Wildest Dreams
Chapter Twenty-One
Word Count: 3,946
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: I won't go into detail for all the assorted and unpleasant reasons for the delay between this chapter and the last. Life hit pretty hard mixed in with a bad case of writer's block, a few minor illnesses, and lots of personal drama, but I did manage to pull together something between what I had from before and what i was finally able to write, so there is this. I did give it to someone to look at before posting it, because I almost changed my ending even after I was ready to go forward from it, but... in the end, I hope it is good that I kept it as is. Though the scene at the beginning is new, and so are a few minor things in the other parts.

The Flaws in Plans and Memories

"Sérëdhiel, I am hungry," Idhrenion whispered, curling up next to her with a slight shudder. He had to move past their father when he did, and she could not look there, either, afraid of what she would see, of what she would have to face if she did.

"I know. I am as well."

"Nana and Varyar have been gone too long. If Ada..." Idhrenion choked, burying his head in her sleeve and weeping again. She shifted, taking him into her arms, wanting to do nothing more than cry herself. Her father was gone, her mother also, and she did not know her brother's fate. She did not know if they dared leave—she did not think they could stay, but where could they go? They had no money, no supplies, no family...

She did not want to let anything happen to Idhrenion, did not want him to suffer or die, but she did not know that she could save either of them. They had been without food for longer than even an elf should—she still thought it strange to know that they were elves, but that was not something she could let distract her. She needed to feed herself and her brother.

Her father had wanted her to be strong, but she was not like Varyar. If he were here, he would already have found them food and got them moving. She was afraid to leave, afraid that if she took them from here and Varyar was alive, then he would not be able to find them. She wanted to believe that her brother lived, that he would somehow find them, but her hope was almost gone. Varyar had been gone too long.

"I don't know why I think Nana should come back. She won't. She's gone."

Sérëdhiel nodded. Idhrenion kept trying to forget, like it would make it easier for him, but then he was so small and lost, just as she would be if she were only a little younger. "We need to go look for food again. It's all we can do."

"Last time we got lost. It was... cold."

She pulled him close to her. They did not know cold, should not know hunger, but that had gnawed at them for days now. She did not know how they would find anything to eat now, but she knew they had to try. They could no longer stay here.

The door swung open, and Idhrenion cried out, but she could only stare at the figure in the doorway, uncertain of the truth she thought she saw. "Varyar?"

Battered as he was, his face half-covered with bruises, his clothes torn and bloodied, she almost did not know him. She wanted to believe it was him, but she did not know that she should. She eased Idhrenion off and rose, going to face the other, knowing she had to do it, and even if she died now, perhaps it was some kind of mercy.

"Firyavaryar?"

He put a hand to his forehead and grimaced at the sound of his name. "Do not screech at me, Sérëdhiel. My head aches too much for that."

"You're back," she whispered, rushing to his side and clinging to him for a moment. "Oh, Varyar. You're here."

He moved his arm around her. "Ada—"

"The ground was too hard. We couldn't bury him. And the weather was so cold that nothing seemed to be growing and we haven't found food and I don't—"

"Eat," Varyar said, passing her a small bag, and she opened it up, ignoring the grime that covered it and him to find fruit inside, the kind that was long out of season but looked so wonderful that she wanted to cry again. "Should go."

"You need your wounds looked at," she said, shaking her head as she picked out a berry and passed it to Idhrenion. "How did you escape?"

Varyar's hand rubbed at his head again. "I... I don't know."

"How do you know that there are messengers going to Lord Elrond and King Thranduil?" Estel demanded. "I thought that Ogol did not tell you his plan."

"I cannot think otherwise when he would have anticipated your arrival. This is not the first time you have followed me into his trap despite my warnings to the contrary," Firyavaryar muttered, rubbing at his head. "I cannot see what else he would allow you to arrive here alive for, either. You must be negotiating pieces with your respective fathers. I do not know of any other use for you besides leverage, and that he has in abundance."

"We must find some way of stopping this, though," Legolas said. "We cannot allow him to kill Gimli or Estel, and we must free ourselves. Tell us of this building, of Ogol's forces, of anything that might aid us."

Firyavaryar sighed, fatigue in his voice. "I know little besides this room and wherever it is that he keeps me when I am not here. He apparently has some kind of residence—and they are supposedly building me a home worthy of my distinction and dubious honor of uniting the three houses—but when he takes me there and leads me from it, I am usually unconscious. I am awake as long as the others are around to see us, but when they are not... He drugs me. He likes to do it by touching my hair, disgusting as that is."

Legolas grimaced, as did some of the others. Varyar gave a short little laugh. "I am a pet, after all."

"What about sounds or smells from the place you were in?" Elladan asked. "Those may help us have a better idea of what might be there and what kind of force he has."

"It smells like filth and death. Orcs." Firyavaryar shuddered. "And the fell beast."

"Anything else?"

"It is not that I do not want to find a way out of this," Varyar said, shaking his head. "I do not know of any. I have few lucid moments when I am not here in this forsaken hall listening to bickering and complaining and being half-tempted to let Ogol slaughter them all, but they are spent in darkness or with him, and there is little worth speaking of when I am with him."

"There should be something," Estel said. "When he speaks of his plans or when he—"

"When he is torturing me, his words are not worth repeating. What little he says besides that are comments about me—also unfit to repeat—and of himself—even more vile—and while he thinks he has some kind of plan, he only boasts of having one, of how brilliant it is, not of what it is."

"Bah. The creature is mad and has no plan at all."

"Perhaps not, Gimli, but that would make him in some ways more dangerous. If we do not know his goal is, it will be difficult to keep him from achieving it," Estel told the dwarf, frowning. "If we cannot predict it, everything we do may end up giving him more of what he wants—and we have apparently done that already."

"He's not giving us anything we can use to help ourselves or anyone else at the moment."

"I do not know that he is in any state to do that," Elrohir said, leaving Amariel's side to rejoin Eruaistaniel and Firyavaryar. "You need to let us treat you as much as we can. Perhaps if your pain subsides, you may gain some clarity, and we have need of that."

Varyar shook his head. "I have not known clarity in centuries, and I doubt it will come while I am still in Ogol's hands. This understanding I have gained in knowing some of his plan—at least, in knowing what part of it I have always had—is not as as I would have hoped. It gained me no further insight into his plan. He has taken control of the Avari, but what that means is still debatable. He has an army, and he spoke of the weakness of the others after the war with Sauron, but if he means to take advantage of that—he cannot, I would not think, because they are untrained. They fight with each other, not in unity, and that is no way for an army to go into battle."

"Estel has unified the kingdoms of Men again," Legolas said. "They are not as easy a threat as he assumes."

"Your friend is but one man, and he could fall easily. Even his heir is not enough to hold back the tides of chaos that would resume as soon as the fabled return of the king ended quicker than it began," Firyavaryar muttered. He pushed at Elrohir's hand. "Stop that. I do not want—"

The last word became a curse, and Varyar collapsed. Elrohir opened the top of his tunic, and Legolas heard someone intake a sharp breath—perhaps himself—at the sight of the bruises that had altered the landscape of Varyar's pale skin into almost pure darkness.

"Is he going to live?"

"That is doubtful," Elrohir said, surveying the wounds.

"And unfortunate," Elladan added, shaking his head when Gimli started to speak. "I think the greatest flaw in Ogol's plan and the only one we have any true hope of exploiting is the fact that he does not and cannot truly control Firyavaryar."

Varyar coughed, spitting out blood into an angry puddle in front of him, as though his life itself were trying to protest as it slipped away, raging against that supposed immortality that was being made a lie even as he drew in another breath. Maybe it was foolishness to think that was possible, but he saw the red, the mark of anger, and he could not help a bit of insane laughter as he rolled to the side, heaving and wondering if he would find release in death this time.

"Why must you insist on being difficult?" Ogol asked, leaning down next to him. He took Firyavaryar's chin in his hand, wiping the blood off with his thumb. "Your suffering is needless."

"Thought... amused... you," Varyar whispered, gagging on the blood rising up his throat. He tried to swallow it down, but Ogol jerked his head. More spilled past his lips. Death seemed so close now, such a relief...

"Do you understand at all the difficulty you create for yourself? If you would only obey me, you would not have to suffer as you do," Ogol said. He moved his other hand to brush back Varyar's hair. "I can end this now. All you have to do is tell me you will do as I ask."

"I... would... never. I—This... not... real. Cannot... be. You—Where... Draugminaion?" Firyavaryar had been alone in the dark too long if he was hallucinating Ogol here, in this place, like some twisted form of salvation.

"You prefer him as master over you?"

"Have... no... master," Varyar insisted. He spat out more blood, thinking that this must be that mortal wound that would end his immortality, and he welcomed it. He wanted to die. He had lost his mind between Ogol and Draugminaion, and the idea that his monster was here, now, watching and allowing this other monster to experiment on him, that he would free him if Varyar promised to obey him... No. He would rather die.

Feeling as he did now, he would gladly die.

"You are mine, young one," Ogol insisted, combing through Firyavaryar's hair. "Once you accept that, surrender to it, all of this can end. Serve me willingly, and I will reward you."

"Am... not... your... pet." Firyavaryar wheezed, pulling away from the hand and trying to lift his own to wipe away at some of the blood that had accompanied his words. "Will... not... serve."

"You will," Ogol said, always so sure, so confident, and yet Varyar did not know why. Nothing had broken him yet, not even this torture of Draugminaion's, and he would not do so now, not when Ogol was not even present. He would never serve the monster that had killed his mother and father, and he would repay Ogol for those deaths when he could. He would not let Ogol live, not after what he had done, and he would never serve him.

"Will... die... first."

Ogol laughed. "Oh, pet, what he intends for you will be far worse than death, and I think I will allow it. You are still too stubborn. I will add my own modification to it when he is finished—he will not be the one who has triumph over you in the end—when you feel the pains and aches of the storms, you will know that you are mine. That you will always be mine."

"You... not... here. Dead... Gone... Killed... you."

"You amuse me so much, little one," Ogol cooed, and Varyar flinched to realize the hand was back in his hair. "You did try, yes, and I let you escape thinking you had, you silly little fool, but you will never have that victory. I will have mine, though. You will serve me."

Varyar laughed, choking on the blood coming up his throat. He was dying, and that would never happen. He let his eyes close, knowing that even though he could not be certain that his family was safe, he welcomed the oblivion of death.

"He may be stirring again. Though he is clearly injured and weak, he does not remain unconscious for long," Elrohir said, and Aragorn frowned at his words. He knew that his brother had been unable to do much for Firyavaryar's wounds, and he did not know how they could move this many injured without attracting too much attention. If Firyavaryar truly led these people, then his word should be enough to get them free, but he did not seem to be using it, and Aragorn did not know why.

"It is better if he wakes. We need him to get us past the guards before Ogol returns."

"I think we need to know how much authority Ogol has here independent of Firyavaryar's," Elladan began. "If he is truly entrenched with these people, defying him will not be easy, and we are in a dangerous position already. We cannot know how many of them would follow him instead of Varyar. He may be the leader of three nost, but it seems as though Gurpeth, as they know Ogol here, has some sort of... pull, some way in which he holds a position without actually being a part of any house or even Avari. They listen to him. Respect him. Follow his orders."

"Varyar did say that he is like Mithrandir is to us," Legolas agreed, grimacing at the thought. "Not only do I not want to know what would happen if Mithrandir used his influence for evil as Ogol has done, but I do not want to believe that anyone would place so much trust in a being as deceitful as Ogol is. How is that possible?"

"Avari are by nature deceitful, or have you not assumed as much already?" Nostalion asked, almost sounding amused.

Gimli glared at him, readying his axe, but Aragorn put a hand on his shoulder. "He is right—we have made that assumption many times. It is not, I think, that the Avari trust Ogol so much as he has behaved in the manner they all expect and are accustomed to, and he has been able to manipulate them because of it."

"Remember, too, that the crimes which we know happened within the realm of Nostalion's noss, to Eruaistaniel and the others, were not matters the other nost intervened in. They did not see fit to stop them. That passive behavior—tolerance of such acts—it is difficult to say how successful we would be in turning anyone to our side if they were unwilling to intervene among those that are their own," Elladan said. "We cannot be certain anyone will care what atrocities Ogol may have committed—or will commit."

"The nost were never united before. They did not care about the others because they were enemies," Nostalion told him. "They would rather let their enemies destroy themselves than intervene. Some would even have taken advantage of the confusion and bloodshed if possible."

"Meligur."

"He is far from the only one, but yes. He did."

Aragorn looked at Eruaistaniel again, shaking his head. He did not like seeing such an innocent, peaceful creature caught in the middle of these kinds of schemes, suffering for the sake of other's greed for power. He had hated such things since he was a child, and he knew that it had to be stopped. He did not know if Ogol's plans could harm more than the Avari, but he did not need to be certain of that to know that they had to end.

"It is perhaps easier to use them against each other, as they have been before," Aragorn said, though he did not want to encourage a civil war. He knew, however, that it would delay any scheme of Ogol's if that were to happen—that was what Firyavaryar had said he was intending to use as well. "Division is an ally that we can use, but I hope it is not necessary. We do not need to harm these people, and if we can find another way, then we should."

"I have a simple solution, though I fear it is no longer the solution I had hoped it was," Firyavaryar whispered. He laughed rather bitterly. "It will not solve as much as it once might have, and it will cause greater risk to some, but it will be the delay you need for a more permanent—"

"No," Legolas interrupted. "We are not killing you, Varyar. Not only will it risk Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion, but it will not stop Ogol or a civil war. You are too important here, much as I know you must hate that."

Firyavaryar managed a weak nod. "That, and he will not let me die. Nostalion, did I ever say anything about seeing Ogol when Draugminaion had us? I swear I just... It is not a memory. It cannot be, and yet it... It is real, and it fits."

"You think he was there, watching Draugminaion work and allowing it to happen?"

"He said he was. Said if I promised to serve him willingly, he would make it stop," Firyavaryar answered. He frowned. "Yet if I had pledged to do that, as the elleth claimed, then he would not have been there, would not have let Draugminaion experiment on me even if I had nearly killed him when I escaped the second time."

Aragorn frowned. "You mean when you fell?"

"No. I mean..." The elf put a hand to his head. "My mind is a jumble, but I do remember trying to kill him before—you did not think I never tried, do you? I am not that weak. I did try. I thought I had killed him once. Perhaps more. He is some kind of indestructible monster—only this last time his fell beast saved him, so it was not that. I am not certain what kept him alive at the other time—I remember a scream of rage and blood, but it was difficult to know if it was his or mine at that point and... I do not know."

"Do not worry so much over the past," Legolas advised, kneeling next to his friend. "We cannot alter it. What we need now is a way to overcome what Ogol is doing, and before he made what may be the same mistake he has always made—you see your death as a solution, and it might have been, only what he has overlooked, again, as he always seems to do, is that he cannot control you. You are the weapon against him. Again."

"Some weapon," Firyavaryar muttered. "I can barely move. Cannot hardly think. Cannot aid you in much of any way."

"Aye, laddie, you're nigh on useless," Gimli agreed with a bit of a smile, "but you can get us out of here, can't you? Lead the way. They're meant to follow you, so they won't question your orders. Get us to some place safe."

"I doubt such a place exists, dwarf, but if—thank you, Nostalion, that is what I needed," Firyavaryar said as his gwador helped him to his feet despite Elrohir's protest. "We shall attempt a departure. I do not think it wise, but then I cannot truly think, either."

"We will need someplace nearby to shelter us. We saw little on our approach. Do you know of anything?"

"I was not raised here," Firyavaryar said. "Nor have I seen much of the holdings of any of—wait. Where is my little weasel of an aide? He has the plans I made for redistributing the housing evenly, and if we can find him, then I'll know what is vacant and what is not. If I could remember—no, I cannot think."

"You are about to collapse again," Nostalion grumbled at him, and Firyavaryar nodded.

"I will, but not so soon as that," the Avari leader said, forcing himself to stand straight. "I believe there is something of my father's family that belongs to an uncle they say likes Dwarven ale too much. Nostalion may be able to find him if he stretches what he knows of me and my siblings and therefore our father to find—"

Whatever else he would have said was lost as the elf crumpled, losing consciousness again.

"Not going to collapse, he says," Gimli said, shaking his head as Nostalion eased the other elf back to the ground. "If anyone sees him like that, they'll blame us and take my head first. Well, they'll try, and they'll face my axe."

"We are trying to avoid war here," Legolas reminded him. "We cannot provoke a fight now, not when we cannot win. We have to navigate carefully and—how strange. I do not hear the sound of the sea here. The call of it. I hear... nothing."

"The Avari are not on the journey. They lack the connection to nature, and it can be felt here, I think," Elladan agreed, looking around at the hall. "Perhaps that is where the answer lies. You said when you traveled with Alassë before, she had never spoken to a tree. She never felt it or heard them until then. What if we were to open more of them to nature? We could show them the truth of what Ogol has done."

"If you can get anyone to trust you, which is doubtful," Nostalion said. He looked his companion over with a darkness in his eyes. Aragorn thought that was worry, but it was difficutlt to tell with the assassin. It could have been anger as well, though whether that was with Firyavaryar or someone else, Aragorn did not know.

"You've been close to Ogol again," Aragorn said, looking over at the tracker. "Do you think you can find him now?"

A chill passed over him, and he almost shuddered as he waited for the assassin's response. Another's came first.

"Why would he have any need to find me when I am here?"