Wildest Dreams
Chapter Twenty-Five
Word Count: 4,155
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: So I believe this tale has come to... an end. I think there may be a few minor details that were not covered, but for the most part, this should serve to wrap everything up, and I think it is an ending that comes on a more positive note, and that is something that should be considered good, though endings are always difficult. It is my hope that this satisfies, and I believe also that my foray into fanfiction is done. I let the stories become all about the OCs, and I love them, but if I'm going to work with them again, I think I'll do it in original fiction. Or AU, maybe, since Ogol doesn't seem to want to stay dead. *sigh*

Used a lyric from the song that inspired the title for the story for this last chapter's title. :)

Someday I'll Return Again to You

"I think I am worried."

"I think you should be. I believe he intends to keep that thing as a pet."

Aragorn frowned, trying to decide if Firyavaryar's brother was teasing him or if he was sincere in that sentiment. He thought that it would have been a joke if the older Avari had been the one to make it, would have known it was no joke if Nostalion had said it for the assassin had no humor, but he did not know Idhrenion well enough to be certain of the elf's intent. "The ent wants a fell beast as... a pet?"

"It is my brother's onod, and my brother is insane. What do you expect?"

Aragorn did not know. He could not answer that, though he wondered what the hobbits would think of all this. They would enjoy the story, even if he found find parts of it rather embarrassing. He shook his head, uncertain why any ent would want anything to do with that fell beast, even if it was insane. The creature kept trying to snap at the branches of Lothanlass' head, but it did not succeed—or deter the ent from holding it and attempting to sing to it.

"There are stranger things in Middle Earth, as Mithrandir would say," Arwen said, sounding amused as she leaned her head against Aragorn's arm. Their son reached up to take hold of his tunic, tugging on it.

"Do not mention that Istari around us," Idhrenion muttered, shaking his head. "He is not wise or benevolent or even worth speaking of. I would almost rather you spoke of Ogol than him. No, perhaps not. Perhaps only Meligur."

"You are still angry with him, then."

"Of course we are," Idhrenion said, looking back at Aragorn as though he was an idiot. "Are we to assume that the Valar and the Istari are always right? Should we forgive simply because they are somehow expected to be more than we are? My brother has spent most of his life feeling cursed by the Valar, and it is hard to refute that, seeing all he has suffered and knowing that Istari were a part of it—and for what? Varyar was a child when that monster murdered my mother and took him, and he has suffered ever since. He never stopped sacrificing for us and now he may still die for us and you want me to forgive the Istari that withheld a cure from him? No."

"If you are so worried about your brother, should you not be with him now?" Arwen asked, gently diverting the subject again.

"No," Idhrenion said, sighing and then yanking on his hair in frustration. "I do not have the strength for the sickroom, not like Sérëdhiel does. She can patiently nurse anyone, but me I worry too much, start asking why the herbs are not working, look for alternatives—no, even Varyar has more patience for being there when someone is ailing. He has more strength. Then again... It always seemed like he had the sort of strength that would never give out—at least when I was younger and more foolish. In those terrible days after Ada faded, before Greenwood and then again after—Varyar was just... unstoppable. He did not sleep, and yet he did not falter. He led us on despite the fatigue and hunger and fear—all while wounded more than he would let Sérëdhiel treat. He took on so much pain so that we would never know it... He was a better father than I will ever be, and we were not even his children. I do not know how to do this without him. Even if Alassë were not having twins..."

Arwen passed Eldarion to Aragorn. She stepped closer to Idhrenion, placing her hand on his arm. He lowered his head, letting out a breath as she soothed him.

"You are not a poor father, not from anything I have seen, and if it were necessary for you to carry on without your brother, I believe you would manage, but I do not think you will have to. As you have said, Firyavaryar is strong. He will need time to heal from the wounds inflicted upon him, but he was still strong enough to stop the monster that you have all feared for so long. I do not think he would give up now."

"Why not?" Idhrenion asked. "Is it not enough, all he has done, all he has sacrificed? Has he not carried the burden for longer than anyone should have had to? Why should he not be able to release himself from all that responsibility and pain?"

"That is not the elf your brother is," Arwen said. "He is not the sort to abandon anyone, and all of these Avari are his to look after now. His responsibility has grown, but even if it had not, he loves you all too much to leave you."

"Varyar knows how to die for us. I do not know that he knows how to live for us."

"Well, then," she said with a smile. "You will have to teach him."

"How is he?"

"Very weak," Sérëdhiel answered, reaching up to brush back some of Firyavaryar's hair with a worried frown. She met Legolas' gaze and held it for a moment before turning back to her brother. "He has not woken since we moved him."

"If Ogol's death was going to claim him, it would already have done so," Estel said, trying to offer her some limited hope. The one thing they had all feared the most after Ogol had been eliminated was that possible bond, that tie that would have taken Varyar with him when he went. Varyar himself had said it would be worth it, and perhaps it would, but no one who cared for him would agree. They could not. The threat to the world could have been great in Ogol, that was what led them all here, even those who still did not quite trust Varyar, but those who saw him as family—they would never accept that his death was necessary, not even to end the life of the monster that tormented them all. It was not a victory if they lost him. That was the truth of it.

Too many victories came with great losses. Not that long ago, they had lost Théoden and Boromir, along with many other good friends, valiant ones all. Legolas was tired of losing and then finding his friends again, though he knew that he would rather have Varyar and Mithrandir alive after their falls, and he would never wish them dead, but he did not care for the emotional confusion that came with a false death.

He had enough confusion now with the sea longing tugging at him the way it did.

"Idhrenion is afraid he will fade," Estel said, and Sérëdhiel's head jerked up to look at him. He held up a hand. "I am not trying to cause trouble—he admitted as much to Arwen. He thinks that Firyavaryar should be tired of all of what he has sacrificed and be willing to let go rather than hold onto more burdens."

Nostalion snorted, shifting Tirithon in his arms. Sérëdhiel shook her head. "He still fears that because Ada went so fast and because Varyar himself struggles not to blame him for abandoning us when Nana died. Varyar could never do that, as much as he might have wanted to, and he would not do so now. Do you not recall our angry words when you suggested he would fade before he was cured?"

Estel grimaced. "No, but I did not say he was fading."

"I should go speak to Idhrenion," Sérëdhiel said, sighing. She sounded too tired to rise, and Nostalion fixed his glare on her.

"You should be resting yourself. I told you we would have a conversation about putting the three of you in danger."

"Tirithon was with Varyar. He was safe, though I suppose—"

"You were not."

She stopped, staring at her husband. "No."

Nostalion grunted. "I am not certain that the idea pleases me, either, but it is undeniable, even if you think it should be. You will soon be unable to do so."

She put a hand over her stomach, wincing. "Alassë will enjoy that."

Legolas fought a smile as Estel frowned. "You are to have twins this time?"

"Perhaps you should rest," Elladan said, coming closer to the bed. "Though we have been mostly occupied with Amariel and the other Avari that were injured, Elrohir and I can care for your brother as well. Or even Estel could. He is supposed to have the hands of a healer, after all."

Estel frowned, and that seemed almost to amuse Nostalaion. Legolas found himself fighting a smile. "I suppose that is the true reason that Varyar will not wake. He does not want to be around so many pregnant females."

"You suggesting there's some truth to that rumor about Eruaistaniel having his child, then, laddie?"

Legolas blinked, aware he was not the only one caught by surprise at the dwarf's statement. Most of their group stared at him now. "What?"

"That is... unkind," Sérëdhiel said, sounding almost sick. "Varyar would have... pretended to bond with her if he felt he had no other means of protecting her, but he would never have done that, no matter what Ogol threatened. He... He had always known his children were forfeit to Ogol, and he would not have bonded at all, would never father any children, not while Ogol lived."

"I am glad Eruaistaniel did not have to hear that," Elrohir said, shaking his head. "Glad she is with Alassë in the other part of this hall. I suppose it may be too much to hope that she has not heard that rumor, but I still do."

"As do I," Elladan agreed. "The situation must be quite difficult for her as it is."

"Perhaps it would have been better if one of you could have stolen her heart away," Estel said, and his brothers frowned at him. Legolas sighed. In some sense, he believed his friend was correct. Loving Firyavaryar was not simple or easy, and he hurt those he cared about as much as he tried not to—a fact Legolas knew better than most, having been betrayed by him. Still, there was no one more loyal than Varyar to his family, and if he had bonded with Eruaistaniel, he would honor that when he woke.

"No, I do not think so," Elladan disagreed. "We were not there to free her, nor to show her life worth living after torment—we failed in doing so with our own mother—and I think we would have failed again with her. That I would not want."

"Nor I."

"I think you should stop speaking of her at all," Sérëdhiel said, forcing herself to her feet. "She is not a subject for gossip, and she does not want pity any more than one of you would. I did not know that someone had claimed she was—I should see her as well. She must be upset, and I should not have ignored her, even for Varyar."

"You are going to rest," Nostalion said, taking hold of her.

"I do not need—"

"Go."

Sérëdhiel stilled, almost too startled to turn back and look at her brother. Varyar's eyes were not open, but that had been his voice. She swallowed. "Firyavaryar?"

"You... tired. Go... sleep," he muttered. "Do... not.. know... why... still... here."

Legolas shook his head. Now that was ridiculous. Varyar should know his sister would never leave him while he was injured. "It is good you are awake, mellon-nín. We have missed you."

"Cannot... say... same." Varyar tried to sit up and fell back. "Cannot... see... how... anyone... rest... so many... yrch around... bed..."

Legolas laughed.

"What do you dream, pet?"

"Not dreaming."

"Oh, yes, you were," Ogol said, leaning over Varyar as he spoke. He touched Firyavaryar's face, and the elf shuddered, trying to pull away but he was too weak to move again. "You were smiling, and you do not smile here. You must have been dreaming. What was the dream?"

"If you must know..."

"I must."

"You were dead," Varyar told him with a wider smile. "You were dead and I was free and my family was safe."

Ogol yanked him up by the chain. "That is a lie."

"Why should I lie about that?" Firyavaryar asked. He knew that the monster did not want to hear it, but he did not need to lie. "That is the only dream worth having, now or ever."

"Yet it is only a dream, will only ever be a dream. You will never be free of me, pet. Not even in death. For I will not permit that."

Varyar groaned, not wanting to continue that memory but neither did he want to be awake. He could not move, and that was perhaps for the best since he would not have known what to do if he could—part of him wanted to run. Another part of him would like to go back to the darkness forever. A third insisted on staying.

He did not know which part of himself he hated the most at the moment.

He heard something in the darkness and tensed until he recognized its source. "Eruaistaniel."

She gave a small squeak of a noise, something caught up in her throat, and he grimaced. He did not mean to scare her, and yet he knew that he had. He did not understand what was so troubling about him being awake, though.

"Where has that maiden gone, the one that spoke to the assembly with such boldness and defiance of the uncle who abandoned her to unspeakable abuses?" Firyavaryar asked, frowning. "Why would you spook at me when I speak to you?"

"I... I had hoped you would sleep the night through without noticing me," she whispered, and he continued to frown, not liking her words any more than he had that squeak. "It... I..."

"You fear me?"

"No."

"You saw what I did to Ogol and it spooked you?"

She shook her head, her eyes remaining downcast. He almost groaned when his head cleared enough to understand. He tried to sit up again and failed, cursing. She flinched, and he held out his hand as she drew back. She frowned, but the part of her that was courageous in spite of everything took hold of him, almost collapsing on the side of his bed as she sat.

"You should not fear the end of a farce, Eruaistaniel. Is it not better to know that you are no longer required to pretend?"

"No," she said, almost choking on the word. "For you it was a farce, for you it was false, but you know—you have to know—everyone does—how I feel about you. I... I love you. It has long been a foolish desire of mine to have that... that farce."

He moved his thumb over her hand, his own words difficult to find. "I did not expect to live to see Ogol dead. I did not know that I wanted to. I still do not."

"No." She sobbed after the word, but the defiance was still there. "You... You cannot die now, not when you are finally free. When you have seen your promise through—you kept your family safe from the monster. You did that, and now... now you can have time for yourself. I do not... I am not saying that because I imagine I am anything of what you want for yourself, but you do not have to—you deserve this. Your freedom."

He sighed. "I do not think I do."

"Is this because you betrayed Legolas? He forgave you. Even the edain king forgave you." She shook her head. "No. I do not believe you need to die for that. You have atoned for it. You fought for him, saved him, and anything else you did—do you not see what you are to so many? Do not call me or any of us fools for loving you. We do not want to lose you."

"I will only cause you pain," he told her. "I cannot give you what you want—it is beyond me. I am damaged and embittered and there is little left of my mind—little left of my body at this point."

"I loved you when you carried a plague. I do not care about that. None of us do." She brushed back some of his hair, still struggling with tears. "I am not asking you to love me. I know we will never share what Sérëdhiel and Nostalion have, what Alassë and Idhrenion do, but I cannot help but think... Our bond means that you control the noss. Our noss. You were good to those people while you lead them, and you would be now. It is not what you want, but you could undo so much wrong within my family alone. You could... make it so that twins were acceptable. So that all had homes and shelter and safety—as you have given all of us."

"So you suggest I should maintain this... false bond of ours for the sake of the noss?"

"I told you—it is not false for me. As I said before the assembly, there is no other I would bind myself to. I am yours," she insisted, and he almost flinched himself. "I have your protection. You said that. We... do not have to have more. I do not."

"You deserve more than me."

"Perhaps. That does not mean I want it."

"You tempt me to call you a fool."

"I am," she agreed, and he almost cursed her for it. She pulled her hand out of his. "At least... consider what I said. I know that you want to be free of all of it, and you deserve to be, and it is not right that you should suffer further because of Ogol's schemes, but these people, the nost... they are yours. Leading is your right, and you would be good to them, just as you always were to me."

She withdrew, and even if he could have risen to stop her, he would not have.

"So the edain king has returned to his kingdom."

"What makes you say that?" Legolas asked, uncertain if Firyavaryar had been told in his sickbed—one he should not be out of—or if he had been able to observe that departure, even though it was made with little fanfare, almost too quiet for the importance of the man who had left them.

"Your melancholy since his departure," Varyar answered, and he laughed when he saw Legolas frown, taking the chair next to him. Legolas had not noticed it until now, lost in thought in the wreckage as he had been, but it had survived Ogol's attempt to kill them all by collapsing the roof, just as they had.

"Melancholy?" Legolas asked. "Why do you not assume that it is not the sea longing?"

Varyar snorted. "I know you. I know your loyalty to your friends, even those of us who do not deserve it."

"Yet I am here in the company of friends."

"Not the one you care for the most, the greatest of all your companions," Firyavaryar disagreed, and Legolas shook his head, but his friend held up a hand. "No. I know you would argue that I am your oldest and therefore dearest friend, but that is not true. He never betrayed you, and even were it not for that, too much has happened since our childhood for me to claim that role. The echil is that friend, and you miss him."

"I will not deny that I miss him. It is difficult to know that he is a king now, that..."

"That he will be in some ways as distant to you as your father is?"

Legolas grimaced, but he could not help but admire his friend's perception. "And you say we do not know each other anymore."

Firyavaryar grunted. "We do not. Sometimes I think that this is all a dream, and I do not just mean Ogol's death, though that in of itself is difficult to accept. The freedom, the idea that we are not under that ever present shadow, not hunted... It is impossible to believe. Beyond that, though, I sometimes wonder if any of what we know is real, if we were ever friends at all. If any of my childhood was real or these adventures. Perhaps they are not. Perhaps the truth is that you were always the closest and dearest friend to the edain king, that you and the other walkers took the ring to Mordor without any of my assistance—what little it might have been, and Sauron was defeated without me or any of mine being any part of it. The Avari are not what you have seen here, and none of this is real at all."

"Do you still doubt your own mind so much?"

"It remains full of holes and memories that make little sense," Varyar answered. He leaned back in his chair, not looking at all comfortable, though Legolas did not try to lecture him on how he should be in bed until he healed. His friend was too stubborn for that, and he would be a hypocrite, since he knew that he did not stay still even when urged by any of his friends who were healers. "I do not know that all of them will ever be filled in or in order. I think I have accepted that."

Legolas looked at him. "I am not certain I could."

"One can tolerate a great deal than one thinks one can until one is in that situation. It is then one knows the truth of what he can bear."

"You learned that with Ogol."

Varyar nodded. "I did, though I cannot allow the delusion—I always knew if it came to a choice between you and my siblings, I would choose them. I had to. I—I suppose one could say my parents damned me years ago with that promise, and I kept it. I kept it."

Legolas put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "And you should not punish yourself for doing so, mellon-nín. What you did was... for the most part, very admirable."

"Do not start. You should never have forgiven me."

"Nevertheless, I have. It is done. You may decide to carry your guilt forever, and I cannot stop you, though I would, were I able. You are the one who takes on the burdens. I am the one that forgives. That is who we are. It has not changed—it is not likely to, either."

"Yes," Firyavaryar agreed. He lowered his head for a moment, rubbing at his brow. "You should know, then, that it will be some time, if any, before we return to Ithilien."

"What? Are you admitting you are more injured than you let us see before?"

Varyar shook his head. "What I am, Legolas, is an elf with more responsibility than I ever wanted. It was Ogol's scheme to make me leader of these people, and not all of them were receptive to it even before they learned the part he had in arranging it, but nevertheless, they are mine to lead. It is... my birthright and perhaps my curse, but I cannot leave now. Even if I were to reject this position, I know that I must at least organize things and see to some sort of interim leadership rather than abandon it all to chaos. Eruaistaniel would like to undo all the wrongs of her family. I do not think that possible, but I do think I am capable of some organization and restructuring."

"Yes, you are," Legolas agreed quietly. "I will miss you when I go back to Ithilien, but it is true that I have similar burdens to bear there."

"If only we were the same creatures of leisure we were as elflings."

"Leisure? Since when did we have leisure? I had tutors and trainers and politics, and you were with me for most of those lessons."

"Tedious ones, all."

Legolas smiled. "I shall make note to tell Beridhren what you said about his lessons."

"I am certain you will. Just as I am certain that I must now go find my cousin and speak to her about your odes to her lustrous locks. How did that go again? 'The fairest gold in all the land, the sea cannot compare to thee...'"

"That is not—I never—you... yrch."

Firyavaryar grinned, and though Legolas knew his friend was in no state to run, he would enjoy this chase.