much had changed, but there was an empty place in Legolas that could not be filled. Aragorn tried not to resent it, but that was difficult. He did not know how to forgive the one that had made that void, and he did not know how Legolas could do so.

"We are not surrounded."

"I would say 'not yet,' but not only is that more of a comment best left to one of the twins, but also I think it should be said that the orcs seem fewer in number of late. The spiders have been the main problem. I do not know if that is because part of the forces we faced were Ogol's and they perished in that collapse or if the lord of Dol Guldur has turned his attention elsewhere, but I am relieved." Legolas lifted his bow and drew an arrow from his quiver, lining it up for a shot. "I feel I have regained some of my equilibrium and this is as it should be."

"Ehtyarion would not agree. He would be yelling at you right now if he could, and even if he does not, your father will when he learns that you left your guard behind again."

Legolas sighed. "I do not need to be watched over. I do not care if I was taken prisoner by orcs and whatever Ogol truly was. That is not going to happen again."

No, it wouldn't, but that was because both Ogol and the one that had handed Legolas over to him were dead, not because all like him were gone from the land. Legolas could still be hurt, and that was why Aragorn lingered in Mirkwood even though everyone else had returned home and expected him to do so as well. He knew that he had duties and obligations elsewhere, but he could not bring himself to leave. They'd all feared for Legolas after his friend's death, and only now did it seem like the prince was returning to his former self.

"Even if it did, I have you beside me to fight for me and rescue me, as you have already proven you will," Legolas reminded him. Aragorn wanted to smile in return, but he found himself thinking of his own failures in that affair. If he had acted sooner, there would have been no need to rescue Legolas—he would never have been taken at all. "And if you do not fight now, you will be overwhelmed by orcs, and I will do nothing to help you as I know what you were thinking."

Aragorn grimaced as he reached for his bow. "You do not know what I was thinking. Maybe I decided that I should let you practice more since you are still recovering—"

"Varyar was the one who would joke about hiding behind me in a fight," Legolas said. "And do not think you can fool me, Estel. I see your face contort with disgust every time you think of him and my decision to forgive him. Can you not accept that he deserved to hear that before he died, even if there was some measure of doubt within me? I do not think there is any doubt, no, but after all that we both suffered there, I know he needed those words. He is at peace now, and I do not want to argue with you again."

Aragorn shook his head. "I am not trying to argue with you—"

"Then teach your face not to speak as well as you have trained your voice," Legolas told him, letting the arrow fly toward the first orc. He did not wait, switching it for his knives as he dove angrily into battle, and Aragorn grabbed his sword as he followed after him, knowing that it would be a long time before their friendship was it used to be before Legolas was taken—if it ever was.


"Remind me again why we decided to do this?"

"I believe, and I may be mistaken, but I believe the reason was that you were bored."

"Ah, yes," Firyavaryar agreed, smiling as he did. Nostalion gave him a look, and he laughed as he jumped down from the tree, landing on his feet and crouching down next to it. He had only wanted to climb the tree for the view it would grant him. He knew that there was no point in remaining in it. He had never been as comfortable in the trees as a certain wood elf he had known, and he was no archer.

The former assassin came up beside him, and if Varyar was not used to his stealth, he would have been startled enough to jump when the other elf spoke. "When I married your sister, I do not remember taking a vow to keep you from getting your reckless self killed."

Varyar could have claimed that the vow was implicit in the ones that he had spoken, or that perhaps they shared some in their unofficial alliance, but he knew that Nostalion would not agree with him. "No one asked you to come."

"Your sister would not allow you to leave alone. We have lost you before, Varyar. That is not an acceptable outcome."

Firyavaryar did not tell his gwador that it had been for him. He did not need to—Nostalion already knew. He knew that Varyar had wanted it, that he had been denied it, for reasons that he still did not understand. Firyavaryar did not know if the Valar had done it or if he was simply too bad at dying to manage it—he should have been dead centuries ago, and were he mortal he would have been. He should have succumbed to the disease he carried within him by now.

"And if she loses you? Equally unacceptable."

Nostalion nodded. "Agreed. Therefore we must not allow either of us to fall."

Amused, Firyavaryar smiled even in the face of Nostalion's annoyance. No one had told him that he was allowed to be amused, but while Varyar had been raised and trained to protect his family, the same responsibility laid upon Nostalion as a child, his parents had also shown him love and his siblings had made certain that he knew how to laugh. Others had tried to take that from him, and he knew some had succeeded, but now he was free, and even if he frustrated Nostalion with his humor, he would not stop. He did manage to make his brother laugh, too, and that was a greater victory than most.

"Yes," he agreed with mock severity. "Then why are we going into this folly?"

"Boredom," Nostalion answered, and there was a faint smile upon his lips. "The most dangerous of all reasons."

"Indeed," Varyar agreed with a laugh, knowing that Idhrenion would agree with that. His younger brother knew well the sort of trouble that Firyavaryar could create when he became bored, the sort of pranks that had amused a prince and make him the enemy of guards and tutors alike. "Where are they?"

"Not far, but we are too close to Greenwood for my liking. Again."

Though there was some risk to this proximity, this was where Firyavaryar knew that they must be. Nostalion would not agree, but Varyar had much to atone for, and though hunting orcs along the outer border of Greenwood was not much of a way to repay a debt that could not be repaid, he would still do it until he found another means of assuaging his guilt. "You worry too much. I do not know how Sérëdhiel tolerates it."

"Her mind is on other things when she is with me," Nostalion said, and Varyar bowed in acknowledgment of the other elf's victory. That was a detail he did not need to know about his sister. He found it worse that Idhrenion had managed a living reminder of his activities with Alassë, and he supposed that was the other reason why he and Nostalion had left the others—they had no desire to be around their home when Alassë was so near birthing the child.

"If the orcs get any nearer the border, we will have to turn back," Nostalion said, bringing Varyar mercifully back to their hunt. "And before you ask, no, I will not let you go any closer and not alone."

Firyavaryar smiled. "You know that I am not defenseless, and I do not worry about straying into Greenwood now. Should anyone see me, they will assume me a spirit. You, though, you they might shoot in their paranoia. You are not presumed dead."

"No, I am not that sort of fool."

That should have annoyed Firyavaryar, but he was not bothered by the statement. Others would see what he had done as foolishness. He deemed it necessary, and as much as he did not like all of his choices, he knew that he would make them again. "Have I mentioned how I adore your company? You are so optimistic and cheerful—"

"Should I say the same about you?"

"Yes." Varyar laughed, and Nostalion shook his head. Both of them had a tendency to be dour, but Varyar was enjoying his freedom from the oppressive domestic atmosphere of their home, perhaps too much, but he would not regret this. Leaving the others was for the best for all concerned. The assassin might have killed someone before the baby was born, and that was not acceptable. That, and Varyar thought Nostalion might be afraid of Sérëdhiel having one of their own. Varyar could not have children, and for that he thought he was grateful.

"Come. They have stopped, and since it is dark enough for them to be marching, that is somewhat troubling. Let us see what they are doing."

"They are orcs," the assassin said, still annoyed. "What does it matter what they do?"

Rather than argue over why they were here or what he owed Legolas, Firyavaryar looked over at the trees and then back at his companion. "Because they are fun to kill?"

Nostalion withdrew his daggers with another slight smile. "There is that."

Varyar grinned, removing a glove.