Forever Afternoon
Chapter Six
Word Count: 4,275
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: I admit, when I looked at the map and tried to decide how best to handle the part of their journey to find Gollum, I almost panicked because there was a lot of ground for them to cover, and Rhovanion was a very loose description at best. So I know this is a small sampling of the trek that they would have had to make, but I figured if it was a choice between the monotony of travel and being accurate in covering the full scope of it, less was more, especially when the conversations were not helping to make traveling more pleasant.

Hope and Despair

"I suppose it is good that you had not handed the baby to him yet," Alassë said, leaning over the bed, her hand on her stomach as she examined her husband. "I know he has been so anxious about being a good father, but I did not think that he would faint again when the moment was upon him."

"We can allow him to blame that on whatever injuries he got when we left the village and our flight to get here to Greenwood," Sérëdhiel said, looking down at her brother and shaking her head. "Varyar will—would—be disappointed to have missed that."

"I can tell him," Nostalion said, keeping his voice low. She knew he would have used a different language, one not known to most of the people in the room, but that would cause as much trouble as the person they were trying not to talk about—or at least, not to have anyone realize they were talking about. Sérëdhiel had wanted her brother here for this moment, as Idhrenion did, and that was why she had accepted their time in the edain village, hoping that Alassë's child could be born when Varyar was there, but the baby had been stubborn.

"Not now."

Nostalion grunted, lifting Idhrenion up off the floor. Alassë decided to smile instead of the other things she could have done, trying to shift herself and the baby out of the way so that he could be put down beside her.

"Now is fine," Alassë said, her voice full of fatigue. "You are exhausted, Idhrenion is asleep, the baby and I will be soon, and people will expect him to be with you, resting, now that this is done."

"She is correct," Nostalion said, and Sérëdhiel smiled a little, knowing he did not like that admission. "Do you have a name for her yet?"

"No."

Sérëdhiel almost laughed. "We would just tell him it is a girl. He would be pleased that they cannot carry out Idhrenion's plan to name his son after him."

"She could still be named after him even if she is a girl," Alassë said, annoyed. "Though I do not know that I want to name her after Firyavaryar."

"You can decide later," Sérëdhiel told her, reaching over to pull the sheets over the three of them. She tried not to yawn, but she could not stop herself. Elves did not need that much sleep, but she did not know when the last time she had slept was—she would blame Varyar's need to be alone that forced him to walk on their roof for part of that—and after a skirmish and flight and hours helping Alassë through labor, she was exhausted.

Nostalion caught her, lifting her up into his arms, and she thought about protesting but decided not to—she was weak to him, and she knew that, but he needed her, and she loved him. "Will you stay with me until I have fallen asleep?"

"Yes."

"And if he is sick or more injured than he told us, you will bring him here even if he tries to convince you not to?"

Nostalion frowned down at her. "I hate when you try and divide my loyalties like that."

She snorted. "I am the wife. I have your loyalty first, even if you owe my brother your life—and that is debatable because that story always changes in the telling of it, and I thought after the last argument you both agreed that you saved each other and therefore had to be indebted to each other and those debts canceled each other out."

"Only for the time in Draugminaion's lair. The balance has been upset several times since then, as you also know."

She did not want to think about that. She knew they told her and the others little of what passed between them when they were gone, when they went hunting or did other things that were unspoken, but she did not think she wanted to know how many times they had been hurt or come close to dying. She would never let either of them out of her sight again.

"Will you promise not to let him hurt himself?"

"Sérëdhiel—"

"I know you are leaving again," she told him, for she was not a fool. "I just want you both to come back alive, and I know what that is to ask, but please. Be careful."

Nostalion lowered his head to kiss the top of hers. "Áva sorya."

"I cannot tell what creature has been here," Aragorn grumbled, crushing the grass in his hand. He should be able to get more of a sign of what this was—he was a better tracker than this. Yet, even before they had diverted to the village to investigate the conflict between the men and the elves, he had been unable to find anything in surrounding area, at least nothing distinctive.

"This is a difficult place to track anything," Legolas agreed. He stopped to draw in a breath, and Aragorn let go of the grass, frustrated. He was tired of tracking bare rock, and he did not know enough of what he sought in the first place. Perhaps they should have gone back to where Bilbo had met him and started from there.

"We need more."

Legolas nodded to the trees in front of them. Aragorn grimaced, not certain that twisted, half-dead thing could tell them about Gollum, but with his inability to get more than a few details from the ground, he was becoming frustrated and almost desperate.

"Why don't you ask the tree where Nostalion is?"

Legolas turned back to him with a frown. "You do not think so little of yourself, do you?"

"I have found no sign of Gollum."

"We do not know that we follow the path he took. Mithrandir gave you only a region, not a city or village or even a cave of origin. We cannot know if we pass close to where he did," Legolas insisted. He shook his head. "Even if you have been struggling, it would not be worth finding Nostalion. You told me that Nostalion's ability worked after he met the person he was tracking. He has not met Gollum. He would be as blind as we are."

Aragorn grimaced. That was true, but he was still frustrated by his lack of progress. He wanted to find Gollum quickly. If he had been holding the one ring, then they needed to act. The only way they could know was if they captured Gollum—though he supposed some answers might have come from Bilbo, who should still have the ring.

"What is that look?"

"I was wondering why Mithrandir did not ask Bilbo himself about the ring. I know we need to know what Gollum knows about it, too, but Bilbo has it now. Why not go to him directly?"

Leoglas frowned. He tilted his head to the side as he considered. "I would say, without any other evidence or reason, that perhaps it is because Mithrandir does not want to Bilbo or anyone close to him to suspect what he does of that ring. It would seem to almost everyone a most unlikely thing—that a hobbit, of all creatures, should have the ring of power, the one ring that Sauron wants more than anything—no, it must be that Mithrandir hopes that continued ignorance of the ring's importance and location will protect it until we are certain. After that, we will have to decide what is to be done to the ring. Plus—we must know if Gollum told anyone else about the ring and who now has it."

Aragorn nodded. He would have thought of those reasons if he had considered it for longer, but he appreciated Legolas' wisdom as well. "You are right. Still, I worry that we go in the wrong direction. Even if we find Gollum along this path, it may already be too late to stop what might be coming."

"Yes."

"Why are you smiling?" Aragorn demanded, knowing that none of what they had just discussed was promising, so why would Legolas be amused now? What was worth smiling about? "If you are somehow thinking that the impossible odds are enjoyable—"

"Hope."

"Me?"

Legolas laughed. "I am smiling because the trees have told me that a gwinig has been born."

Aragorn stopped, rubbing his forehead. "A baby? What baby? Another heir in my line or—"

"A baby elf, Estel."

"An elf? There have been no elves born in—what, centuries? Your people are fading, and I did not think that there were any that—"

"I am not certain, though I know we both knew of one—you may have thought it was a lie, but I believe that the baby might well be that of Idhrenion and Alassë. I believe enough time has passed for it to have come—and if it did, then it is a she. A baby girl," Legolas said, leaning against the pathetic tree, his smile wider than it was a moment before. "You see? There is still hope."

Aragorn laughed.

"You did not have to come with me," Varyar said, aware of the discomfort of his companion. Behind him, Nostalion grunted. "You can grumble at me if you want, but you know that you did not have to come. You did not have to let me come. You could have stopped all of this if you wanted."

"I could?"

"Yes," Varyar told him, turning around to face him. "You know that I am no tracker. You know that I could not hope to find them even if the trees were willing to speak to me, and most of them are not. I do not have your ability—I do not want it—but without it I could not hope to find them. You did not have to come with me. You could have stopped all of this."

Nostalion nodded, conceding the point. "That is true, but you would have gone out without my aid, without the aid of the trees, without any sort of help from anyone. Alone and wounded, you would have gone forth without anything at all but your stubbornness and guilt."

"Would I, now?" Firyavaryar turned back to face the front, forcing himself to move forward, putting as much distance between himself and the assassin as he could. He would, perhaps, have tried to go on his own, though he was not and never had been the kind of tracker that Nostalion was. Even Legolas would be better at it than Varyar was. He lacked a connection to nature, and the trees did not like him around them, knowing the poison he carried within him.

"Yes, you would have," Nostalion said, matching his pace. "Sérëdhiel knew before I left that you would go, that I would. She knows you well."

"She always has," Varyar agreed. His sister understood him better than most, and he feared only Nostalion came close to her level. Legolas and Idhrenion wanted to know him, but both of them had their own blocks to prevent them from understanding.

"You know you are a fool," Nostalion told him. "You have done all you could to atone for that betrayal—you died for it. He forgave you. I do not see why you think you should still have to pay."

Firyavaryar almost smiled at that. He did not think that was true. "You do not? Tell me, Nostalion, do you feel that you can ever atone for the lives you took when you were in service to your family? How many times did you and Sérëdhiel argue over your worthiness? How long did you keep her at a distance because you would not accept her love, thinking yourself too far from the redemption it offered? If you could not accept her, how do you expect me to accept what Legolas said believing I was dying? There is a redemption in death that I did not gain—I am not dead."

Nostalion's jaw tightened. He did not like what Varyar had said, but he could not argue with it, either. "There is no redemption for elves like us."

"That is true, and we both accept it," Firyavaryar agreed. He let out a breath. "We have only debts and guilt, and we knew that back when Draugminaion had us. That is what has always bound us—our mutual debts. You do not have to follow me or lead me to Legolas, but you must know that I am not satisfied that I have paid back anything. Killing Ogol was no more than what I should have done when I was a child, and had I seen past his lies, past the pain and shame he brought me, I would have known myself capable of it, but I did not. More must be done. I must go."

"You will not go alone."

Varyar found himself smiling. He was pleased that his gwador had agreed to come with her, but he knew that he should not be. He should have found a way to turn Nostalion back, to send him to his sister. She needed him as well.

"The others will be safe in Greenwood."

"Are you certain of that?"

Nostalion nodded. "Though I did not stay long before I came to find you, I learned enough to know that your betrayal of Legolas is not known to all, and there are still those that welcome Sérëdhiel and the others in Greenwood. Ehtyarion assured me that they were not only welcome but also under his protection."

"Because he believes you his nephew?"

"If Sérëdhiel feels no compunction about abusing the lie, then I shall not, either." Nostalion drew up his hood. "I think I would like to have my own conversation with this wizard of yours, though."

"Rhovanion is a large place to search," Varyar agreed. "Were it not for your ability, we would know little of where to go, and I do not like that, either. I am not pleased with Mithrandir's manipulations, but I do not know that I—"

"They are following the river. We may find ourselves in places we do not wish to be. Lórien at best, but that is unlikely. If we were fortunate, I would say we would stray into Rohan."

"We are not fortunate."

"No. It will be Mordor."

Varyar shook his head. "Even my debt cannot take us that far south. You and I cannot go near Mordor. That shadow we still carry would overtake us both. If Legolas and his echil go there, they will have no help from us."

"I have been thinking about your hope."

Legolas frowned, looking back at Estel, uncertain what he meant by that. He had been eased of several burdens when the trees carried to him the song, telling of the birth of a gwinig. He had not felt that sort of delight in centuries. Hope had seemed to darken as more of Greenwood succumbed to the shadow in the south, to Dol Guldur's evil, and though they fought against the darkness, sometimes it was easy to despair.

It was easy to want things like the return of old friends, to see them as beacons of hope instead of what that had become. Legolas could still count Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion as hope, though, and he would, for their survival was something good out of all that darkness.

"What about my hope?" Legolas asked, uncertain if he would like this. "Are you jealous because someone has taken your place and perhaps your name?"

Estel laughed. "No. I am not jealous."

"Oh? Then why do you announce your thoughts with such a weight upon them?" Legolas looked toward the river, watching the water as it flowed over the rocks. Sometimes such a sight was soothing, and he knew that Estel's suggestion of following it was perhaps better than most they had—Gollum was said to be a creature of the river, something not unlike a hobbit, and having left the safety of the cave where Bilbo had found him, he might want to be by the comfort a river would give him.

"I just had the thought that if all it took for you to have hope was the birth of a gwinig, that you could have seen to that yourself."

Legolas blinked. "Excuse me?"

Estel smiled, amused by his reaction. "Is it not obvious? If you wanted to see the coming of a gwinig as an omen of good things in the future, of hope, then you could have ensured that arrival happened far sooner than this one."

The elf regarded him with suspicion. "Are you suggesting that I should have a gwinig? Do you know so little of the world as to fail to understand where they come from? Is that possible?"

"I know very well where gwinig come from, elf," Estel muttered, almost annoyed. "I was speaking of you finding a bond of your own."

"You think it is that simple? That I could choose an elleth at random and create a child? You did not do that, did not seek out some maiden and have children to preserve your royal line, though you have been capable of it for many years. Do not say that I should have done so—my father is immortal, and there is little need to fear for the survival of his line—but you are mortal, and your line is in great danger."

"I did not say that you should chose one at random or out of obligation. I know how you dislike being linked to every elf-maiden you know, but having seen you with Sérëdhiel, I do not think it is completely impossible for you to have found someone to care for."

"Sérëdhiel is as my sister, and even were she not, I could not supplant Nostalion in her affection. Nor should you suggest that Alassë could have been an option—she was bound to Idhrenion and has borne his child. And if you are to speak of Eruaistaniel next, to suggest that she could have been the one, that is even more cruel, as she has faded out of her grief and love for Firyavaryar."

Estel grimaced. "You are twisting what I meant in humor. It was not supposed to anger you. I only meant to tease."

"Humor? To tease?" Legolas shook his head. He would have thought Estel knew of better things to say when he wanted to tease, but perhaps Legolas himself was overreacting. This should have been more amusing, even for him, and he might have been more willing to see it that way if not for their frustrating search and the tension between them. "Oh, very well. I suppose I should confess that I have always thought that the beauty of Arwen unequaled in any elven realm—"

"Peace, Legolas," Estel said, holding up a hand. "You have succeeded in your revenge, and I bow to your victory. I made a mistake in my choice of humor. I am sorry."

"It is very easy to upset you with one mention of her," Legolas said, laughing. "I suppose, then, we are even once more."

Estel grimaced. "How long will you remember this poor choice in humor and use it against me?"

"I should tell it to the twins as that is what I do with all your foibles, but then I would have them teasing me about elleths as well, and I do not need that." Legolas let out a breath. "I would not tell them. I think it best that we forget it."

"I agree. Though—you must admit that you would have an adorable gwinig. I have seen the portrait of you as one, after all."

"Yes, well, the same cannot be said of you, now can it?" Legolas asked, laughing, and Estel shook his head. Now that was funny. "I cannot tell what would make Arwen consider giving up immortality for you, and I say that as a friend."

"A friend? To say that to me?"

"You were just telling me that I should have a gwinig of my own."

"True." The man laughed. "We are a sad pair, aren't we?"

Legolas glanced around them. "Indeed, I fear we are. Look at where we are and where we are likely to find ourselves. This journey may yet take us into Mordor."

Estel's hand went to his sword. "Perhaps that is why Mithrandir did not want me to go alone."

"You have slowed your pace."

"We are close."

"Close to Mordor or to them?" Varyar asked, kneeling down next to Nostalion against the rock. Cover had become sparse in this area, and they risked being seen if Legolas turned back with any sort of careful scrutiny. A few times already, he had thought they would be spotted, but either the man had distracted Legolas or he had abandoned his search, and they remained concealed. Varyar did not know if they were lucky or if the others knew that they were there, but so far no confrontation had occurred. They gave no indication that they were aware they were followed, so for now he would assume that the others were ignorant of that fact.

"Both."

Varyar grimaced. He had meant to argue with the Nostalion if the reason for their decreased pace was his injuries—wounds that did seem to be growing more painful as the journey continued, but they were only a minor added nuisance to his usual pain—but if they drew near Mordor, then perhaps there was more reason for the pain than he realized. If the shadow pressed further in against them, then he did not know what else was to be done. They would have to turn back.

"Do you think it can sense us?"

"The eye?"

Firyavaryar nodded. He had only heard tales of the thing, wild whispers that grew through the land, and he did not want to see it. They had already known enough darkness without confronting the dark lord himself. "I heard whispers that all evil was drawn to the south, to Mordor."

"Do not be a fool. You never went south, never even attempted to make that journey," Nostalion said, taking hold of his arm. He glanced at the hand, feeling as though bruised despite the fact that his friend's grip was not harsh. "Whatever flows through you, whatever Draugminaion's poison did, it never changed what was in the rest of you—the protector that sacrificed everything for his family, the loyal brother and father that raised them—and do not think I cannot know what has changed. Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion would not love you as they do if you were so greatly altered. They are your blood, but they are not fools. They know you."

"I do not know myself." Firyavaryar had lost something when he gave Legolas to Ogol, a piece of himself that could not be found again. He had feared that choice for many years, and he had made it, and in doing so, he had become something he had hoped never to be.

Nostalion shook his head. "You do. You hate what you know, but you still know it. You would not seek this atonement if you did not know you needed it. No one would bother without first knowing the need."

Varyar looked at him. "Since when did you become wise?"

The assassin laughed. "I am not wise. If I were wise, I would be back with my wife instead of here with you."

Varyar smiled. "Very true. Neither of us is wise. Still... Whether it is wise or not, if I show myself even the slightest drawn toward that place, toward that darkness, kill me before I succumb to it. Promise me that, Nostalion. Do not let me become that."

"Only if I have your oath that you will do the same."

"Agreed."

That oath was not difficult to give, and Firyavaryar did not hesitate to give it. He need only remove a glove and it would be done, even if in a fair fight he knew himself to be no match for the other elf's skills. He should not even need to ask—they had both made a similar promise when they escaped from Draugminaion.

Nostalion turned away, drawing in a breath. He let it out with a cough. "I do not like this place. We are too close to the dead marshes."

Varyar grimaced. "Can you sense them, too? The dead in the marshes?"

"It is difficult to tell what I am sensing."

"Perhaps you should remain here. I can go a bit further on my own."

Nostalion did not answer, not in words. He moved forward, and Varyar forced himself after him, unwilling to let any harm come to the tracker, either. Sérëdhiel would not forgive him, and he could not abandon another friend.

"There," Nostalion said, crouching behind a bush that was not anything in the way of cover. "They are in the marshes."

"Mithrandir may well have sent them to their deaths."

"That is why you came. To prevent that fate."

It was, though Varyar doubted that he would have much success in that. Was this the part he still had to play in Middle Earth? He did not think that was worth keeping him alive. He could do little from here. They would have to get closer. They would have to enter into the marshes.

Nostalion caught his arm, pulling him back. "I think they have found something."

"Or it has found them."