Wildest Dreams
Chapter Eleven
Word Count: 3,354
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: So... I think I will just say that there is a long overdue explanation in this section, plus the start of a few other threads that will hopefully tie together later. I did enjoy having Éowyn and Sérëdhiel talk perhaps more than I should have, but I figured they would get along well, and I'd meant to show that sooner, but it just didn't have a place.

Things Obvious and Hidden

"Éowyn. Faramir. Have either of you seen Eruaistaniel?"

Éowyn turned from where her husband stood, walking a short distance away from him and the Gondorian soldiers to join Sérëdhiel. Faramir glanced in her direction, but she gave him a smile and he turned back to whatever business he was conducting.

Sérëdhiel grimaced, forcing herself to be polite. "I did not mean to interrupt. I need to know if you or Faramir or any of his men have seen Eruaistaniel today."

Éowyn shook her head. "No one has mentioned her to me, though if she is still unwell or withdrawn, they would not. She is so quiet that most of the time I only hear of her when one of our men has gotten too close and spooked her and is in fear of having to fight your brother because of it."

"He is very protective of all of us," Sérëdhiel said, though she was not comforted. She knew that the sheildmaiden's words were true. If Eruaistaniel wished to be alone, then she would be, and no one would see her. She might be skittish, but she also knew how to hide.

"Yet he did leave."

Sérëdhiel nodded, tensing. "Are you implying something about Firyavaryar's absence? That he has somehow withdrawn his protection by leaving?"

"No," Éowyn said. "It has been the topic of much discussion among men and elf alike. They all know of his fight with Gimli and Legolas before his departure, and then they all went after them. There is talk. None of it mentions him withdrawing his protection, nor should it."

Sérëdhiel forced herself to calm. "I—I believe I am oversensitive at the moment. Alassë would have that mean that I carry another child, but I hope that is not true, for I fear something is upon us that will need me to be something far removed from a mother."

Éowyn frowned. "You believe a battle is coming?"

"I do not know. I am worried. I cannot deny that. My brother is gone, and it is never pleasant to be the one left behind when he goes because I know the risk he carries when he leaves. I have long feared that he will suffer the same fate as our mother—he has come close—and we will never see him again."

The lady of Ithilien nodded. "Well do I know the sting of being left behind. I have hated it with every part of my soul."

"I can cope with their departure when I hold hope of their return," Sérëdhiel said, not just for the lady's sake but for her own. She let out a breath. "I do not wish to borrow trouble, but I do not know where Eruaistaniel is, and it seems no one has seen her in some time."

Éowyn looked at Faramir and lowered her voice. "I suppose you have heard how foolish I was over King Elassar before he left for the path of the dead. Everyone must have."

"I doubt it is so common a tale," Sérëdhiel said, though she was aware of it. "The man you have chosen now is a worthy one."

"He is," Éowyn agreed. She lowered her head for a moment. "Yet there was I, Éowyn, sheildmaiden of Rohan, white lady of Ithilien, slayer of the Witch King of Agmar, afraid of seeing him again even now. I am embarrassed by my behavior."

"I think it was unfair to name a man hope in a dark time when all become desperate for it."

Éowyn laughed a little. "Thank you. That is kind."

Sérëdhiel did not say that she sometimes thought Arwen was a fool for giving up immortality for the edain king, that both her and the sheildmaiden deserved better than the king, but then she had Avari prejudice within her still.

"Do you think that your friend has withdrawn because she would rather not see anyone knowing that they know of her feelings for your brother?"

Sérëdhiel frowned. "Is that the talk of the camp, too? Does everyone in Ithilien gossip about her?"

"It is not gossip as much as it is obvious to anyone who has seen her with him," Éowyn said. She sighed. "I imagine I was much the same with the king, but Eruaistaniel's love is not half as blind as mine was. She cannot be ignorant of your brother's faults, nor is she motivated by a vain need for glory."

"No, that has never been what Eruaistaniel sought, though she could have had it," Sérëdhiel said. She saw the confusion on the other woman's face and explained as much as she could without going into hours worth of contorted family arrangements within the Avari. "Eruaistaniel was set to marry the heir, making her a princess of sorts within the family—I suppose it could be considered a tribe or clan—and had that happened, she would have been married to a leader and due all of that respect."

"I did not know that."

"Politics within the Avari are complicated. Alassë and Eruaistaniel come from a family that has twisted them well beyond sanity, if politics were ever sane to begin with." Sérëdhiel almost laughed. "My parents were supposedly from two opposing clans and that was why we lived apart from the others, but I do not know if that story is true since we know about Ogol now, but that was the tale we were once told."

"Would her family oppose her marrying Firyavaryar?"

Sérëdhiel did laugh that time. "Oh, yes. They hate him. He almost started a second civil war when he defied them, saved her, took her and Alassë into his house and protection, and lured Nostalion away from them."

"You don't think they would come reclaim her or Alassë, do you?"

"No. They fear my brother as much as they hate him, and I do not think that word could have gotten to them that he has been cured of the poison he carries. Even without it, he is a skilled fighter, and they do not want to battle him," Sérëdhiel said. She shook her head. "I do not know why Eruaistaniel is not here. I do not believe she would go off alone, and I do not think she is hiding because of what passed between her and Varyar. I know it upset her, but he is not here to cause her more pain."

"More pain?"

Sérëdhiel nodded. "She may love him, but my brother swore when we were children that he would never marry, and he has not altered from that despite the centuries that have intervened. Nor would he. His offspring is forfeit to the monster—to Ogol."

Éowyn grimaced. "If he made that clear to her, are you entirely certain that she has not harmed herself? I know in part I chased battle because I no longer wanted to live, and if she felt as I did, then perhaps there is a reason to fear her absence."

"I do not understand it. How could Ogol have gotten close to Lórien without anyone noticing? He could not have marched these orcs from nowhere. His fortress was destroyed, yet he obviously has resources," Aragorn said, shaking his head as he looked around at the carnage. This should have been heard or seen, the trees and ground should have carried warning to the elves that lived here, but they had found this by the stink of its decay.

"Does he?" Legolas asked, kneeling next to the body of an orc. "This is not an army, no, but it was eliminated."

"You claiming it was the work of one elf?" Gimli demanded. "That elf? The mad one?"

"Do not mistake madness for inability. Some can manage both," Nostalion warned. He pointed to the corpse. "Those marks should be familiar to you, Prince."

Legolas nodded. "I have seen them many times myself, for my blades cut in nearly the same manner, and they are almost identical to the ones Varyar had when he left Ithilien. I do not regret disappointing you, Gimli. These orcs were killed by his blades."

"Then where is he? There's no sign of the blasted elf anywhere here."

Legolas looked at Aragorn, and he had to nod, for he could find no trace of the path Firyavaryar had taken when he left the area. Even details of the battle—something that must have happened here, the corpses were all too fresh to have been brought here—were obscured. Something had caused the events that took place here to have almost no impact at all, no imprint to follow and track the course of the fight, as though even the grass and earth had been unable to know what happened.

"I cannot get enough from this area to tell the fight," Aragorn admitted. He had been able to track it when they were told Merry and Pippin were dead, but this he could not track. "It is unclear what happened, other than that orcs died here."

"Ogol used them to tire and weaken Varyar," Nostalion said, kicking one of the corpses. "It is a method that he has used before. After the fight was over, he took Varyar."

"Took him, eh? And where did he take him? How did he take him?" Gimli asked. "Did he point a stick and make him disappear?"

"The shadow lingers here," Legolas said, reaching out to place his hand on a tree. "This place has been touched by it in a way I have never seen before. It is not unlike what you and Varyar used to make us sleep, Nostalion, and yet I do not remember that affecting the land—other than the heaviness in the air. I do not understand."

"Varyar's herbs are nothing compared to the strength of spell that Ogol can conjure," Nostalion said. He drew in a breath, frowning as he did.

"What is it? Has something happened to Varyar?"

"Perhaps he's dead and this whole foolish quest is over."

"Gimli!" Aragorn did not care much for Firyavaryar himself, but the dwarf knew better than to say that. He had already been warned by Nostalion not to insult his gwador, but he also needed to be more sensitive to the feelings of his friend. While Aragorn and Gimli did not like Firyavaryar or his influence on Legolas, Aragorn knew that Legolas considered him family. He loved him as a brother. Suggesting that he should be dead was something no friend should do.

"You do not want Varyar to be dead," Nostalion told the dwarf, voice cold. "He is the only one who can stop what Ogol is planning."

"Bah. You say that because you won't admit that he's working with this Ogol."

"He is also the only reason you are still alive. If not for his affection for Legolas, I would have already ended your insignificant life."

Aragorn grabbed hold of the dwarf and pulled him close. "You need to stop baiting him. One day his loyalty may decide that it is better to end the insults than ignore them for the sake of the affection his gwador has for Legolas. Nostalion is right—we cannot stop Ogol without Firyavaryar. We would not be able to find him. We need Firyavaryar alive. Legolas wants him alive. Watch how you speak."

Gimli grumbled. "I don't like this. I don't like that elf—either of those elves—don't trust 'em, and I just as soon believe this was some kind of trick rather than doubt the word of Galadriel."

"Do you doubt your own eyes, then?" Legolas asked, his voice quiet. He lifted a hand and gestured to the carnage around them. "These orcs did not walk here on their own. They were not killed by old age. They were cut by a swordsman who has some skill—skill you yourself have seen. I know this is not what we want to learn—that the enemy can get this close to us without our knowledge, but it is undeniable."

"How did they manage this if it isn't a trick?" Gimli asked, directing his question to the assassin. Nostalion glared back at him. "Well, if you don't want accusations, offer up a theory or two. What use are you if you can't track and won't say anything?"

"I can track."

Aragorn looked at him. "Did you get much from the battle? It seems to me that even those signs were obscured somehow."

Nostalion glanced at the field. "The signs on the ground are gone, yes. Makes the one in the sky more obvious."

"The one in the sky?" Legolas asked, frowning, but then he nodded. "Yes, you may be right. I did not see it before, but when you think about the lack of trail and the slight clearing here where the fight was—Estel, I think Ogol may have some kind of flying mount."

"You got that from what he said about the sky?" Gimli shook his head. "If it's that obvious, why'd you need him to tell you?"

Aragorn grimaced. "Because we were too focused on what we could learn from this place and not thinking of what something else might tell us. Legolas was trying to get an answer from the trees as he does, and I was searching the ground. That is how we track most of the time."

"And if Ogol knows anything about us," Legolas began, "and he must know at least a little, more so of me, since I was his prisoner, he knows how we track. He knows where our focus would be. He let it stumble us for as long as we were unwilling to think beyond our usual boundaries."

"It also means tracking him on the ground would be useless," Aragorn said, feeling frustration trying to take hold of him. He would feel just as useless on this trip, denied the opportunity to help in the way he would have done before—tracking. "We won't find signs of his passage that way. We're going to be reliant on what Nostalion can give us, even more so than we were before."

"And if this Ogol is expecting that, too?"

Firyavaryar knew pain. He had become dead to it long ago, knowing that it would not end and could not be changed. He knew the taste of his own blood and that wavering sense as he strayed close to a death an immortal should not have, but he had not been scared of that, not since he was a child. He knew all of this, and he did not feel like rising.

Something licked his face, and he jerked, pulling away and hitting something hard. Laughter greeted his actions, and he would have expected to see an orc there, gloating after having been disgusting, but he knew that laughter.

Ogol.

"Oh, pet. I would think you would be more receptive to affection from your oldest companion," Ogol said, and Varyar imagined that he was smiling underneath that hood. He must be, for he stood next to a fell beast, enjoying every inconvenience and discomfort Firyavaryar felt as well as the joke. "I think our other pet missed you."

Varyar grimaced, pulling his legs and arms close to his body. Now he did remember that... thing, and he knew it did not miss him, not unless it missed the taste of him. He shuddered, but even as he did, he found understanding at last. "You enjoy masquerading as a nazgûl."

"It has its uses."

"Even though they are all dead now?"

"Are they? Supposedly all of his kind were destroyed, but you can see that he has not been. No, the wraiths are not necessarily gone. Those fools may assume that they have killed them, but some doubt will remain, and all I need to move freely is that bit of doubt," Ogol said. "Doubt has worked very well on you, almost too well, for I fear there is little left of your mind."

Firyavaryar ignored that, unwilling to agree even if it was true. "That thing was in your caverns, at the bottom of them. When you fell, it caught you."

"And you as well," Ogol said, knowing that would make Varyar shudder again. He laughed. "You must hate that you owe your survival to this 'foul creature,' but it has always been ever so fond of you. You know I think it wanted to save you more than it did me."

"I hate you," Firyavaryar muttered, leaning back against the stone, wanting the turmoil in his stomach to end. He could feel that creature's breath on him, smell the stink of whatever had decayed in its mouth, and then its teeth would rip through his flesh—he preferred the torture of the orcs to that thing.

"Such a pity. I adore you," Ogol said, and Varyar grimaced, trying to get himself on his feet before Ogol decided his game should be played with his other pet. "You know you will not be able to run. I do enjoy watching him hunt you, but today we must travel, not play. You needed your reminder, yes, you did, for you have fooled yourself into thinking you can truly defy me, but you cannot. You are mine to do what I will, and you will do what I tell you."

"I never have before."

"Oh, pet. How you like to believe that, but you know it is not true. Tell me, did you forget the bargain you made for her freedom?"

"There is no bargaining with you," Firyavaryar said. "You have always said I was yours, that I had no choice, so what could I have bargained with? No, she was lying. She may have bargained with you, but I did not."

Ogol's laughter taunted him again, ringing against the stone as he pulled on the chain and dragged Varyar toward him and the creature. "That is you wanting to believe things that are not true, those lies you cling to because your mind cannot accept what you are, but you are mine and have been all your life, so you do what I want you to."

"Not even the Valar, if they existed, could do that."

"I am not like the pathetic Valar. I shape things to my will where they think the promise of a journey is enough to pacify all Middle Earth. Do you think so? What fools are they, leaving creatures like you to their own will when they could be using you as I have done?"

"Your will is meaningless. You will fail."

"You do not even know what it is I am after."

"I do not need to. I know you will never accomplish it, because I will never serve you."

Ogol attached the chain to another band, this one around the creature's neck. "You and your delusions, little pet. Yes, you will serve me. You already have in so many wonderful ways."

Varyar snorted. "Name one."

"I could remind you of dozens," Ogol boasted, touching his cheek. "I fear we do not have time for that now, though. We must resume our travels. They are gathering, and soon these pathetic kingdoms of men will fall."

"The kingdoms of men just defeated Sauron."

"Yes, and weakened themselves considerably to do so. There is little left there worth fighting, and soon it will all be gone," Ogol said, smug. "And you have helped that along so nicely already, drawing the king away from his troops as you did. Masterful stroke. He will be much easier to kill separated from his armies. Perhaps I will even let you do that."

"No. I will not do it."

"Oh, yes, you will," Ogol told him with a confidence that made Firyavaryar sick. He knew that Ogol was delusional, but something about the way he said that made Varyar fear he had the right leverage, the kind that would make him do anything the monster asked of him.