Forever Afternoon
Chapter Fourteen
Word Count: 3,079
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: Well... I admit to being still very much on the fence because a part of me does think I should have quit before I was behind, but I did manage to put together some of the stuff that I had been meaning to do for a while now, though Varyar's incident with the cloak is not what I expected it to be. It... works, though, I think.

And after this, the fellowship would be on their way, so... That means progress.

Fools, Pets, and Paths

"I think I could hit one from here."

Nostalion gave him a look, and Firyavaryar smiled. He knew that he should be quiet—they were not invited to the council, and they should not be talking because there were far too many elves around to hear them, but he had gotten rather bored with the singing—when he thought about it, he had only liked two singers in his life—perhaps three—his mother and sister, the perhaps being Legolas. He would almost believe that someone was creating a production for a theater of some kind rather than convening a council to answer the question of how best to save Middle Earth.

Varyar's mind found too many occasions to pass into his waking dreams instead of focus on what he should be doing, and he struggled to keep himself in the present. "I think with the right aim, it could make that annoying little hobbit—"

"No."

"Since when are you the kind one?"

"I am not being kind. I would just as soon silence them with my dagger, especially since every moment outside of the council seems to be occupied with them invading our rooms to see Thenidriel until one of them convinces the others that they need a smoke," Nostalion said, eyes darkening as he considered the hobbits. "Yet I know that killing them will make everyone aware of your presence here as well as condemn us in their eyes. They like those creatures."

"Almost impossible to believe," Varyar agreed, looking down with a scowl. He was not pleased with the constant visitors to his brother's child—he was not able to spend any time with his family when they were always being hosts to someone, and he did not risk sleep when he was alone, not here.

"We have talked too much. Someone is aware of our presence."

Varyar cursed. He climbed over the other side of the roof, sliding down out of sight. He heard Nostalion moving as well, knowing that he would have drawn the sentry he had sensed away from Varyar. He could return to their rooms for now, as he had the last few times that he had almost been uncovered.

He started to move, but his cloak caught on a part of the scaffolding, and it jerked him backward, cutting off his air. He clawed at the clasp, trying to free himself from it.

"Get back here, pet," Ogol ordered, yanking back on the chain, and Varyar could do nothing as he was dragged back to the throne, skidding across the stone floor unable to grip with his feet as his hands went to the band around his neck. He knew that it was unbreakable, he knew that he could not get it off, but he always tried when Ogol wrenched him around like this.

He fell at Ogol's feet, panting, trying to draw in air, but Ogol pulled the chain again, forcing Varyar up almost into his lap. "You know where you belong. Why is it you feel you can leave where you are supposed to be?"

Varyar could not get enough air to speak. He lowered his head, trying to breathe, but Ogol reached for it and forced him to look up.

"You are mine, and you will remain at my feet and by my side always," Ogol said, leaning forward, and Varyar flinched, backing away from those eyes, the ones that had terrified him when he first saw the "trader" that killed his mother.

"Let me go."

"Last time I did that, I lost you for almost a century. I do not think I will repeat that mistake. You will be where I can see you always."

Varyar tried to turn away from him, but Ogol grabbed his wrist, twisting it in one hand as the other yanked the chain, and Varyar could not even scream when the bone snapped. Ogol let his arm go, keeping his hold on the chain.

"Now kiss the feet of your master."

"I would rather spit in your face," Varyar told him, cradling his wounded arm against his body, and Ogol kicked him. Firyavaryar hit the floor, his head on the creature's boot, and he did not bother trying to lift it up again.

He knew he would not escape Ogol twice. He would have to hope for death.

"You came alone tonight," Sérëdhiel observed as Legolas entered their rooms. He nodded to her words, though he was not entirely displeased by his current state. He had been in the company of many through all the long days, even late into the nights as the songs and entertainment continued, and though he tried to keep his heart light, many things preyed upon his mind until his unhappiness grew. Estel had tried to speak with him about it, but they were often interrupted.

Here, though, he thought he would have some peace until someone else wanted to see the baby, but most had gone down to the other halls tonight. "I believe that Estel has gone to speak to Arwen tonight. It will be his last opportunity."

"Then you have reached a decision—the council has," she corrected herself, moving over to the bench. She sat, and Legolas would have joined her if the door to the other room had not opened.

"Legolas," Idhrenion began, his voice a bit cool. "Nazgûl would have been more welcome company than those hobbits you inflicted upon us. Since when am I a wizened scholar? They would have me be the most knowledgeable of all elves when other than my daughter I am the youngest one here."

"You are?"

"Alassë is three days older than he is. This is sometimes an amusing topic of discussion, but it would not be tonight," Sérëdhiel warned. She patted the spot next to her, and Idhrenion went over to take it. He leaned his back against the wall. "Legolas has come to tell us what the council has decided."

Idhrenion frowned. "We will not like this, will we?"

"I do not believe so."

"Do not believe what?" Alassë asked, coming into the room with the baby. "Oh. Legolas is here again."

"You need not sound so displeased to have me visit."

She glared at him, holding her child close to her. "I would not be so displeased if I did not know of your willingness to give my child away to anyone who asks you for her. I told you not to take her from our rooms, but you did. You did, and then when I found you, you did not have her. You gave her away."

"Who am I to refuse the sons of Elrond?"

"Only the prince of Greenwood," Idhrenion muttered, shaking his head. "I do not know which of you is worst—Elladan, Elrohir, or you."

"You would group me with the twins? You wound me."

"I think he cannot be considered quite at their level," Eruaistaniel said as she came into the room. She looked around with a frown, walking over to the window, still troubled. "He has not pursued anyone with their determination."

"I do not believe the twins mean any harm by their attentions. They sincerely like you, and everyone should like to see that smile that graces your face so rarely come out more often."

"Speaking as one who has endured their 'flattery,' I know they have chosen the wrong method for that," Sérëdhiel said. "Though I have noticed they have not come by as often as they did when we first arrived, which is odd as they are in the city and not hunting orcs."

"I told them I loved someone I could not have, and they have stopped tormenting me as much," Eruaistaniel answered. She flushed, and Legolas thought it was quite charming on her.

"Firyavaryar would be honored by your love for him."

She stared at Legolas. "No. He is not—he would not be. You are—"

"You are upsetting her," Nostalion said, dropping in through the window she stood beside. Legolas had not expected that, but he had suspected that the assassin was among the eavesdroppers he had heard rumors of, the ones that Ehtyarion had taken up the task of finding.

The captain should be here, now, but then he seemed willing to take up any assignment that might keep him from his nephew's family despite his obligations to Legolas. The prince did not need his guard with him, but he did find the other elf's behavior strange. He had come, in part, to suggest that Nostalion track Gollum, but he had not even spoken to his nephew.

"I am fine, Nostalion," Eruaistaniel told him, managing a small smile for him. "Almost, I suppose."

He frowned at her and then looked to the group, focusing in on his wife. She shook her head. "No. We have been waiting for your return, but it did not come."

He grunted, but he did not join the others. His eyes went to Legolas again. "They talk a lot and say nothing."

Legolas smiled. "There is much history there. Many things must be recounted before an accurate decision can be made."

"The decision was simple, and everyone knew it before this started, other than those too greedy to see sense," Nostalion disagreed. "The ring has to be destroyed."

Sérëdhiel turned toward Legolas. "You have volunteered for this. You are going to be the one that destroys the ring."

"Not myself alone. I am going with eight others to take the journey," Legolas agreed, and she shook her head. Nostalion muttered a low curse, and he turned to go out the same window he had come in, leaving everyone frowning in his wake.

"I think he is right," Sérëdhiel said. "You are a fool."

"I need to atone for my failure in allowing Gollum to escape," Legolas said, though he did not know that he could say that was his only reason for volunteering. "Estel is my friend, and I would protect him with my life. Besides those things, we all know that our fate is tied up in that ring. I cannot turn away from this assignment."

"I did not think you would," Sérëdhiel told him. "I still think you are a fool."

Thenidriel clapped her hands together, giggling, and Legolas frowned. The gwinig could not have understood what her aunt had said, but she had made everyone laugh, even him in the end.

Legolas looked at his gwathel. "Let us speak of better times that may yet come if we succeed. Do you think that your niece will someday bring more pleasantness to your husband's demeanor, Sérëdhiel?"

"I believe you are expecting some sort of miracle that will not occur," she said, frowning at the window before forcing a smile. "And you do not understand at all—I love him the way he is."

"I think you are the one that is the fool."

Firyavaryar shuddered, holding his broken wrist against his chest and wondering how far below the earth they were that the chill had settled in enough to bother him. Elves did not feel cold, but he did. He felt it deep within him—or perhaps he was confusing his despair with the cold.

One of the orcs shuffled up to him, and he tried to get away from it, but he could only back away so far before the chain dragged him back.

It spat something at him in the dark tongue that he did not understand, and he cried out when it got hold of his wrist. The chain jerked, and he found himself dragged up by Ogol's bed.

"Perhaps you should reconsider your stubbornness about sleeping at my feet, pet," Ogol told him, laughing a little as he used the chain to force Varyar even closer to him. He pulled Firyavaryar up onto the bed, and the warmth of the blanket was so unfair a torture after the cold stone. He wanted to stay where he was, as humiliating as this whole incident had become.

"Behave, and I will let you have your own blanket," Ogol coaxed, combing through Varyar's hair.

Firyavaryar almost jerked away before he realized what he was seeing. He stopped, staring at the face before him. This was his monster? This was Ogol's true face? He was not at all intimidating without the robes. Even the eyes that had scared him seemed to be gone.

"You are an imposter. A fake. You play at being more than you are, but you are nothing at all. You are pathetic," Varyar told him, but then he was forced to remember why Ogol was a monster after all as the chain was yanked so that he could no longer breathe, unable to stop his other wrist from being broken.

"Wake now, Gildin," someone ordered, and Varyar shuddered, curling up against himself, even though he knew that voice was not Ogol's. He could not draw himself far enough out of the memories, and he could not make the pain of them fade, not when his body still ached from the sickness within him. He could not wake, did not want to, not to this life, not again.

"No."

"Young Thranduilion likes to tell tales of your dislike for the morning hours, and I do believe I witnessed some of those moments myself, but this is not the dawn that you hate so much. This is twilight, and we cannot allow the darkness to fall any further than it has already."

Varyar shook his head. "No. I am the darkness, do you not understand that? Leave me alone."

"Gildin," Mithrandir said, and Varyar opened his eyes to see the Istari looking at him with pity. "You must continue on—"

"Get away from him, wizard. You have done enough damage," Nostalion said, and Varyar did not know how to express his relief. He dragged himself forward to his gwador's side, collapsing against him. Nostalion frowned down at him. "What has happened? You left before I did, and now I find you here with him."

"He did not do this to me," Varyar said, unwilling to speak of the waking dreams in front of the Istari. "He woke me, and he can go. And we will go. I am not staying here for any kind of discussion. I am not well at all."

Nostalion dropped his voice to the quietest whisper he could manage while speaking the dark tongue. "You are feverish and cannot stand. You are certain this is not the wizard's doing?"

"My cloak caught, and I relived how Ogol kept me on a chain—a leash for his pet," Varyar answered, ashamed of his weakness—now and then. "I think it lasted longer than most of the dreams do, but I do not know. Let us go. Please."

Nostalion moved his arm underneath Varyar's, attempting to take on most of his weight. The wizard stepped toward them, but Nostalion pulled away, dodging his attempt to touch Varyar. "I told you to leave him alone."

"I can ease his pain for a time," Mithrandir said, speaking a few words that did seem to lessen the ache in his body. "There. The storm is calmed. I must speak to you before you go, and I do not have time to wait for you to heal—"

"No one does. There is no cure for what I have, remember?"

Nostalion grunted. "He is leaving in the morning. The fool is going with eight others to take the ring to Mordor, to Mount Doom, to destroy it. That was the decision they finally reached after all that talking."

"I would not go with you for all the fortunes of the kingdoms, not even for the cure for this plague," Varyar told him. "If you are going, Istari, go. Leave us in what little peace we have."

"I am indeed departing in the morning," Mithrandir agreed. "However, as I said—before I go, I must speak to you."

"No. I will not follow you or your manipulations again."

Nostalion shook his head, and Varyar frowned at him. Why would his gwador think that he would agree to anything the wizard asked of him? To that task, of any of them? He could not go into Mordor, and they both knew that.

"I carry enough shadow already," Firyavaryar said, facing the Istari. "I cannot go near Mordor. You should know this. Why would you ask that—why would anyone think I could think of going that way?"

The assassin looked at Mithrandir with contempt. "He is taking Legolas with him."

"What? No. I do not have the strength to follow him or stop him, and you will get him killed, you damned Maia. You pretend to walk as something of light, but you are evil," Varyar said, trying to sit up. He would not stay here any longer.

"You are having them again. The waking dreams."

Varyar stiffened. He should have known that even the dark tongue could not keep their secrets for them, but he did not think they had betrayed that much. "What do you know about my dreams?"

"I see them as a possible answer."

Nostalion tried to help him stand, but Firyavaryar had to stop him, needing to sit back down. "You think they mean that Ogol is alive. You want me to confirm that. You want me to tell you who he was because he survived and all of that was for nothing."

"We do not know that," Mithrandir said, touching his shoulder. "Your dreams may mean that he lives, yes. There is a part of me that has feared for some time that your Ogol is the same as Saruman, who has betrayed us."

"Then you know I have accomplished nothing with my death or my betrayal of Legolas—"

"Only you can tell us if Saruman is the same as Ogol, and I would ask this task of you, yes," Mithrandir agreed. "If Saruman is not Ogol, then you have eliminated another threat from the land before our darkest time. If he is Ogol, then you must face him again and free yourself."

Varyar pushed up his sleeve, trying to find the marks. He had not seen them since Ogol's "death," but that did not mean they were not still there. "I hate you, wizard."

"Yes, I do believe you do, but you will not turn away from the course that is before you."