Forever Afternoon
Chapter Two
Word Count: 4,519
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: I was looking again at timelines and groaned because there is no real way, after the mistake I made with Storms, of fitting this to a book verse timeline. I think, if people are willing to overlook the issue with my timing or perhaps I could say that the events on one part of the story do not necessarily add up to when the other events are happening or maybe I could just claim AU and not worry about it (though that always feels like cheating to me.)

I was confused by how much time I thought there was between the search for Gollum and when the fellowship happens, I shall say. I thought it was longer between them and when I decided that was the first real canon event to base things around, it made sense. Now, having looked at timelines for Aragorn and Gollum and other things, I see it does not, but if we forgive that, it works. Can that be forgiven?

That way Legolas and Aragorn have time to sort out their mess before the fellowship, and that is good, isn't it?

Conversations with Friends and Family

The silence had stretched between them for almost a day now, and Legolas did not know how to close the gap. In those first few days after Firyavaryar's death, he had avoided everyone, though he had been unable to avoid Lord Elrond, who had healed his wounds. It was not until Sérëdhiel had told him that they were leaving that he was willing to see anyone. He had sought out his father and begun healing the wounds in his spirit, but it had been Estel's presence that had seen him through the months that followed. He had relied on Estel's support and friendship to endure those days, but as they lingered, so did their growing distance.

The longer he grieved for Varyar, the more he angered Estel.

He did not want to upset him, but he could not change how he felt. Firyavaryar was his oldest friend, oldest closest friend, at least, and the bond forged by the way they had lost their mothers, a pain not understood by many. True, the twins had lost their mother to an Orc attack, she had sailed, but while they blamed themselves for what happened, they had not witnessed it, they did not know themselves to be the reason for her death—not the same way that Legolas and Varyar did. Estel had lost his father, but he barely knew him. He knew Elrond as his father, not Arathorn.

It was not the same.

It was worse for Firyavaryar.

Legolas understood now so many things he had questioned in the past, and he had seen and felt the horror that Varyar had known, had been tortured by the same monster that his friend had faced. Legolas knew what Firyavaryar knew, what Estel should know because he had heard the words from that monster himself—had Firyavaryar given Estel to Ogol, he would have been dead. No, Legolas understood why Varyar had chosen the way he did, but Estel would not accept that as he had.

He did not know how to change it. They could not seem to reconcile their different opinions.

"You seem troubled, young Thranduilion."

Legolas lifted his head, turning back to his doorway with a smile. He should not have been so preoccupied as to let the wizard come that close without his notice, but he did not know that he would be otherwise these days. His lingering grief and his problems with Estel kept his mind from most other matters.

"Mithrandir. It is good to see you."

"Is it?"

Legolas nodded. Even if he had been fresh in his grief for Varyar, he would have said so. He wanted to have more than sorrow, wanted to speak of his loss with someone who knew and liked Varyar instead of blaming him or even despising him. That had been something that he should done more of with Lord Elrond before he left. He knew that despite Firyavaryar's faults, he had impressed the lord of Imladris and Elrond did like him, even if he had not adopted him as a son as he had Estel.

"Yes, it is," Legolas told the wizard. "I could use some company, perhaps even some wisdom. I do not know how to fix things. I cannot change how I feel. Estel cannot change how he feels. And we do not agree."

"And what subject causes you such division?"

"Friendship. Betrayal. Forgiveness."

Mithrandir leaned against his staff, studying Legolas as he did. "Weighty subjects."

Legolas crossed back to his bed and sat down, shaking his head. He did not know how much Mithrandir knew—more than he would say, most of the time, but he might not know about Firyavaryar's death. Even if he did, he might not know the details, and most people still knew nothing about the actual betrayal. That was how Legolas wanted it.

"Estel does not believe that I should have forgiven Firyavaryar, but I cannot do otherwise," Legolas said. He had given the matter much consideration, and he still returned to the same conclusion. He did forgive. He wanted to forgive. "Varyar was my friend, a good friend, and I owe my life to him. I know he made a choice that infuriates Estel, and it did grieve me. I was hurt. I still am."

"Such wounds go deep, deeper than we can imagine before they are given," Mithrandir agreed, sitting down beside him. "Yet they are not impossible to recover from. One can even learn to trust again after such an offense."

"I think that is what makes Estel so angry, the idea that I could trust Varyar again, that I would. I believe that it is more important to let go of that pain and resentment than it is to draw away from that sort of pain," Legolas said, having learned that lesson back when his mother died. He had withdrawn from his father and caused them both more pain than was necessary. That distance had not helped him. It had not made him stronger. He had just lost time with his father that if he had with his mother he would have treasured. Firyavaryar had come when Legolas needed him, and he, Sérëdhiel, and Idhrenion were the reason why Legolas had been able to open up to anyone again. He had needed their friendship, and he still wanted it. "Some things cannot be changed, and some people I do not want to trust, but when I can, I believe I should. We have too much in our lives that is painful, and why should we add to that? We live in a time of growing darkness, and my people fade. Why should I add to that pain by keeping a grudge? It would avail me nothing. Varyar is dead."

"And if young Firyavaryar were not dead?"

That was difficult. Legolas thought he wanted that more than anything, but he did not know that he could explain how he felt about Varyar returning. He wanted it so much—and yet he did not. Yes, he wanted Firyavaryar alive. He did. He could not say that he knew how he would react if he saw him again—he knew that if Estel saw him, it would not be pleasant—and he knew that things would never be as they were, not after the centuries and the torture, but Legolas would have him alive if he could choose. "I would not bear him ill will. I do not."

"No?"

"I miss him, Mithrandir. I have missed him for centuries already, but to know that he is gone, that I will never see him again, never hear his laughter or see his smile..." Legolas lowered his head. Those memories from his childhood were treasured. "It is not only those things. I also miss the comfort of his understanding. He was wiser than he should have been, and now I know why he was. I pity him, though I know he would hate that."

Mithrandir nodded. "Indeed."

Legolas frowned. What did the Istari know that he did not? Was it something that Firyavaryar had told him when they were children? Or was it something more recent? Did he know of where Varyar had been between when he left Greenwood and when he stumbled back across its border? Did it even matter if he did?

"Why have you come?"

"I find myself in need of a tracker."

Legolas would have thought that the wizard could find whatever he wanted on his own, but if he needed a tracker, then a fine was available to him. "You want Estel?"

"Perhaps."

That would be Legolas' suggestion. As a ranger and brother to Lord Elrond's sons, Estel had the training for tracking, and he was better than most, and that was not better than most humans, but better than most trackers that Legolas knew. "It might be for the best if Estel were to go for a time. I think he would like to accompany you."

"Would he? Then I shall ask him."

"Ask me what?" Estel's voice held an air of suspicion, and Legolas did not know how much of what they had said he had heard, but he did not think that it was good, regardless of what he had heard.

Mithrandir rose. "I am in need of a tracker. There is a creature I must locate."

"Is there?" Estel did not sound pleased. "A shame you did not come sooner. There was one here that could track beyond the sight of elves, beyond the sight of even someone like Ada or Lady Galadriel. He could find a person anywhere in Middle Earth as long as he knew them."

"Is that so? That is an interesting trick."

"It was no trick," Estel told him. "Without that one, we might never have found Legolas again."

"I would hear more of this," Mithrandir said, and Legolas grimaced, for it was a tale he did not think he wanted to hear.

"Excuse me. I think I am needed by my father."

"Has it happened yet?"

"No, Varyar, what you left to avoid has not yet occurred," Sérëdhiel said, shaking her head as she let him into their home. "I am afraid that you will have to attempt another trip, though Idhrenion has threatened to tie you and Nostalion to anything he can find as Alassë is threatening to cut the child out herself if it does not come soon."

Nostalion gave Firyavaryar a look, and he would have spoken if his wife had not distracted him, welcoming him home with a kiss. Varyar turned away, having no desire to watch them. He was fond of both of them, but he did not enjoy seeing the affection between them. He knew that they had a strong bond, and he admired it, but he was still a brother who did not want to think that way about his sister.

He passed into the other room, ready to find his bed and stay there for a few days. As much as he felt the journey had been worth taking, as much as he had enjoyed thinning the numbers of orcs near Greenwood and felt his work was necessary—for his sake as well as for the kingdom that he owed a great debt to—he knew that he was not as strong as he needed to be for that work.

His body had never healed from what Draugminaion had done to it, and the fall that should have killed him as it did Ogol had not improved on his poor health. He did not know how he had managed to survive the fall or what the disease seemed to do to him constantly, but it was either a true curse that he lived through it or he was being strangely blessed. He considered it more of a curse, and he still did not understand why he had lived with the same poison flowing through him.

"I hope you told them that there would be two children running around here if they did not stop that," Idhrenion muttered, shaking his head at Sérëdhiel and Nostalion. "How did this happen?"

Firyavaryar looked at him. "Little brother, if you do not know how you became a father, I think you were more damaged by your time in captivity than we knew. Your mind must have been forever damaged—or Alassë managed to find her someone who was capable of it and knew what he was doing."

"That is not amusing."

"I suppose it would not be, but if you were so afraid of becoming a parent, you should never have bonded in the first place. Do not look at me like that—I may not desire children, but I am not fortunate to have a malady that makes that impossible—and if you think about it, I have already raised mine," Varyar said, reaching up to rub at his neck. "Nothing can prepare you for what it is like, so you can only do what you will when the questions and crises arise."

Idhrenion looked at him. "You would be—and have been—a good father. I do not think that I will ever manage that. It took me over a century to realize I loved Alassë. How am I supposed to care for a child?"

"You may forget any clever ideas of having me do it," Varyar told him, and his brother glared at him. "I have done my part, and you are grown enough to raise your own children now."

"I do not know how to do this," Idhrenion whispered. "I am certain to do it wrong. I cannot raise a child. All I know how to do is read."

"Then you will spend a great deal of time reading to your helpless offspring."

Idhrenion glared at him. "I hate you."

Firyavaryar laughed. Were they both younger, he would have pulled Idhrenion close to him and held him, but they were children no longer, and he knew that his brother would find a way to raise his child without any assistance from others. That was what all parents did. He would think, despite the way Idhrenion was acting now, that he had helped prepare him as much as anyone could be for this part of his life—he knew his brother had more time and preparation than he himself had for the responsibility that had fallen to him.

"Go in to Alassë. Talk to her of your fears. It will not help to pretend you have none. She knows you, and she knows of them already, but it did take two of you to create the situation. The two of you will have to resolve it."

Idhrenion sighed. "How did you manage to seem so calm when you had to care for us? Nana and Ada were dead, and you were still a child yourself, but you somehow made it seem as though you did not feel it, that you were not afraid, that you could do anything that we needed—and you often did."

"I was too afraid of Ogol to fear anything else," Varyar admitted. "What I had to do, I did. That is why I am telling you that you that you find your way when you are already in it—everyone does."

Idhrenion wrapped his arms around him, making certain to rest his head on the fabric and not near Varyar's skin. "I do not know what we would have done if you had died when Ogol did. Maybe we are all too dependent on you, but how could I hope to face being a father without the brother that was more mine than Ada was?"

"Alassë will see to it that you are the father you need to be," Varyar said. "You should be with her, not me, even if I have just returned."

"Which, in the dialect that you speak, means that you exhausted yourself again, maybe got wounded, and you want to rest so that Sérëdhiel does not learn of it." Idhrenion let go, straightening up with disgust on his face.

Varyar was tired, but he was not injured, not any more than usual. "Sérëdhiel is busy."

"I suppose it will be nice that my child will have one to play with," Idhrenion muttered, shaking his head as he walked down to the room he shared with Alassë. Firyavaryar grunted, pushing himself away from the wall and going toward his own room.

Aragorn did not intend to let his mind stray when he listened to Mithrandir speak—it had been almost easier to be the one telling the tale, though he did wonder if Legolas would return at all from his false errand for his father—but after recounting the events that lead to Legolas' capture and torture and later rescue, he found himself drawn into the same ugly thoughts that had made Legolas leave him in the first place. He did not want to do this, but as much as he tried, he did not know how to forgive Firyavaryar as Legolas had done—and that forgiveness made him angry. What had the elf done to deserve that?

Killed Ogol and saved everyone from his evil, everyone would argue, but Aragorn could not answer why that was not enough. Why did he expect more? No one else seemed to—he thought Elladan and Elrohir had already reached the same state as Legolas, they had forgiven, so why could Aragorn not? Because he was a man, not an elf? Was that the reason?

"Your thoughts are far from our discussion."

"Forgive me, Mithrandir," Aragorn said, letting out a breath. "I know the tale you have told me before—indeed, I have heard several versions of the tales of Bilbo Baggins in my time in the Shire, for most have passed along the story, even if they doubt the truth of it and think him an unnatural sort of hobbit for such wanderlust."

"And so I fear he is, for a great many hobbits would not bother leaving the shire—or even their own front door," the wizard agreed, smiling slightly. "Yet there is much in hobbits that is not only good but admirable, enjoyable to watch and spend time in company with—some hobbits, at least."

"I think that is true of all races—some are worthwhile companions, and some are not."

"Then we return to the subject that troubles you," the Istari said, studying him for a long moment. "Some time has passed since this time you spoke of when Legolas suffered, and much healing has taken place since then. I am told that the underground tunnels and chambers were sealed up, and the chasm has been covered over, and some new grass has begun to grow, as though healing the wounds of more than the land."

Aragorn nodded. That was, at least in part, true, but he did not think that place was healed as much as hidden. This time it was obscured to keep the prince from remembering it and not because it belonged to an evil that preferred the shadows, but he thought that place was one where a mark would always exist to taint the land—if only in the memory of the elves.

Or it would, if Legolas had bothered to tell anyone that Firyavaryar had betrayed him to Ogol. Most of the elves in Mirkwood still held the mistaken belief that both elves had been prisoners—and Legolas insisted that was true—not hearing one word of the betrayal.

Perhaps that was why Aragorn found himself angry with his friend's actions. "Why does he conceal what Firyavaryar did if he is so forgiving? He seems to believe that does not matter, so why, if it does not matter, does he not tell everyone of it?"

"Loyalty to his friend's memory, perhaps, or perhaps it is that he does not want the kingdom to share your reaction. If you cannot accept this, why should anyone else? He would not be given peace in his grief—all would tell him that he should not grieve one who betrayed him, as you yourself feel. The truth may yet be known to all, though I do not know. It would be difficult to convince young Thranduilion to speak of it when it could mean others coming to harm," Mithrandir said, and Aragorn frowned. "You have not forgotten that Legolas claimed Varyar's family as his own and they him, have you? Sérëdhiel, Idhrenion, and their mates would be at risk if Firyavaryar's actions were known to certain parties, and Legolas wishes for them to return safely. He wanted them to stay."

"When they left, at first I was relieved. I thought it was better. Then I saw how much he was hurting when he let me close again, and I was angry with them for going. What kind of friendship did they give him?"

"I fear it is a common trait in the line of Erurainon and Calathiel that protection comes in distance, in sparing pain by avoidance. That was how gildin always was with Thranduilion. Close yet so separate, as much as one could manage and yet inseparable as well."

"Gildin?"

"He is a spark—a catalyst, and I fear we will see that much more in the days to come," Mithrandir said. "This is the beginning, and the end may be long in coming. We must hope that we are able to last until those days."

Aragorn nodded. If this was what the wizard believed it to be, then dark days were ahead of them all. "We need speak no more of my conflict with Legolas and his fallen friend. There are other matters of greater weight for us to worry about."

"First we must rid you of this distraction."

"It is not as simple as speaking one of your spells," Aragorn objected. He had tried to let go of his frustration, but he had not managed it. "I have not found a way to overlook what happened, and I find myself repeating those thoughts whenever I think of what Firyavaryar did and what Legolas suffered. I suppose that you will suggest that I simply not think of it?"

"No."

"No?"

"You must find your own path to forgiveness—this wrong was not done to you, but if you cannot forgive it, how will you forgive those done to you? How will that affect you should you become king? A king without mercy is a tyrant."

Aragorn grimaced. That was true, but he was not a king yet, and he did not have to forgive one dead elf. "I will go find this Gollum you seek, and we will learn if he did have the one ring."

"Don't," Firyavaryar whispered, not wanting to beg, but he knew that he was begging, that he would always beg when it came to this monster. He had begged when his mother died, and he would beg now, if only because he thought begging would show that he was submissive, and if he pretended that he was, then he could go to his siblings. Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion could be fading now, but Ogol did not seem to remember them, too intent on hurting Varyar instead.

"Why not? I doubt you have a convincing reason, but do try, pet. Try."

"Because only a coward tortures someone while hiding under those robes. Show your face. You aren't afraid of me seeing it, are you?"

Muttering curses to himself in Draugminaion's twisted version of the black speech, Varyar forced himself out of the bed. He had not woken to one of these dreams in at least half a century, if not longer, and he did not want to be awakened by them again, but if they were as he remembered, he would find no rest for the next few years.

He did not understand—Draugminaion was dead. Even if what Ogol had told Legolas was true, if he had kept the monster alive to torture him, Legolas thought that the prisoner was dead and the cavern's collapse should have ensured that he was.

Varyar had wanted to watch the wood elves search the caverns and be certain of both deaths, but he must have been carried off by Nostalion at Sérëdhiel's request, and he had not seen any of the evidence that the elves recovered.

He pushed open the door to the common room, frowning at the light, but perhaps Idhrenion was up reading, worried over his child again. Something squeaked, and he frowned when he realized it was Eruaistaniel.

"I did not intend to frighten you."

She wrapped her arms around her legs. "I could not sleep again. You did not wake me."

"That is not what I said—I said I did not intend to frighten you," Firyavaryar corrected, and for a moment she had a small spark in her eyes, the sort of retort that Alassë would give on her tongue, but she did not say it. He considered asking if it was orcs or men that had caused her nightmares tonight, but he stopped himself as he got closer. Tears. Perhaps she was thinking of Tegalad, though in Varyar's opinion, she should be glad of escaping that fate. Marriage to him would have been enough to make anyone fade.

"I did not tell you I was glad you had returned."

"You do not have to. I intend to leave again, and I should spare you the platitudes of each departure and their returns, if they should happen," he said, sitting down next to her on the longer bench. "I would tell you that you seem improved from the last time I was here, but I cannot see much of you, so I think I would be lying."

"I would rather not be seen."

He reached over, touching a gloved hand to her arm. "What the men did does not mean that you are not someone who should be seen. Sérëdhiel would be very angry to hear you speak of yourself that way. You are not scarred in body but in spirit, and those wounds cannot be seen. Why hide in the shadows?"

She pulled away from him. "You know how it feels to be in constant shadow."

He frowned. "Are you—do you regret staying when you learned I had not died? If you are suffering so greatly, I think that you could take their boats. They cannot be so stubborn as to turn you away, not in your condition."

"Condition?"

"Depression?" He almost nudged her, but he knew that she would not respond well to the gesture. "Come now, bereth. What do you have to despair over? I am the one that has been... disfigured, after all. You are still the elleth that was the cause of a civil war within your family."

"Your hair is longer," she said, reaching up to touch it, and Varyar stiffened, unused to the contact as well as bothered by her words.

"My hair has not grown back in more than a century."

"Perhaps I am being foolish, then," she said, lowering her hand and then her head. "I must have imagined that it was longer."

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Not since before you left."

He grimaced, knowing he lacked the strength to carry her back to her room where she should be. "You cannot place all your hope in me. I have already disappointed one who did, and he was tortured because of me. So were you. You must find a way to sleep without having me near—I have already broken my promise to protect you."

She shook her head. "It was not only you that was gone. Nostalion was, and we were... defenseless. You cannot do that to us. One of you needs to stay here."

He grimaced. He knew no one would let him leave on his own, but she was right. He could not take Nostalion with him, not when they would have only Sérëdhiel for protection. He would have to find another means of making reparations to Legolas.