Forever Afternoon
Chapter Nine
Word Count: 3,452
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: I had originally planned on ending this chapter with Gollum's escape so that I could move right into the events of the fellowship, but I don't know that I know how to do that just yet (I know Firyavaryar's side of things, but I am still trying to find ways to make the Aragorn and Legolas side of things not repeat Tolkien because I know I can't compete there.) So when the last bit came to me, I was rather glad.

Distractions and Disappointments

"You are leaving."

Aragorn nodded. He did not like it—he had only just begun closing the rift between him and Legolas, but he knew that the ring of power had to be everyone's priority. They could not allow that ring to find its way back to Sauron, and while he did not know if the ring Bilbo had was that ring, he knew that he would not risk it. He needed to go to his rangers and organize them into a better protection for Bilbo and the Shire—and no one could know he was doing it or why. They could not allow Sauron's followers to learn of the ring's location.

"I believe I must," Aragorn said, turning back to look at Mithrandir. "Do you have a reason that I should not? Have you learned anything from Gollum to make you doubt that Bilbo has the ring?"

"I do not know that Bilbo has the ring, but I do know that Gollum was tortured in Mordor. It is uncertain how much he has told them—"

"If he is alive, then he must have told them everything," Aragorn said, dismayed. They were not ready to defend the ring. They did not have any means of countering Sauron if he came after it.

"We do not know that."

"He would not be free if he did not tell them what they wanted to know—he should be dead. He must have been let go for some kind of reason."

"That is possible. We cannot know what the enemy was thinking when he released Gollum, nor can we tell what his part in this may yet be, but we must prepare for what may come."

"I know. That is why I am headed north again."

"I will call upon you there when I have concluded my interviews with Gollum," Mithrandir said. "I believe we will have need of each other."

Aragorn nodded. He did not doubt that they would. If the ring of power was truly in the Shire, then it would take more than he and his rangers could do to protect that land when the nine started to ride. If Sauron turned against the hobbits, they would be slaughtered. They were simple folk, farmers mostly, and they could not hope to stand against the forces of Mordor.

"We will all need each other."

"Are you wanting young Thranduilion to accompany you again?" Mithrandir asked, smiling, and Aragorn thought that everyone would start to speak of how inseparable they were, but this would be one of the times when their paths separated, and he did not know how long that would last.

"Yes," Aragorn admitted. "I would rather have him with me, but he has responsibilities here, and I cannot take them away from him. This is his kingdom, his home, and he needs to be here to fight for it."

"If it is meant that you will face what comes together, then your paths will unite again," Mithrandir said, touching Aragorn's shoulder. "Now, though, I think you should make haste. You have a long journey before you."

Aragorn grimaced, looking at his belongings and shaking his head. He was not going to be ready to leave as soon as he'd hoped.

"Are you thinking of Mirkwood?" Cordof asked, drawing Aragorn out of his thoughts and back to the patrol. "Do you miss it?"

Aragorn forced a smile for the younger ranger. He had seen many places in Middle Earth over the years, and all of them had particular charms, reasons to go back or to avoid them forever, but he knew that it was not the place he missed as much as he missed the people. One elf, in particular. He felt as though he left just when they were getting their friendship back where it should be.

"I miss the company."

"We are not good enough company for you?"

"No," Aragorn said, shaking his head. "That is not what I meant. It is only that I have spent much of my time lately with Legolas, and I find I have been accustomed to his presence and his counsel, even when we disagree. There is a certain quality to even the silent moments that I now find myself missing."

"The silence? I think you may have spent too much time with the elves."

Aragorn laughed. He had been told that before, by others, though he thought it strange that a ranger would say that knowing his history. He had been raised among the elves for his own safety, and he owed much to what he had learned in his years in Imladris. He would always be grateful for the family he had.

"Was there something you needed?"

"No, not truly," Cordof said with a grimace. "I apologize for disturbing you."

"If my mind is wandering as much as it has been, then no apology is necessary. I cannot allow myself to be distracted now," Aragorn told him. He had not spoken to all of the rangers about Mithrandir's concerns, had not told them all the ring might be in the Shire, not wanting to risk rumors of it spreading too far, but he knew that he needed to be more vigilant than he had been since so few could know of the true danger and so few could fight against it.

He was not even certain that he could. The ring might tempt him—he might give into that temptation as Isildur had. He did not know that he could even trust himself.

"Should I suggest that you have one of your own?"

Legolas forced a smile, though he knew this conversation would return in a few centuries, if not earlier, since it was something all parents must ask their children. He would not deny that he found Thenidriel adorable—he did not know one elf in the kingdom that did not—but he was not interested in taking up Idhrenion's role. Even Idhrenion was not ready for it. "Maybe in a few centuries, Ada. At present, I find myself attached to no one—please do not suggest Eruaistaniel. She was rather horrified to find herself the latest interest of the twins."

Thranduil smiled. "I pity any elleth who gains their attention, though I think your friend managed well with them, better than any I have seen when it comes to those sons of Elrond."

"Sérëdhiel is also married."

The king acknowledged that with a slight nod. Legolas did not know that his father would have approved of him being interested in Sérëdhiel even were she not married to Nostalion. Nor did he know how his father would have reacted to Alassë were she not Thenidriel's mother. Eruaistaniel, in all her discomfort, managed the kind of formal greeting that the court had not seen in centuries, and Legolas knew that in some way she might seem like the sort of elleth that belonged in a palace.

"She mentioned again that she wishes to leave."

Legolas stifled a grimace. He did not want any of them to leave, but he did not know that he could make them stay. "You have not rescinded your order about allowing the gwinig past the borders."

"You wish me to?"

Frowning, Legolas stared at his father. "Are you suggesting that you have been keeping them here for my sake?"

"You are happier with them here, especially as your other friend has departed. It is good to see you smile, and for that I would almost be willing to kidnap the child."

"That is not necessary," Legolas said, amused. He did not believe that his father would kidnap anyone, though he did have dungeons...

"However," his father said, pulling Legolas' thoughts out of the dungeon and back to where they stood. "I did not come to lecture you about gwinig. I would ask for your advice."

That was a thing almost unheard of, and Legolas did not know how to react. "My advice?"

Thranduil nodded, folding his arms behind his back. "I have been asked for some advice, and I find myself lacking the information I need to offer it."

"You were asked for advice?"

"I could have said for kingly wisdom," his father said with a slight grin, and Legolas almost laughed. He smiled. "These are all elves that you know more intimately than I do, so you would have the answer, and you may disagree with mine. Ehtyarion has found it difficult to connect with his nephew. He has been unable to speak to him for more than a few minutes. He would like to make some kind of gesture to bridge their gap. I suggested giving him the knives that I offered Firyavaryar."

Legolas blinked. He still doubted that his memory was accurate, that his father had almost given the matched set to his knives to his friend, and he could not believe that the offer would be made to Nostalion. "The knives? Why?"

"I know that you claimed Varyar as gwador," his father reminded him, reaching over to touch Legolas' shoulder. "He is gone. Why should I not pass them them to his family?"

He had never spoken of it before, but he knew. In some sense, that should have made Firyavaryar as close as a son to Thranduil, Idhrenion the same, and Sérëdhiel like a daughter. They would all be family. Thranduil had not seen them that way, though, only Legolas did.

"I did not think that—"

"I also know that I owe your return to Nostalion. He was the one that found you."

Legolas nodded. "I know he was a part of Estel and the others finding me, but I did not think that you would give away heirlooms so easily."

"For the life of my son, no price is too high."

"Ehtyarion. It is good to see you again, but if you were hoping to see Thenidriel, Alassë and Idhrenion have just taken her in to lie her down for a nap. She seems unwilling to sleep without both her parents there," Sérëdhiel told him, almost hoping that he would say that was the reason for his visit. She felt that Nostalion was of the same opinion, judging from the hand he put on her back.

He frowned at the wrapped package in the older elf's hands. "What is this?"

"A gift," Ehtyarion answered, holding it out to Nostalion, who frowned and did not attempt to take it from his uncle. She stepped forward, taking the package from him and carrying it over to the table. She did not know that she understood why he was giving them a gift, not one this heavy, but if it was something that could draw Nostalion closer to his uncle or help him remember his mother, she would like for him to have it.

She unwrapped the top layer and gasped. "Ehtyarion, we cannot accept this."

"You are not accepting anything."

She glared at Nostalion. "I am not a child for you to make decisions for me. I know the value of these blades, and we cannot take them."

"I know their value," he said, his voice quiet and troubled. Lifting his head, he turned back to Ehtyarion. "Why do you seek to give me those that were intended for her brother?"

"King Thranduil suggested they be with you. He did not say so, but I believe he held onto hope that Firyavaryar would not always refuse them. I know how he feels about protecting his son. Those that do so have his gratitude and his favor—and the best weapons that he can offer them."

She shook her head. She knew that her husband had been the one to lead them to Ogol's hideout, but that would not matter if Ehtyarion knew why Legolas was there, and it would be worse if the king learned of it. "No. That is all the more reason why we can't accept them. You would not offer if you—please excuse us, Ehtyarion. We must prepare to leave."

"Sérëdhiel—"

"Your brother is not ready to leave."

She frowned. She did not know why Varyar would not want to leave. He would not allow them to be put at risk. "He will be."

Nostalion shook his head, slipping into the dark tongue. "He feels the creature is a threat to the prince. He will not leave while that thing is here."

"We cannot stay," she answered back in the same tongue. "If they learn what he did—"

"I will talk to him."

"How can you speak that tongue without hurting your own head?" Ehtyarion demanded, touching his head and letting out a soft curse.

She no longer noticed it, and she was glad, since Nostalion and Varyar used it often, many times without being aware of it. They did not do it to harm anyone, and it was almost unbelievable how Eruaistaniel found it soothing. "We are Avari. It does not affect us in the same way. Varyar said it was a part of our lack of connection to nature that made it possible."

"Perhaps," Ehtyarion said, rubbing his forehead. He let out a breath. "If you do not want the knives, I suggest you take them back to the king yourself."

He turned, leaving the room, and Nostalion frowned after him. She touched his arm, and he dragged her close against him, holding onto her and saying nothing. She closed her eyes, taking in his warmth and his scent. She knew that he would leave soon, but as long as he was with her, she wanted to feel this. She needed comfort and security since their time of relative peace was at an end.

"Will you take them back to the king?"

"You know I cannot take them with us. They can remain here when we go."

"You are certain that Varyar will agree to leave? You said he would not, and I know how he must feel about defending Legolas—"

"Never at the cost of any of you," Nostalion reminded her, touching her cheek. She nodded. He kissed her forehead. "Get Eruaistaniel ready to leave and the others when they are awake. We will be leaving tonight."

"I hate that he taught me how to do this," Firyavaryar muttered, shaking his head. He did not want to think about the way the cloth brushed against his skin, the way that voice sounded in his ear, or the heat of the breath as Ogol spoke. Varyar would forget all that, even if he found it helpful—even necessary—to use this method of stealth and protection. He pinched the herbs together and whispered the words that made it seem like an incantation, though he did not know that they had any more power than that they were spoken in the dark tongue.

"We are fortunate that the herbs were even there," Nostalion said, and Varyar nodded. He knew they were. They had not found much in what the wood elves had taken from Ogol.

"Nothing else was."

"Perhaps we were wrong about the location of the things they took from Ogol."

"You are being too kind. It is unlike you, gwador," Varyar told him as he stepped over the now unconscious guard and picked up the key ring, flipping through them for the one he needed—the one for the dungeon. "Finding the herbs means that we found where Ogol's things were kept. The cure was not there. Perhaps it does not exist. Perhaps I did not transfer it to him when I bit him. Perhaps it did exist, but he did not write it down. This is not the first time we have gained entry to that chamber, nor was it the first time that we read over those papers."

"That you read over those papers."

Nostalion cursed, letting the parchment fall back on the desk. "If this is what they took from Ogol's fortress, it is meaningless. Even though I speak the dark tongue—read it—that is indecipherable nonsense. Useless."

Frowning, Firyavaryar picked up the page and read it over, his stomach twisting. "This is not indecipherable. It is in dialect. I did not know that was a variant on the dark tongue, but it is familiar to me."

"You speak this?"

Varyar shuddered. "No. I do not speak it. However, I have seen it many times in my life."

Nostalion frowned, and Firyavaryar pushed up his sleeve, looking for the marks that Ogol had put into his skin, but he had not seen them since his fall. Perhaps they were gone with the being that made them, making him free with Ogol's death. "The markings—that is the same language?"

"Yes. This could be part of his spell book or his grocery list. I do not know what most of it means, but I have learned a few words having spent centuries with them upon me," Varyar said, pulling down his sleeve. "Set those pieces here. I will go through them, and you can have the others."

"I am not thinking that I would recognize the cure we seek even if I saw it."

"Perhaps neither of us would, but I think we would cause a lot of trouble if we took these, and I confess—even if the cure is within these pages, I do not want them with me." Varyar put the page down and tried to rid himself of a chill he should not feel.

Firyavaryar grimaced, putting the key in the lock. "True. I did the reading, but I did not find any cures. There were many notes, but he was careful not to leave much in the way of detail, as though he knew that those papers would fall into the hands of his enemies someday. I do not know if he had any gift at foresight—I have wondered since he did capture me when I was around a century old and I do not know how he managed to know where we were to ambush me, but he did. It could have been that. Could have been magic. Could have been that he was a Maia."

"You still do not know?"

"He lived a long time, but he did not seem to have elf ears."

Nostalion stopped them from entering the door. "You saw his face? Ogol's? So you know what he looked like when he was not pretending to be a wraith?"

"No."

"No?"

"My memory is not what it should be after centuries of torture," Varyar said, pushing the assassin's hand out of his way. "I know I goaded him into revealing it—I tried to, at least, but I do not know if I saw it or not. My dreams have not gotten to that point. I always wake before he is finished with the punishment he gave me for that conversation."

Nostalion grunted. "If you could remember his face, that would be useful."

"That is perhaps why I do not," Varyar grumbled, stepping into the cell. He grimaced as the stench hit his nose, almost overwhelming his elven senses. "I see his time here has not improved him any."

"Such a thing would be impossible."

"Filthy nasty elves! Filthy! We hates them. Hates them."

"Yes, I hate you as well, rotten little ulunn, but I thought perhaps you had forgotten my warning since you have been kept here. I heard you gave some of the elves trouble, and I do not like hearing that as I warned you specifically not to harm my friend." Firyavaryar stepped forward, letting his hood fall to his shoulders as he removed his gloves.

Gollum hacked as he backed against the wall. "No! No! We not forget. We remember. We obey."

"Liar."

Nostalion stepped on the tail of a rat that tried to scurry past him, and Firyavaryar smiled as he went back to the other elf's side, reaching down to touch the squirming rodent. "Remember—this will be you if you harm Legolas."

The rat squealed as it died, and Gollum covered his head with his hands, muttering to himself. Varyar shook his head in disgust.

"I think he understands."

Nostalion nodded, walking away. Firyavaryar stood and replaced his gloves, giving the wretch a final cruel smile. He lifted his hood before he turned to follow Nostalion out the door. It was time to gather up the others, time to leave. They had stayed too long already.

Standing at the window, Mithrandir reached into his pocket and withdrew a scrap of parchment, unfolding it and frowning at the words upon it. He lifted his eyes to the distance and the coming storm.

"I do hope someday you can forgive me, gildin."