Forever Afternoon
Chapter Four
Word Count: 4,088
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: I do not know what it is about subplots and why they must always become so big and involved. The idea was to create a situation where some of the group ends up in Mirkwood while Legolas and Aragorn are gone hunting, but it wasn't supposed to take this long or get this complicated and threaten to derail the whole story.

Stories, though, they do what they will, and characters are the same way. No, characters are much, much worse.

Oh... and if you haven't read the tree incident and want to, it is the story Family Trees.

Fears, Prejudice, and Worry

"Legolas?"

"Yes, Estel?"

"Do you regret coming with me?"

Looking back at his friend, Legolas shook his head. He did not know that he could regret that choice, even if their journey so far had been silent and full of the same distance that had marked their other dealings of late. He had thought that things would be different, fooled perhaps by their conversations before they left, but then the silence had settled in, mostly of Legolas' doing.

"I fear I have been preoccupied," Legolas admitted. "Though I told you that I have accepted that Mithrandir does not tell us all he knows, I find myself wondering what he has held back from us during this last visit. He seemed rather determined that I should go with you, and I do not know why."

"You think it was something more than wanting us to repair our friendship?"

Legolas had to nod. "I know that we would both like that to happen, but there are other ways of doing that, and I do not think that anyone else would consider this rift so great as to require a wizard's intervention to make that happen. We have not quarreled in an irrevocable way. We can still laugh together, still enjoy each other's company. It is only one subject that divides us."

Estel nodded. "I agree, but perhaps he thought I would need your assistance in subduing Gollum for our return. We do not know that he will be willing to cooperate with us. I think the only thing that could ensure that is a lie that we would give him back the ring when we got him to your father's kingdom—not that we can and not that he would not be a fool to believe us."

Legolas watched as the ranger stopped to study the ground, turning over the grass in his hand. He was already missing the trees of his homeland. He felt the absence of their familiarity and comfort, and he knew that he would endure that until he returned.

"I am not certain that we are on the correct trail. I do not know how we will find Gollum with so little knowledge of him and where he has been."

"We could have started where he met Bilbo, though I imagine he has been gone from their long enough to where we could learn little of use."

"You are annoyed to hear me express doubts?" Legolas asked, frowning. "I assure you—I am not worried about your skill in tracking. I do find what you said about Varyar's friend Nostalion intriguing, but I did not experience it for myself. I also do not think that you should consider your abilities less because of what he can do."

Estel lifted his head. "You think I doubt myself because of that elf?"

"I do not know that you do, but I do know that you should not."

The ranger smiled. "Thank you, Legolas. You are still a very loyal friend in spite of the rift between us."

"It is not so great a rift," Legolas told him. He smiled, leaning back to breathe in the air. It had a different taste to it here. He could not decipher all of it, but he would start to miss the air of his father's kingdom if he did.

"It had seemed to be before we left."

"Perhaps that is why we were meant to go on this journey."

Estel rose, dusting off his legs. "A moment ago, you said you did not believe it was. What purpose do you think Mithrandir has in sending you from your homeland at this time? Do you believe it is something there that is the problem? Something with your father?"

"Currently, aside from my decision to leave when he did not want me to, we have agreed on almost everything. Our relations are very good, and they have been since I went to him in my grief. History has been repeated, but I will not complain, as it has done so to my advantage. My father was of great comfort to me when I lost Varyar—as have you been—and I am glad we were able to have that time together, even if the circumstances were not ideal."

"Then it is not your father. What do you believe it could be?"

"I do not know."

"Take Idhrenion, Eruaistaniel, and Alassë out the back and start toward Greenwood," Varyar ordered, pushing his sister toward the door. He did not have much time before the crowd would reach Nostalion, and he knew hisgwador well enough to know that his version of diplomacy was to use the blunt end of his dagger. At least it was not fatal, but they did not want to fight, not here.

"What is wrong?"

"There is a mob outside the door," Varyar answered, pushing open Idhrenion's door so that she would go in it. "Get them up and moving. I think we have upset our neighbors. It is best we leave."

"Not again. Why must this always happen?" Sérëdhiel asked. Firyavaryar would have blamed Ogol, but he was dead. Perhaps they were cursed by the Valar, unable to find a rushed toward the bed, reaching for the bed sheet, and then she stopped. "Where is Nostalion?"

"Out front."

She gave Varyar a dark look, and before he could catch her, she had ignored all of his orders and ran toward the front of the house. If there was one area where her logic failed, it was in her affection for Nostalion. Though Firyavaryar valued his friendship, he knew that his sister's love for him went against all reason.

"Sérëdhiel, come back," he called after her, knowing that even if the crowd was unreasonable, Nostalion could care for himself. She was supposed to take the others and go toward safety, not into the middle of the conflict. He did not care if she was the best diplomat among them. This was not a time for diplomacy. They needed to leave.

"What is happening here?" Sérëdhiel demanded, walking up to the others, and Varyar heard the sound of Alassë's sigh behind him, biting back a curse as he realized that almost all of them were there. He could not allow himself to speak the dark tongue here. That would get them all killed, but if Eruaistaniel saw this mob, she would be forced back into her darkest memories.

"You have brought a plague here," the man that Varyar had rented the house from said, glaring at him. "Three of our children are sick with some illness we have never seen before. This is your doing."

Firyavaryar pushed his way past Nostalion to face the crowd. He was the one they blamed, and he was the one that would take the punishment if there was one to be given. His sister had to stop being stubborn and lead the others away. "I assure you—it is not my doing. What I carry cannot pass to others without my touch, and I have not been near your children. If they had what I have, they would already be dead."

"Do not tell them that," Sérëdhiel said, coming toward him. He tried to force her back, but she stepped around him. "It is true that my brother has been ill, but what he has is not contagious. It cannot be spread the way you think. I have training as a healer. I can help examine the children and see if there is anything that can be done."

"Convenient," a woman scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. "You plan on curing the illness you brought here. It was all a part of your—"

"We did not come here to make anyone sick," Idhrenion interrupted, shaking his head. "Do not be foolish. My sister was trained by Lord Elrond himself. She can help you."

"Lord Elrond?"

"You have not heard of the lord of Imladris?" Idhrenion frowned. "I did not think there was anyone that did not, but he is one of the most celebrated healers in Middle Earth."

"He's an elf," the apparent leader of the group said, spitting on the ground. He turned back to Firyavaryar. "Are you elf lovers, then?"

"Worse," Varyar muttered. If he had done more talking when he was with them, if he had exchanged more than the formalities of renting the house, he would have been learned of this prejudice, but he did not do pleasantries. He had just wanted to get them a place to stay that night. He did not think they should admit that they were elves, not in this crowd.

"If being an elf is a problem—"

"Elves are wicked, deceitful creatures. We don't want any help from them."

"If you do not want the assistance of a healer, then let us pass in peace," Idhrenion said, pushing Alassë back behind him. "We will leave, and you will find that it had nothing to do with my brother. He is telling you the truth—if your children had what he does, they would be dead."

Varyar did not think that they would believe him unless they saw it, but if he demonstrated what he did, he would kill someone. That was not an option. He should have made another trip before their return, but if he had, he would not be here to help his family. Still, if he had been able to replenish his supplies—he would rather have put the mob to sleep, but he had not had a chance to go where the herbs he needed for that blend grew best, not since he fell with Ogol. "Sérëdhiel, take them and go."

"No. If you have to fight—"

"We will survive," Nostalion told her, touching her arm, and Varyar hoped he could persuade her this time. "Go to Eruaistaniel, get her away from here. She should not see this."

"They're trying to escape. Stop them!"

"You want to let us go. You do not want to fight us," Varyar said, trying to decide if he should remove his glove. "We want only to leave peacefully. If you let us do this, we will not harm you. If you do not, then you will suffer."

"You poisoned our children."

"If I had touched them, they would be dead." He would have grabbed something to prove it, but unless he wanted to kill one of these edain for no reason, he could not. He could not use the grass as he sometimes did. The evening was already too dark. "If any of you touch me, that same fate is yours. Let my family go."

"You lie," the closest man said, and Varyar figured him for a blacksmith, judging from his muscles and apron. He was one who thought he had the strength to go against the weak appearing elves. He grabbed hold of Firyavaryar, trying to close his arm around his neck. He saw Nostalion moving into the other part of the crowd as he tried to keep the smith's muscles from coming into contact with his skin.

Why, if he had been returned from death by Mandos, was he not cured when he was?

"Look at his ears! They're elves!"

"We are Avari," Varyar corrected, knowing that if he did not, the wood elves of Greenwood would be blamed for this. He slammed an elbow into the farrier's gut and broke his hold, knocking him back. The man fell with a thud, and he grimaced. "There. Proof that my skin is poison. Anyone else want to try and touch me?"

The crowd stilled, staring at their large fallen friend. "He killed Gûrdramm."

"That was an accident, and I did try to warn him," Firyavaryar said, touching his neck, knowing that in spite of his poisoned skin, he was bruised. "Now let us go before that happens again."

"Murderer!"

Varyar shook his head. That was an accusation that others could make of him—not them. He had warned them, and he had not attacked the smith. He had been attacked, and they were coming after him again. Though he did not want to kill anyone, he did not know that he had a choice. He reached for his glove, pulling one off.

He heard Sérëdhiel cry out and almost did the same as someone forced a blade into his side. Idiot. If that blood got on the ground or on that man's hand, more would die. No, more would die the longer he had to fight. That could not be stopped, not now.

Aragorn sat down beside Legolas under the tree, not wanting to disturb the elf if he was conversing with it. He knew how much that meant to his friend, and he could wait. He was in need of rest himself, and he did not want to admit that to Legolas, but it was true. So far, their travel seemed fruitless. Legolas was right to doubt their success in locating the creature they sought. Aragorn had found little distinctive sign of anything that had passed through the area, and he did not know that he would.

They might spend years searching for Gollum and learn nothing of him at all.

Legolas laughed softly, and Aragorn turned to him with a frown. "I suppose they had something to say about me?"

"Just that humans forget to ask permission a lot."

Aragorn grimaced. "I did not mean to insult your friend. I will try to remember to ask next time."

The elf continued to smile, and Aragorn shook his head, understanding at last the joke. He did not know why he was still so easily fooled by that trick—Legolas and his brothers had done it enough to where he should not be, but then they mixed important information in with their teasing, and it was hard to know what was true and what was a part of a game.

"You haven't done that in a while."

Legolas sighed. "I had not realized how many memories reminded me of Firyavaryar. His time in Greenwood is short in the lifespan of any elf, but that does not lessen its impact. Teasing and trees often reminds me of what he did to Idhrenion, and I have always been careful not to repeat that particular prank."

"You did tell me that you would explain that sometime."

"I will, but not tonight. It is not that I think you would not be amused—well, it is difficult to say because that story is bittersweet—but it is still painful to think of. That is the Varyar I knew, and while he did show some signs of the horrors that Ogol had done to him when we were children, he could laugh then, could smile and show how much he loved his family. He was so altered when you met him that you had not the true sense of him at all," Legolas said, letting out a breath. "I do not know why this must always be the subject of our conversations."

"It has not been that long since he died, and for a mortal who expects death, it is hard to accept, but for an immortal like you, I imagine that it is even more difficult."

Legolas nodded. "So it is. Sometimes a stubborn part of me wants to try and say he is not dead, but if I do that, then I do not let myself move forward—and I torture myself by the idea that Ogol survived as well."

"That thing had better be dead. If he is not, I will find him and kill him."

"I should say something about your lust for blood, but I cannot be too upset when it is out of affection and a desire to protect me that you speak," Legolas said, giving him a smile. Then it fell. "The trees tell me that there was recently a conflict between men and elves and the elves fled toward my father's kingdom."

"A conflict between men and elves? Mirkwood elves?"

Legolas grimaced. "I cannot say that it was not some of my kin, but I do not think so, as I have heard of none of them leaving the borders for some time. It could be that they are from another realm and only sought refuge among my father's people after this conflict. The trees did not give me all the details of the encounter. They were not witness to it, but knowledge of it has passed through their branches on the wind."

"Do you want to go to the location of this conflict and investigate it?"

"The trees tell me that I should not. They fear for my safety if I do."

Aragorn frowned. "How bad was this encounter?"

"Some died. I do not know the exact count, but I do not think that another elf would be welcome there." Legolas shook his head. "We have been given a task, and we should not delay it, not for something that is not—if the elves have gone to my father, then the details will be waiting for us upon our return."

Aragorn watched the elf, wanting to know the truth behind his words. "Is that what you want? You know that we have ventured into other places that were not safe, and we are not working against a deadline. We cannot begin to guess how long it will take us to track Gollum. This delay may not be as great as either of us thinks. We can go and learn what happened, if that would ease your worries."

"I do not know. I am still concerned by the reason why Mithrandir wanted us to undertake this hunt together, now, and while I am at least curious if not worried about this encounter, I fear that whatever reason he had for sending us out to find Gollum is greater than my curiosity and fears. Indeed, if this is about the one ring, if Gollum truly had it, then we cannot delay finding him. We must know immediately—we cannot allow Sauron to find that ring."

"Let us rest for the night. If your answer is the same in the morning, we will continue our search. If not, we will investigate this conflict. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"We are not going to settle near any edain again," Sérëdhiel said, stopping against a tree to yank a part of her skirt free to use as a bandage over her arm. Varyar took a place against another trunk, fatigued. He watched her with anger, almost regretting his efforts to spare the people of the village. His sister was a healer, not a fighter, and she should never have been caught in the middle of that. He knew he was not the only one who was angry—Nostalion would have gone back and killed them all if he were permitted the chance. Idhrenion would have tried it. Even Alassë would have hurt them. The only one who would not have tried was Eruaistaniel.

Firyavaryar did not know why edain had to be so stubborn and why it was so easy for them to succumb to prejudice and fear. They would not listen to him, and he was tired of trying to explain. He had tried before, tried to tell people what he was and why he was only a danger to them if he was touched, but no one wanted to listen.

"I do not know how we will avoid such a fate if we are not welcome in the elven realms," Alassë muttered, her hand rubbing her stomach as Idhrenion held her against him, his back on the same tree as Sérëdhiel. She should be carried, though Varyar did not know if Nostalion could do it. The whole encounter had been chaotic, and Sérëdhiel had not gone through all of them to assess the wounds yet. They had been too busy trying to put distance between them and the village to care for their injuries.

Varyar grunted. "I am the one that is not welcome there. The rest of you could go to any of them and would be welcomed in at least one of them if not two."

"We have had this conversation before. We will not leave you," Sérëdhiel said, shaking her head as she looked at him. "You are wounded again."

He nodded. He would have denied it if he had the strength, but he could not. He did not know how long he would remain conscious. If the idiot who stabbed him died, he deserved it. He would not have said that for all of those present, and he knew that he had probably harmed ones that had not done anything to him, but he had not chosen to leave himself bleeding.

"I wish I had been able to see the children," Sérëdhiel whispered, lowering her head. "I could have perhaps determined how to help them or why they had fallen ill."

"Some people do not want help," Nostalion told her, reaching over to lift her chin. "You cannot blame yourself for their ignorance and fear. Were it possible to have arranged for you to examine them, I would have done it, but we are not turning back now. They will kill any of us they find—they would do the same for all elves that pass through their land, even if your brother calling us Avari."

"Why must there be so much hatred and distrust in the world?"

Varyar looked at her. "Not all of us have your goodness, Sérëdhiel. We are more petty and less deserving, and unfortunately, it is not just Avari that fall into that trap. It is all races. If not prejudice, then it is pride that divides us."

"That has never been one of your faults," Idhrenion said. "Since when have you gauged your worth with any kind of accuracy?"

"I do not think that we should argue now," Eruaistaniel began, full of hesitation. "I do not know that we can stay here."

"No, we cannot. I would say we should tend to the wounds we have as much as we can, but I do not think we have time for that as we have talked too much already," Varyar said, and Nostalion turned to him, offering him a hand to draw him to his feet.

"Do we know where we are and which way we should go?" Alassë asked, sounding pained. "I can tell nothing here, and I do not know if we fled in the correct direction."

"We do not need a map," Varyar reminded her. "Even if we could see nothing, all we need is for Nostalion to locate someone from Greenwood and lead us toward him."

"Ehtyarion," Sérëdhiel said, and her husband looked at her with a frown. "I know you do not like the idea, but he would be on guard even if he is not with Legolas, and he would allow us entry."

"He is not my uncle."

Firyavaryar leaned back against the tree, knowing that they needed to move before he lost all ability to do so. His own healing was always weakened by the disease within him, and he struggled to manage the effect of the cut as his body could not cope with the added injury. If he was in motion, he could keep himself moving for a time, but that would not last, and they should not have stopped, not until they knew they were safe.

He could have made certain that they were—all it would have taken was killing the entire village. He could have done it. Nostalion could have done it. They had not, but it would not change how those edain felt about them—about all elves.

Sérëdhiel shook him, and he opened his eyes, unaware of when he had closed them. She studied him for a moment and let out a breath. "I am almost relieved that is guilt and not pain that troubles you. You did try and stop it. We all did."

Varyar nodded. "We should not linger. Once again we have made enemies of our neighbors. They will come for us."

"Perhaps we should not go to Greenwood," Idhrenion said, worried. "We will lead them there and the elves of that realm will be blamed for our actions."

"I do not think we have a choice," Alassë whispered, her hand on her back and fear in her eyes. "The baby is coming."