Forever Afternoon
Chapter Twenty-Five
Word Count: 3,093
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: Um, let me just say that my week was bad enough to where I contemplated never writing again. Ever.

I did get past the paths of the dead, and I was starting to dread the battle for the ships, my usual dislike for action scenes combining with the rest of what was going on, and then I managed to slightly sidetrack myself in a good way, since I had overlooked something: the gulls and the sea longing.

I admit, I always think of the song Les Goelands when I hear Legolas talking about the gulls. My translation of the lyrics is probably poor, but as I understood it, the song was about how the gulls represented the souls of sailors lost at sea, and their anguished cries were ones of mourning. It's that idea that Varyar speaks of.

The other song is Legolas' from the book. I would not have been able to write any of this without having the book next to me.

The Dead, the Gulls, and the Elves

"That summoning he spoke of, that does not include you."

Firyavaryar lifted his head, looking over at Nostalion, the hood blocking his vision. He did not care for that much, not in this place, not when it was already too dark, too obscured. He thought his gwador did not feel the same fear in the dark as he did, not even after what Draugminaion had done to him, and that was just another reason why Nostalion would always be the stronger of the two of them.

"I do not know that I believe that."

Nostalion frowned, and Varyar tried to keep himself from remembering too much and falling off of his horse.

"I have seen this path before," Firyavaryar said, shuddering. He rubbed at his neck, telling himself that he did not feel what he thought he did. He had been free of that collar for centuries now, and it could not be upon him here. That was not possible. "It was in the planatír."

"A vision?"

Varyar hesitated. He knew others had them, and he had spent many years convinced that he would betray Legolas—and then he had—but he did not believe himself prone to visions. "Ogol wanted me to see things that would upset me, and this was no different. I do not know that he controlled it, but if there was something he could do to make the stone show me things would unsettle me, he would have done it."

"If you wish to conceal yourself for this journey, perhaps you should stop talking," Elladan advised, stopping his horse as his brother passed a silver horn to the echil. "I do not think our fatigue is enough to distract the one you would have mislead."

Firyavaryar tried to glare at him, but the air was rent by the sound of the horn, and Varyar nearly fell out of his saddle with the sound.

"I find the variations in this stone fascinating," Ogol said, and Varyar tried to get free so that he would not have to look at it again, but Ogol held him in place. "Do you not find them interesting, pet? So many things that can be seen, so many possibilities..."

"Let go of me. I do not know how you got that thing, but it is as evil as you are, and I have no desire to look upon it—or you."

Ogol laughed. "You amuse me endlessly. It is fortunate, for I should have killed you long ago for such stubbornness. I did not."

"And I do not think myself fortunate that you did not. I am not. Death would be a mercy, and you are not merciful. You are evil, and that is what I named you. If I am ever fortunate, I will kill you."

"Look into the stone," Ogol ordered, shoving it into his face, keeping a hand on his neck so that he could not pull away. "I doubt that is the future you will see. Yours remains one without mercy."

Varyar swore he heard the sound of a terrible horn, and there was a host of living dead—no, he did not believe that, he did not accept ghosts. Laughter. Gulls diving low. Ships. The dead in the water—the birds—no, that was a foolish tale. A field of those truly dead, endless rows of their bodies spread on the field of battle. Terrible large creatures that shook the ground. A white city burned, and a shadow overtook it from the east. Weeping. All were dead. Everything had fallen to the shadow.

He shuddered, and Ogol smiled as he combed through Firyavaryar's hair. "Oh, pet. How I envy you what you have seen. Such glorious death. It suits your dark beauty and the killer I know is inside you. Soon you will do battle for me, and I will delight in your kills."

"No," Varyar said, but he did not know that he would not free himself without some blood on his hands. That was inevitable now.

Something jerked him up, and he heard voices, whispers of unnatural things, more shudders wracking through his body as he tried to summon the strength to remain upright. He would have thanked his gwador if he were capable of speech, but he was not.

"Oathbreakers," the echil called in a loud voice, and Firyavaryar's head jerked toward him, uncertain if he was included in that summons. "Why have you come?"

"To fulfill our oath and have peace."

"The hour has come at last. We go to Pelgarir, and you will follow us. Fight for us, and I will release you," the echil said, and the whispers of the dead murmured against his words. He raised his sword for them to see. "I am Isildur's heir. Fight for me, and when the land is clear of the followers of Sauron, you will have peace and depart forever."

The dead gave no answer, but Nostalion leaned close to speak in Firyavaryar's ear. "Those words are not for you. If you die out there, I will hunt you to the halls of Mandos himself and drag you back."

Though he knew he should not, Varyar laughed.

Aragorn had known that he would be the one to lead everyone on from the Dimholdt, and he did not think that anyone else would have taken up that role, not his elder brothers for all their elven nobility, nor Legolas, for all his loyalty, nor Gimli, for his stout honor and pride. Perhaps, were they in need of tracking, Nostalion would have gone to the front, but the betrayer Firyavaryar would not have led anyone. No, this task belonged to Aragorn, and it was for him to continue on, aware that only he could control the dead that rode behind them.

This was, he thought, when he began to act as a king. He had known for some time now that he was the heir to a throne, but that was not the same as taking up its banner and responsibility. He had not only called himself the heir, he had commanded the dead.

He felt a greater weight, greater burden than he ever had before, and he wished he could return to the days when he and Legolas ran about causing trouble for themselves and others with little thought to thrones, when he teased his brothers as a child might and did not have to worry about some crown that would fall off his head, however imaginary it might be.

"Echil."

Aragorn grimaced. Not that he had become egotistical with this choice, not that he would, but if he needed something to remind him of his own limits and keep him humble, he had it in Firyavaryar, who tempted him to cause the elf great harm whether he should or not.

"If you wanted to keep certain knowledge from someone, you should remember to mind your tongue."

"Oh, next time do threaten to remove it. You shall have more of an effect," the elf muttered, and Aragorn looked at him, not expecting to intimidate that creature. "I would have had more reason to laugh."

Aragorn was tired of being insulted by the Avari. He would have willingly ended that insubordination if not for Legolas. "What do you want?"

"You said Pelgarir," Firyavaryar said, and Aragorn waited for him to get to the point. "You will take us along a path to the sea. Already we have passed the fields of Lebennin. The songs of Legolas' people speak of them being green, but even if they are now gray, they are behind us."

"Yes," Aragorn agreed, frowning. "What is it? Speak plainer—or faster. You have no need to be so slow when you give insult."

"Insulting you is easy. It takes no great mind, though I see you are far from the clever one you are supposed to be in failing to realize the risk you are exposing Legolas and your own brothers to, you fool," Firyavaryar said, and Aragorn reached for him. "The sea. The gulls. Do you know nothing of the sea longing?"

"They all know the risks."

"The risks of death and the dead riding behind us, wanting to overtake us and rush to battle, stayed only by your will, but I would say that none of them paid any heed to the risk of the sea longing. That is not fatal, no, and perhaps it matters nothing to your brothers, for perhaps they will take the boats when this battle is over, but I know Legolas. He is above all things loyal to his friends, and he will not be able to leave, not while any of you mortals live," Firyavaryar said. He cursed. "Perhaps I should never tell him of my survival, for he will not take the boats to remain with me, and that will cause him great pain over many centuries."

Aragorn knew of the sea longing, had heard of it, at least, but he did not know what it was like, and he did not know that he could worry about that now. "This is the path we must take, and it is the path we have chosen. Legolas chose it as well. You know how stubborn he is. We may none of us survive this ride, and if we do, then a sea longing may be a small price in the end—for we must weigh it against the loss of Gondor. If Sauron is defeated, then even the longing must be worth it, for many have already given their lives to see us to this point."

"And you call yourself a friend to him," Firyavaryar said, disgusted. "Mark this, echil, for I will not forgive you this, just as you do not forgive me giving Legolas to Ogol, but I know what he will suffer because of you will last much longer than the torment he endured at the hands of my enemy, and I did try many times to send him back, to lose him. I would have let you harm me to try and avoid giving him over to those hands. You are the same fool now that you were then."

"I have had enough of your insults," Aragorn warned. "You can blame me all you like, but you are still the one that has done worse."

"No." Firyavaryar's voice was cold and flat. Deadly. "You assume I know nothing of pain or perhaps you are as immune to the physical as I have become, for it is not truly the physical torture that breaks anyone, but I assure you—I know what it is to long for something that can never be. I know that anguish, that desperation, and I would not wish it even upon Ogol. I cannot touch anyone, you fool, and I have not been able to in centuries. I used to comb through my siblings' hair when they had nightmares; I would soothe them with one touch of my hand. Even though I knew that I would lose any offspring I might have to Ogol if I were to have any, I cannot even hold an elleth's hand or I will kill her. I have almost killed my niece because she crawled into my lap while I was sleeping. Do you not understand that I would give almost anything to be able to touch? If Legolas gets the sea longing, it will be worse for him."

"Why have we stopped?" Elrohir asked, coming up behind them. "The dead are restless behind us, and you are about to expose yourself, Varyar. I do not understand what made you delay us."

"Do you not know how close to the sea you are?"

Elrohir grimaced. "It may not be as dire as you suppose."

"I do not think it will matter to me or Nostalion. We are Avari, and we are cursed by the Valar, not called by them," Firyavaryar said, not giving Elrohir the same disdain that he did Aragorn. "It will affect others, though."

"Given our lineage, I do not know that Elladan or I will be affected by the longing," Elrohir said, frowning as some doubt got past his initial confidence. "I suppose if we are, we shall take the boats, as Ada would want and we might even choose ourselves, since we would be reunited with our mother."

"While I do not doubt that Legolas would want to see his mother again, he will not take the boats, and he will suffer," "He cannot go by the sea. We are already too close."

Elrohir looked behind them. "No, I fear we are already too late."

Aragorn turned around, trying to see what his brother had. "Legolas seems fine."

"No. Look at the vacant way he stares into the distance and how he has not noticed our conversation," Elrohir disagreed. He looked to Firyavaryar and sighed. "He has heard the gulls. It is done. There can be no undoing of it."

Firyavaryar shook his head, cursing them both as he went to rejoin Nostalion. Aragorn looked at his brother. "Tell me he is wrong. Legolas will not suffer as much as he believes."

"I would give you such assurance if I could, gwador, but I fear I cannot."

Silver flow the streams from Celos to Erui, in the green fields of Lebennin. Tall grows the grass there. In the wind from the sea, the white lillies sway, and the golden bells are shaken of mallos and alfirin in the green fields of Lebennin, in the wind from the sea...

A song rose in Legolas' thoughts, trying to compete with the cries of the gulls and gray wastes of the fields. Green, he tried to tell himself, they should be green, but he could not think of the green that he remembered of old tales. He could remember only that he had heard the gulls.

A wail, such a wail, and the wide water in the darkness—they must have been near the sea, and Legolas wanted to go to it. He had never before experienced such a thing, and he did not know how to ignore it. He would leave everything to go to the sea, for it seemed finer to him than anything he had ever known in life, and somehow he could almost forget the war that was upon Middle Earth. He could forget Estel, their friendship and bond, close as gwador. He could forget Greenwood, the beauty of his own land and every other forest. He could forget even his father, and it surpassed his longing to see his mother again.

He wanted only the sea.

"What is the thing you want the most?"

Firyavaryar propped his head on his hand, frowning as he looked over at Legolas. "What sort of question is that?"

Legolas did not know. They had spent most of the afternoon in silence, having run far enough to rid themselves of tutors and guards, and Ehtyarion's voice was still echoing in the trees somewhere. Varyar's family would be worrying about him soon, and Beridhren would declare, once again, that they were both terrible students, but all Legolas wanted was time away from studying and practicing and being a prince. He sometimes envied Varyar his status as Avari. No one expected much of him, and that had to be nicer than the endless weight of being Thranduil's son.

He did not hate his father, but he sometimes thought someone else should be prince, someone who did not want to wander and see other places and things.

"Why are you always so suspicious? What is wrong in me asking you a question?"

"You are asking for something else, something behind your words, and I am not certain what it is, but I would rather speak of it than 'what I want most.' That sounds like a writing assignment Beridhren will torture us with when we return to your father's palace."

Legolas laughed. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps nothing," Varyar said, sitting up and reaching over to drag Legolas to his feet. "What is it you are afraid to speak of?"

"The sea."

"Are you speaking of the tales of the dead men that turn into sea gulls and cry out for their lost bodies deep in their watery graves?"

Legolas frowned. "What idiot told you that one?"

"My father," Firyavaryar said, and though his tone betrayed little, Legolas flinched. Varyar rarely spoke of his father, and Legolas would not want to insult that memory, embittered as he knew his friend was because his father had faded when his mother died and Firyavaryar had not. "The sea is no more frightening than any other part of Middle Earth."

"Isn't it? What about Mordor?"

"Oh, I forgot. You are afraid of basements."

"Yrch."

Varyar smiled, and then he let it fade, adopting a more solemn demeanor. "I think you have nothing to fear from the sea if you go nowhere near it, and with the way your father worries over you—you will never see it. There is nothing, therefore, to fear."

Legolas was not certain he felt appeased by that. "If I went to the sea, would you go with me? Would you save me from the sea longing if it tried to take me?"

"No," Varyar said, and Legolas looked at him, confused by his humor. Firyavaryar laughed. "If we go to the water, I will push you in."

"Yrch," Legolas repeated, lunging for him, but Firyavaryar started running, and somehow he was always faster than Legolas when they played this game.

"Legolas," a voice said, and for a moment, he confused it with Varyar's, but when he managed to pull himself out of the fog that had taken him when he heard the cry of the gull. He grimaced, feeling foolish.

"There you are, laddie. Thought we'd lost you there," Gimli said. He shuddered. "Almost thought you had one of those things in you."

Legolas glanced back at the dead, wondering how he could have forgotten their presence, how he could have ignored it even for the sea. He did not like this. How could he be so unfocused, so weak? He had to be stronger than this. He must be. He knew that. He did not want to be weak, not when the great battle was upon them and Estel needed him the most.

"I heard the gulls," he whispered, knowing that the dwarf could not understand. No one did.