Storms in Middle Earth
Chapter Nine
Word Count: 4,632
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really.
Author's Note: So... The whole story was leading to this point all along, and I always knew it was coming. I did. I just didn't expect it to be so hard. I have given hints along the way, I put the flashbacks in to balance things, and yet I'm afraid of what this is about to do to Firyavaryar.
Not that anyone was really going to come out of this completely unscathed...
The True Shadow
One shadow. Two. Many in the darkness, so full of things of shame and undoing, the ruin of all this place, covered in filth and shadow, the evil invading his body and his mind. He did not know where he was, only the heavy weight of the gloom that surrounded him. He could not lift his head. He could not move his body.
He felt as though crushed, and crushed he was in spirit, oppressed on all sides by things he little understood, lost in name and thought, with only the dark as a companion. He had withered away down here—was he even down somewhere? He did not know, but he felt he must be. He must be buried deep in a place without sunlight, a place without soul, where he, too, was losing his along with his mind.
He did not understand why he did not die. Why did the shadow not take him?
"I smell like orc."
Aragorn laughed at Legolas' grumbling. Not for the first time that night had he pulled at his tunic and shook it, as if that would rid it of the blood and the stink. "At least you are in good company. Only one of us does not smell like orc, and she is not happy about it. She hasn't stopped grumbling about nonsense about weak females and stupid males with inflated self-worth and how if she was such a weakness someone should have trained her, not since we started on our journey again, and it only gets worse when the dark makes her stumble."
"She is an elf, you know," Legolas said. "She can hear you."
"I know," Aragorn said, letting out a breath. "Though I think it better they hear my thoughts on that and not on the other subjects weighing on my mind."
"I do not know that we can avoid the subjects on our minds any longer," Legolas said, turning back to look for Varyar, who had lagged back with Alassë while Nostalion continued in the lead. "We need to know what we face, and while I do not know that I wish to delve deep into a past that is not mine, I do have concerns as well."
"Concerns?"
"Yes, Varyar, I am speaking of you, and do not tell me that if I do not care for your silence that I can leave," Legolas said, looking back at his friend as Firyavaryar came up beside them, matching their pace. "You know who has your family. Have you known all along? Why did you not tell me? Why did you not tell us about Eruaistaniel?"
"If Alassë told you she was taken, then you know she is likely already dead," Firyavaryar said, and Legolas glared at him. The other elf sighed. "I did not tell you because I knew that you would take it as another reason to come with us when I have asked you not to. I suppose if I had mentioned that Nostalion was raised as his family's assassin you might have been less stubborn about this, but he is my gwador. I would not tell you things he would not have you know."
"There is still much you should have said," Legolas told him, and Firyavaryar's eyes shifted to Aragorn before looking back at him. "This cannot continue."
"Yes, in that you are quite correct, little prince. Did you not stop to think of why we did not just avoid the orcs? We had time to find a way around them, and yet we did not. Do you not wonder why? It was only the four of us against what your echil wants to call an army. We should have evaded them. That would have been simpler."
"You believe the orcs were headed for my kingdom. You allowed us to stop them."
"Go. Take word back to your father. The orc attacks will continue, and you will be needed there. Perhaps your echil will be as well." Firyavaryar put his hand on Legolas' shoulder. "What must be done does not have to be done by you. What comes does not have to involve you."
"I have already told you that I am going with you."
Firyavaryar lifted his hand, and Aragorn grabbed him before he could take off his glove. "Don't. You will not live if you touch him. You said there was no cure, and even if I am not certain I believe anything you've said, I will not let you hurt him."
"Estel—"
"He did threaten you earlier, Legolas. I know you do not want to hear it, and after the way we fought the orcs together, it might have seemed like we found a way to trust each other, but I don't think that we can. He still refuses to tell you anything—or haven't you noticed the way he sidestepped those questions? He distracted you again." Aragorn would have put his blade to the elf's neck if he thought that Legolas would not rip it from him immediately. "Tell us the truth, Firyavaryar. Who has your family? Who is it that sends storms against you? Is it the one who poisoned your skin?"
"No. That one is dead," Firyavaryar said. Then he winced. "At least, we have always believed that he was. We should never have been able to leave if he lived."
"So then who is it?"
Firyavaryar yanked his arm free. "If I knew the name of the creature that took my family, if I knew anything at all about them, why would I conceal it?"
"Because you have help. You are not alone," Legolas insisted. "We fought well together, did you not see that? We can do so again, but only if you are willing to let us. Tell us all, and not only will you take away Estel's doubt, but you will have better equipped warriors at your side."
"No," Firyavaryar said, backing away from them. "I do not seek to gather warriors to my side. Even were I to know the name of this evil, I would not lead anyone into battle—I would not lead them anywhere. Go back to your home. Forget that you heard anything about my family, that you saw me again. Save yourself."
"From what?"
"From me."
Aragorn almost laughed. So the danger was in Firyavaryar himself. That sounded right to him, though he did not know that Legolas would be convinced of that, no matter what the elf said. If there was a cure for the poison, Aragorn might have let him infect Legolas just to prove what he was, let him do something to prove that he was not what Legolas thought he was, but for all his talk, he had yet to make an actual move against the prince, other than that unnatural sleep.
"I do not believe that you could hurt me," Legolas said, and Firyavaryar hissed out a curse in the black tongue. "It is not in your nature, Varyar, and it could not be, even after centuries apart or even centuries of torture."
"You do not believe that... but do you believe that I could betray you?"
"I thought you hated dusty tomes," Legolas said, trying to peer over Varyar's shoulder as he turned a page in the book he was reading, scribbling notes on the parchment beside it. "Why are you stuck face first into that book, then? Are you going to become a scholar now?"
"No."
"You made excuses and skipped our training sessions and the last three times that we were supposed to play together. You haven't played a prank on your brother in a week, and every time I find you, you are in a book. It is like you have switched with Idhrenion, but I haven't noticed any change in him. What is your new obsession with books?"
Firyavaryar looked up, sighing. "I am not making excuses—I have not felt capable of doing any training for the last two weeks, nor do I feel like playing. I have not pranked Idhrenion because I am too fatigued to think properly to do so."
"Because you are not sleeping and reading these books," Legolas said. "It has to be that. Elves don't get sick."
"I am not an ordinary elf. I am Avari."
"I think you might be part-Maia, being able to read all that." Legolas laughed when he saw the frown on his friend's face. "I don't know why you risked going after Mithrandir's books again, not after you set that fire, but you are determined, aren't you? I thought you didn't like wizards, but here you are, learning his craft, at least what you can of it."
Varyar closed the book. "What we don't know is what ends up hurting us."
Legolas frowned. Those words made him uncomfortable, and he didn't know why Varyar was saying them. "What is it that you are so afraid of? You walked away during practice like you were and you haven't been around much since. If you don't want to be a warrior, why are you looking at spells?"
"Not every spell is meant for destruction. You know this, young Thranduilion," Mithrandir said as he came into the room. Varyar tensed, but he did not run this time, perhaps because he knew there was no where for him to go and escape the Istari. "At least you should know by now. Are you a neglectful student as well?"
"Beridhren might say so. No, he would say so. Still, that does not meant that I am. I just have different priorities from the ones that he thinks I should have, that's all. I know he would not approve, but he is not me. I need things he doesn't understand."
"I think you may need what he has for you as well."
Legolas folded his arms over his chest. "I know there is one thing I need that he will never understand, and because he doesn't, he is a poor tutor. He would die for me, and I know that—he is loyal—but he does not understand me."
The Istari put a hand on his shoulder. "That time will come. You are still growing into the elf that you will be, and he will see that. So will your father, though I fear it may take him many more centuries than you will like."
"That is comforting," Legolas muttered, and Varyar laughed. He turned to his friend. "That's not funny. I do not know why you're laughing when you should be in trouble—or will be, soon."
For a moment, Legolas thought that Firyavaryar would say that he was not afraid of the wizard, but if that was what he would have said, no one would know.
"Well, young gildin, what have we here?" Mithrandir asked, leaning down to study the notes that Varyar had made from his book. His eyes widened, and he picked up the papers with a smile. "You do have more than a basic understanding of what you are reading. I am pleasantly surprised."
"There would be no point in taking a book if I could not hope to understand it," Varyar said. He looked up at Mithrandir, holding the book out to him. "It was only knowledge I sought, and I did not set anything on fire this time. Will you take away the spell that has been causing this fatigue?"
"You think I put you under a spell?"
"I think I have been more weary than is natural, and it started the first time I borrowed one of your books. It is not lack of sleep, as Legolas claims."
"And you want it undone?" Mithrandir gazed on him with a mixture of emotions in his eyes. "Do you not know that there are consequences for all actions? Should you suffer no punishment for theft?"
"Maybe he had a good reason for borrowing the book," Legolas began, because he had not known Varyar to do anything without purpose—good or bad. He would tease his brother and comfort his sister—though sometimes that must be the opposite—and he studied and fought and even his games seemed to have meaning. "Would that help lessen the punishment?"
"Perhaps," Mithrandir conceded. "Though it would depend entirely on the reason."
"I am certain it is a good one. Varyar always has good reasons, don't you?"
"Sérëdhiel is the one with logic and rationality. That is not me. Go ask her if you want a reason for anything. I have none."
"None that you will give, I fear," Mithrandir said, looking down at Varyar and shaking his head. "I do not think fatigue should be your punishment—I think you will find a more compelling lesson in silence. You must learn not to hold yours or no one will help you. They will not know to."
"I don't need anyone's help," Varyar said, angry. "I don't know why you'd assume that I am some poor elfling in need of aid of some old man, but I am not. I don't need or want..."
"Want what?" Legolas asked when his friend stopped speaking, but all he got in answer was a glare—not at him, but at the wizard, and he grimaced, wishing he could have convinced Varyar not to be so stubborn for once.
"What is it about this storm that disturbs you so?" Legolas asked, joining his friend at the window. Since Mithrandir silenced Varyar, he'd been more withdrawn than usual, but he would communicate in some way if he had to. "Is it the lightning? Are you worried about being alone? Is there something I can do for you?"
Firyavaryar shook his head, his eyes going back to the rain as it fell. He seemed to be unable to keep his gaze from it, and the more the weather continued, the more concerned Legolas became for his silent friend. He knew that Varyar was not much of a conversationalist to begin with, but the unnatural silence of his current days was starting to affect them all. This had to stop. He was going to Mithrandir now. If everyone still felt that Varyar needed to be punished, it would be finished in some other manner. This hurt—Legolas could see it in his eyes.
He turned, about ready to find the wizard when the door opened, and in stepped that same Istari. He would say something about always arriving precisely when he meant to if he knew what the prince had just been thinking.
"Varyar," Legolas said, tugging on his friend's tunic to get him to look toward them. "See who is here. I think it is time that this ends."
"Indeed, I agree," Mithrandir said. "Are you ready to talk, young gildin?"
Varyar flinched, but he forced himself to nod, and Mithrandir's expression softened as he put a hand on his shoulder. "I release you."
"Thank you," Firyavaryar whispered, turning away again, and Legolas frowned, looking at the wizard with a sudden anger.
"You should not have done that to him. I know what he did in stealing your books was not right, but he did not deserve to be punished so harshly," Legolas said, knowing that Varyar had faced away from them so that they could not see the tears. "There were other ways, Mithrandir. You have hurt him in ways I don't think you understand."
"That was not my intention." The Istari reached for Firyavaryar again, getting him to look at him. "There you are. Now, please, tell me what unsettles you so about the rain. You will not help yourself any by holding in the pain. I have tried to show you this."
Varyar's eyes darted to the window. "He... He said I would never be clean again."
"Who?"
"The one that murdered my mother." Firyavaryar's words came out in a pained whisper, and Legolas blinked as Mithrandir drew him into his arms, holding onto him as he shook. "The orcs had me, and they were so dirty, and I could not breathe because of the smell, and he said even if I lived I wouldn't ever feel clean again, not in the rain, not in the water... because her blood was on my hands."
"You never told me that," Legolas said, anguished for his friend. "I did not even know that the rain bothered you until now."
Varyar tried to push away from Mithrandir, but the Istari had a good grip on him. "I did not mean to speak of it. I do not want to. Let me go. There is no good to come of telling anything. Just let me go."
"I do not think I can do that yet, young one," Mithrandir said, and Firyavaryar flinched again. "You must give me some opportunity to balance out what harm I have mistakenly caused you, for it was not my wish to do you ill. I had only hoped to see more cooperation for you, and I did not expect you to be so stubborn about asking for the removal of your silence. I now think you would never have come to me for it."
"Balance and cost," Varyar answered, and the Istari nodded as though he understood that. "Why would an Istari want to atone for anything?"
"Even wizards make mistakes. What would you like in exchange?"
"Can you lift all curses or just the ones you give?"
Mithrandir frowned. "Is that why you have studied my books? Are you seeking to find a way to rid yourself of some curse?"
"If I was, it would be foolish to do so. There is nothing in your books like that."
"No, there is not," the Istari agreed. "However, that gives me an idea. This all started because you wished to see more of my books—why not go over them with me? That way there will be no thefts or need for misunderstanding. What do you say, gildin? Is that agreeable?"
Firyavaryar frowned. "I do not know why you would do this."
"I fear you see little in the shadow that threatens to overtake you, this guilt and grief that you carry," Mithrandir told him. "However, we cannot allow that to deprive the prince of his dearest friend, can we?"
Legolas laughed. "I doubt that you are truly doing it for my sake. You just want someone around who likes your books on spellcraft and is willing to be with you despite your nasty habit. I do not know how Varyar will cope with the smell, but if he wants to, I am certain he will find a way."
The wizard smiled. "Indeed."
"It is not the smoking that is so bothersome," Firyavaryar said, recovering some of his spirit. "It is the unkempt beard and hair that is so hard to look upon—"
"Why you—" Mithrandir stopped himself, starting to laugh. "And to think I wanted you to speak."
Legolas smiled, knowing that Firyavaryar had managed, in his strange and off-putting way, to make another lifelong friend.
"This place gives me an unnatural chill," Legolas whispered, stopping in the mist that had come up around them, frowning as he searched their surroundings, "and yet it is far from Dol Guldur. This is not the work of the necromancer."
"Perhaps it is from one of his allies," Aragorn suggested, though if there was a reason for a chill, it was that Firyavaryar's last words had not departed from their minds. He had said nothing since he asked Legolas if he would believe him capable of betrayal.
"You do not believe that... but do you believe that I could betray you?"
Legolas frowned, his eyes searching the other elf's face as though he did not even understand the question, but Aragorn knew he must have. The doubt was not about having been asked if he would betray him—it was that Legolas knew that it was possible. He knew it was, but he did not want to admit that it was.
"No," the prince managed to say, though it was not a convincing statement. "I do not believe that. Never have you wanted to do me harm, so why would you betray me?"
Firyavaryar gave him a look, shaking his head before he quickened his pace, catching up to Nostalion and falling into step with him, not looking back.
Legolas glanced toward his friend again, and Aragorn noted that he and Nostalion were in quiet conference again—though how long it would stay quiet was debatable, since Nostalion disagreed with whatever Firyavaryar was saying—again.
"It would make sense, such a dark creature wanting elves as prisoners. Whether it is to repeat the terrible actions of Melkor and turn them into orcs or just for his own purpose, I cannot say, but there are many who hate and fear us, and sometimes I fear that the elven realms are all that stand between Middle Earth and the return of Sauron." Legolas shook his head. "I do not like this place. We should not linger."
"I think Nostalion might just be agreeing with you," Aragorn said as the other two elves' voices rose and Firyavaryar turned away, leaving his companion. "Though I'm not certain I want to know what that exchange was about."
"I hurt him, earlier, when I hesitated to answer him." Legolas grimaced. "No, it was when I lied poorly. He knew it was a lie, and that upset him."
"So you do think he would betray you."
"It is not so much that as... I think Varyar would do anything for his family, and if that meant a choice between me and them, I know which one he would make," Legolas answered, pained. "It is not a choice that anyone would want to ask of themselves—if it was between you and my father, Estel, what would I do? I do not think I know. Varyar does, and he hates himself for it."
Aragorn started to respond to that, but any words he managed were covered over by the scream that came from behind them, echoed by a loud snarl, and Legolas had his bow in hand before Aragorn understood that Alassë had been the one to scream. She rushed toward them, black blood on the dagger that Firyavaryar had given her, and Aragorn drew his own bow, looking around for the enemy. He had not thought that the elleth was that far behind them, so where was the orc? Dead?
"There are so many of them, hidden in the mist," she whispered, shuddering. "I didn't even smell it until it almost had me."
Aragorn frowned, still looking for the orcs. He knew that she had injured one—he'd heard it and the dagger still dripped with the proof—but he could not see any sign of them. "Legolas, tell me your elf eyes are doing better than mine."
"No, I see nothing but mist."
"Unnatural mist," Alassë said, shivering as she tried to stay close to them, her eyes darting toward the approaching figure of Nostalion. She relaxed some as she saw him. "Where are they, cousin? I know they're here, but they do not attack."
"They do not need to, not yet. They have us surrounded."
"How?" Aragorn asked, trying to tell himself that three elves and one ranger could not have missed the approach of an army of orcs, though it did not take much to think that some of them might not have given a warning even if they had known the orcs were getting close.
"Something about this mist," Nostalion spat a curse after saying the last. "It is interfering with my senses. I am... I cannot track like this."
"You look almost ill," Alassë told him. "Are you certain it is only your senses that are affected?"
He gave her a curt nod before turning to face Firyavaryar. "The mist—"
"He comes," Firyavaryar said, flinching at his own words. He let out a breath and drew another before speaking again. "I... I may be able to negotiate with him. Do not start a fight we cannot win until there is no other option. Let me speak first."
Aragorn shook his head. Not after what Legolas had told him a moment ago. He would not give this elf a chance to betray them all. "No."
"Let him," Nostalion ordered. "I do not like his choice, but I at least understand it."
Alassë said nothing. Legolas turned, his eyes catching sight of the orcs moving in out of the mist, and Aragorn let out a curse as he saw them as well. Nostalion wasn't wrong—they were surrounded. They should have been able to sense this approach—this was a whole battalion, and Aragorn thought that someone's entire armed force had encircled them. They could fight, but it would mean death.
Firyavaryar stepped forward, away from them, and Aragorn didn't think that they had much hope for negotiation here, though it might be a distraction. "Wait. That thing with the arrows you wanted to try. This might be the time for it."
"Do you think you can have any sort of strategy against what I have arrayed here? Speak, Man, for I am curious. Most curious. It is not often men travel with elves," a voice spoke as though from the mist itself, and Alassë grabbed hold of her cousin. Aragorn scanned the orcs, looking for their leader, but when the robed figure emerged, he could only stare.
Was that a nazgûl? One of the ring-wraiths here? What of the other eight? Or was the robe mere concealment? What was this being? Maia? Elf? Demon? Something else?
"There you are, my pet," the robed figure said, stepping forward to face Firyavaryar. "I had wondered why you delayed when you got my summons."
Aragorn cursed. He had known this would happen, he had expected this all along, and they had just discussed the possibility of betrayal, but it still managed to sting as it happened. Firyavaryar was this thing's servant. He had been all along. Legolas tensed beside him, and he saw the elf shaking his head in disbelief.
Firyavaryar glared at his master. "You know why—you sent those storms against me."
"Are you annoyed? If you were more obedient, such discipline would not be necessary. There would even be rewards," the voice said, reaching out to grab hold of Firyavaryar, closing its hand around his neck. "As it is, you may have tried my patience for the last time."
The elf struggled in the being's grip. "Fine. You have me. Let my family go."
"Why should I? You know you all belong to me. You always have." The figure loosened his hold, shifting his hand to the back of the elf's neck as the hooded head turned toward the others, and Aragorn stilled, forcing himself not to draw his sword. He would need it soon, but he wanted to use surprise if he could, and as the orcs were still distant, halted around them when their master approached, he might want the bow instead. "Who are these? More for me to bend to my will?"
"No. They can be of use, but they only require sufficient payment, and their price is not high," Firyavaryar said, his tone dismissive. "The man, especially. You know their greed."
"You hired help?" The hand tightened on Firyavaryar's neck. "Why would you hire anyone?"
The elf reached up to try and free himself. "I knew you would not let my family go without a greater prize, that I wouldn't be enough. So I used them to convince the one I knew you would take in place of them."
"You have a greater prize?
Firyavaryar nodded, looking down. "Legolas Thranduilion, the prince of Greenwood."
