Forever Afternoon
Chapter Eleven
Word Count: 3,891
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: I am really thinking I should have gone with one-shots. I had all these great moments to do in the fashion of say Lion King 1 1/2 (that was my nephew's favorite movie when he was younger) where they were there all along but the audience didn't know that. The trouble is that they were great moments, not necessarily a cohesive plot, and trying to make them one is a headache and a half. Plus I throw in not wanting to repeat what Tolkien/the movies did better than I could, the fact that I loaned my copy of the fellowship to my nephew and can only rely on my memory and the movies (so this is more movie than book because I remember them and have access to them,) and I have a huge mess on my hands, not helped in the least by Varyar's alter ego wanting his story told and taking up what he can of my limited free time.

Ahem. The point is, maybe this should have been a series of small fics rather than one large one, even if they do all sort of go together and it is the whole tale of how Varyar got from his "death" to a real redemption while Legolas and Aragorn went on the quest for the ring.

Things in Motion

"It is cowardly of me not to want to tell anyone of this."

"A coward? You?"

Legolas almost smiled, but he could not take comfort in Ehtyarion's words. He felt unequal to the task that he knew was before him. He had dealt with his father's disappointment before, but this was not about their minor disagreements. This was the loss of a ring-bearer, a captive under Legolas' watch, and he did not know how to tell his father or anyone else, and he knew that he would have to tell more than just his father about this failure. He did not want to tell Mithrandir or Lord Elrond—Lady Galadriel—anyone who might know of Gollum's importance and also of the ring.

Another elf would have run rather than admit to any of this. Legolas was tempted. He had been hiding in the healing ward, watching over Ehtyarion's progress, even though the captain had suffered a minor wound.

Others had not been so fortunate. Others would not come back. Others were dead because Legolas had been distracted. He had failed. His task had been simple, but he had not managed to do it. "He was supposed to be afraid of me. This should not have happened."

"You know that it was not your fault that Gollum escaped," Ehtyarion said. He shook his head. "I have been trying to convince myself that it was not mine. You know he was afraid of you—I think he forgot in that moment when he was about to make his escape, but he remembered—and he ran rather than fight. That means he was still afraid of you, but he took his opportunity anyway."

Legolas grimaced. He sat down next to his captain and shook his head. "I do not understand. Gollum's actions make little sense. Why should he develop that fear of me? Why did he not kill me when he attacked me on our way back? If not then, why now? He has acted so strangely that I do not know what to think of it. I cannot see what I did that changed anything in how he behaved toward me."

"You do not know that it had anything to do with you."

Legolas grunted. "Why would Gollum suddenly develop a fear of me and not Estel, then?"

"Elves are more intimidating than men."

That made Legolas laugh even though he knew that he should not. "All elven pride aside, why would I be the one that he focused on like that? Why should it matter if I lived or died? I am only one elf, and he hates us all—he told us that many times."

"Yet he did little to attack the elves in our party besides you—he left us for the orcs. You were the only one he went for, and that was likely because you were the one holding his leash." Ehtyarion touched a hand to his leg. "I would rather be out there looking for him."

"I would, too, but I am not to leave the palace until I tell Ada what happened." Legolas shook his head. "He already knows. Everyone does. All the patrols are watching for him, almost every elf in the kingdom is hunting that thing, including the best trackers we have."

"Not all of them."

Legolas forced a smile. "You flatter me, but I am not that good. I let Estel do the tracking when we hunt together—I let Elladan and Elrohir do it as well. Unless you meant Estel by that?"

Ehtyarion grimaced. He still was not fond of the ranger despite Legolas' many years of friendship with him, probably because Legolas was always leaving his guards behind when he ran off to get into trouble with Estel. "No. I was actually speaking of my nephew."

"I thought you were angry with him."

"I am angry with him for leaving, for his part in what Ogol did to you, and for things I know I should not blame him for—and for him knowing that I would have that weakness," Ehtyarion said. He lowered his head, letting out a breath, and then he looked up, determination returning to his features. "Regardless of how I feel about him, we know he could track that thing anywhere. That is what he did to save you, and he could do it again."

"There was a rumor that Nostalion and the others went to Imladris. We could offer to go find him. I think I am the only one who might convince him to help us—well, I say that, but it would be Sérëdhiel that did. She could persuade him."

"Yes."

"It is something to offer my father to temper his rage," Legolas said, feeling a bit of confidence returning to him. "I will tell Ada what happened—with all emphasis on your valor—"

"Legolas—"

"And you should be ready to leave when I get back because you are coming with me to Imladris."

"Should have killed him."

Varyar nodded. He could not disagree with Nostalion's opinion, and the more he thought about it as they trudged along through the mud, cursing their lack of mud and his own stupidity. If he did not have some stupid idea of redemption, he would not have bothered to go after the creature Gollum at all, and they would not be here, wherever here was, because he was not certain he knew any of this land, though he should by now.

"I do not know why I did not," Varyar admitted. "I thought I had stopped trusting Mithrandir back when I was still a child. I cannot see why I would believe anything he said—how could I maintain any of that sort of naivete? I have been hurt too many times to trust anyone. Or anything."

Nostalion grunted. "You would trust and follow Legolas to your death."

"Are you jealous?"

"I think you are a fool. That is different."

Varyar laughed. "I believe you are jealous. Do you not realize how many times I have followed you? I do so without asking questions, trusting in your ability when I might have no reason to do so. That trust I have always given you, will always give you, and it is your to abuse should you see fit."

"I have no interest in abusing your trust. I do not enjoy mocking my ability. I would rather be without it, much as you would rather not be a walking plague."

Firyavaryar tried not to react to the reminder of what he was. He did not need to think about his foolishness—believing that Ogol had a cure that he could use—he should have known that was a lie. Maybe the only reason he had been able to kill Ogol was that the poison was working on him. Maybe he had not bit down as far as he thought. Maybe the poison did not affect Maia. Maybe it did not pass through his saliva. He still did not understand all of what made it work.

"We could see if there are any remains of Draugminaion to see if—"

"If what? We do not have his knowledge of science and magic to turn us back to what we were. We do not have the army of orcs it took to subdue us, either."

"It would be different if we were doing it with our consent—and not after we were tortured for so long that I cannot remember why he bothered with the torture first. Did he ask us questions or was it just as some kind of... softening for what he intended to do later?"

Nostalion frowned. "How many gaps are there in your memory?"

"Several." Varyar looked at him. "That worries you?"

"It has never troubled us before, but I suppose it has never mattered as much as it does now."

"Because of Ogol?"

"You are dreaming during the day time. If your mind is allowed a moment, you will return to some part of your memory that torments you. Sérëdhiel called them your waking dreams. She fears them."

"Sérëdhiel fears nothing."

"You are wrong about that."

Varyar shook his head. "If you would like to end this hunt, say so and be done with it. I am not in the mood to argue with you. For such a wretched thing, Gollum moves fast. We should keep moving, if we are going to—and you do not have to come with me."

"You could not follow him without me," Nostalion said, annoyed. "You struggle to keep pace with him now. You cannot continue like this—either the dreams have to stop or you do."

"Then I suppose I will—it took years, maybe even a century before the waking dreams ended the last time I suffered from them, and I do not know that I have the strength now to keep going, but I should rather try that than settle in to die."

"Is that what you believe staying in Greenwood was? What journeying to Imladris would have been?"

"In a sense, I suppose." Varyar let out a breath. "I do not think that I would be welcome despite what Legolas and a few others think, and I would not want to risk my actions affecting the others. I do not know how far they would take punishing me for betraying Legolas, but there would be some who would want me dead for that. Staying in those lands is almost like asking for death."

Nostalion nodded. "Yet that seems to be what you want."

"I think it would be the only peace I would ever know," Varyar admitted, looking over at his gwador. "I do not know that I can hope for anything else."

"I will need you in Bree."

Aragorn lifted his head, frowning. He did not know when Mithrandir had gotten there—or when he had fallen asleep, but somewhere in there he had dozed off, and now he could not say how much time had passed between now and then. He did not know that he could tell more than what was right in front of him, and he had not expected it to be a wizard.

"Mithrandir?"

"Yes, Aragorn, and we have not much time," the Istari said, kneeling down next to him. "Things are advancing quickly."

Aragorn forced himself not to say anything about the months he had been out here on a rather futile patrol of the northern border. His annoyance was in part because of his unwanted departure from Mirkwood and in part because he had thought his brothers intended to stay with him and did not. They had returned to Imladris due to increased orc activity there, promising to return if they could.

They had not.

"You have been to the Shire," Aragorn said, rubbing his head as his mind tried to wake up further. "You spoke to Bilbo, then?"

"You know that Bilbo has left for your father's lands," Mithrandir reminded him, and Aragorn nodded. He had heard that rumor, that and a few other ones, but he had not gone to investigate it. The attacks along the border had become more frequent—not that he did not think it best if he was not too close to where the ring was. "And none too soon, I fear."

Aragorn frowned. He did not like the sound of that. He looked around for the other rangers, but even Cordof, who rarely left his side, was gone. "Do you think he has succumbed to the influence of the ring?"

"He was able to leave it behind—he left everything to Frodo—though it was very difficult for him. I fear that he has spent too long with it, though his resistance is admirable, if it is indeed the ring we believe it it to be."

"You don't know if it is? Did you not examine it?"

"I have had a glimpse of the ring, yes, and because of it, I became even more troubled than before, but I needed more information," Mithrandir explained. "I left to consult the records to be certain of what I had seen and long—yet not long enough—suspected."

Aragorn would have liked the wizard to say that it was the ring, that it was worth his presence here, that they needed to be where it was to protect its bearer and prevent the dark lord from discovering it. He did find the Istari's way of not quite answering the questions he was asked annoying. "Does Frodo know what Bilbo has given him?"

"I told him to keep it a secret and keep it safe. I did not tell him of my suspicions."

"You do not think that he can handle knowing about it? Should he not know that he is under threat? If the nazgûl come for him, he will have no warning, no way of fighting them—he is only a hobbit. You cannot think that he can face this alone."

"I am going to warn him now, though he will not be alone," Mithrandir insisted. He put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "In a very short time, he will have need of your protection—not from a distance, but at his side, where you have always fought best—beside friends."

Aragorn frowned. "Are you saying Legolas will be there? What of Gollum?"

Mithrandir hesitated, and Aragorn found himself wondering what the wizard was not saying this time. "When you speak to Frodo, remember that he knows me as Gandalf. He will be suspicious if you use Mithrandir, even if it is the name you have known me as most of your life and the one the elves use for me."

"I do not think that he would fail to understand. Many of us carry other names," Aragorn began. He shook his head. "You have me worried, Gandalf. What has happened with Gollum? What of Legolas?"

"In time, Aragorn. First I must ask you to be in Bree, and when I can, I will join you and Frodo there. If, for any reason, I should delay, take him to your father's lands without me."

"Gandalf—"

"There is not time for questions now, nor is this the place. All will be explained in time. Now, go."

"Nazgûl. It would be them," Varyar said, leaning back against the tree and trying not to give into the pain moving through his body. "If the Valar exist, then we must be cursed by them. Why else would the ringwraiths hunt us?"

"Gollum." Nostalion answered. "That thing should not have survived Mordor's torture, but it did. It was probably released for this purpose—for them to hunt."

Varyar did not know that he believed that. "Why would anyone want that thing alive? It serves no purpose and no master."

"There were some... rumors in Thranduil's palace," Nostalion began, and Firyavaryar knew why he had not spoke of them before—Nostalion hated anything less than a fact, and he did not repeat rumors, not without another option. "Some thought Gollum had the one ring—and lost it."

"We are cursed by the Valar," Firyavaryar muttered. He closed his eyes, holding back the lecture on why he should have known about this before they went hunting Gollum. "I thought this thing was some kind of disease that formed out of all the ones that Draugminaion gave me, but having one of the nine so close..."

"It feels like a shadow poison? Like something that would draw you into their realm?"

"I do not know. The pain is more intense than usual, and I think they may be aware of us. I do not know that they care, though." Varyar forced his eyes open again. "Where are we? Do you know this area? I do not."

"I believe we are in or near the Shire."

"We are close to hobbits? Why would this thing go after hobbits unless—a hobbit has the ring? Oh, that is it. Kill me. I do not want to see Middle Earth go into darkness. I refuse to serve Sauron—I refuse to be his weapon."

"Varyar, I know you are in pain, but you sound like an elfling, and a pathetic one at that."

Firyavaryar almost laughed. "I sounded like Idhrenion, though he would hate me for saying so. The wraiths are between us and Gollum, yes?"

Nostalion nodded. "He has not moved, but I do not know that they will not find him, if they are hunting him. I am not certain—"

"Do not use your ability on them. That will get you taken as a servant for Sauron, and I would not be able to rescue you as you would me," Varyar warned, pushing himself up the tree. "I may be a walking plague, but I doubt that I can kill a nazgûl. We cannot fight them."

"No, we cannot."

"Where are the others? Imladris still? Safe? And Legolas—"

"His echil is not far from us," Nostalion said, frowning. "Perhaps... in Bree? This would be simpler if I saw a map, not just the strange things that I can sense from people when I track them, but I do not. If his echil is there—"

"We go for the ranger," Varyar said. "He will not want us there, he would not like it, but I do not think we can allow the heir of Isildur and the hope of men to go against wraiths alone."

Nostalion grunted, apparently disagreeing with that statement.

Now I know what Ada felt like, Aragorn mused, watching over the hobbits as they bickered amongst themselves. He must have felt this way so many times with me—and not just me, Elladan and Elrohir as well. We must have made him insane, though he usually did manage to remain calm.

Aragorn tried to remember his father's example as he led the hobbits out of Bree. He had known several hobbits over the years, though none were quite like Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. In some ways, he thought they were like children. That was an unfair oversimplification of things, though it was easy to make the mistake of thinking them childlike given their size.

Any dwarf who heard that thought would have attacked Aragorn with an axe for it, and he would probably have deserved that.

He knew that it was more than just their size working against them. They were not only half his height, but they were also farmers, gardeners, and fools. They had no training in how to fight, though he knew they would if they needed to—the trouble was that even though they had been followed and frightened by black riders, they seemed unaware of the true danger they were all in. They did not all know the true nature of the ring—he would not have some of them know that, even if they were well intentioned hobbits—but that did not excuse some of their behavior.

They were not careful. None of them were, not enough. Frodo and Sam paid more heed to things than the others did, but one look at Sam's pack and Aragorn wanted to shake his head—he did not know how to travel for a journey like this. One took as little as he could carry, only what was absolutely necessary, but then hobbits had a completely different idea of what was necessary than a ranger who had been on the move most of his life.

Legolas, I wish you were here with me, Aragorn caught himself thinking more than once, wanting his friend to be with him—Legolas' elven patience and calm would help a great deal with the young hobbits, but more than that, he would like all of them and be amused by their antics as well.

The truth was, he missed Legolas' company, and he also would feel more assured if he was not alone with the hobbits as their only defense. So far, he had yet to see the ring he knew Frodo carried, and he had not asked to see it, had not trusted himself to, but he did not know that he would always feel this way. Would he be able to resist the ring's pull alone? His ancestor had not. That weakness was his, inherited down through the generations. Perhaps it was foolish to think he could overcome it, that somehow his actions might lead to his becoming king and reuniting the land.

He looked over at the hobbits. He envied them their carelessness sometimes, and yet he was still frustrated with it. He knew that they had been isolated from the bad for so long that they could not know what they were headed into—his rangers had seen to it that the hobbits and other people of the north were protected all these years—but that naivete grew frustrating even as he occasionally felt jealous of it. To have so few burdens, such a simple existence—that could almost pass for peace in a world that had not known it for too long.

"How well do you know Gandalf, Strider?"

"Not well," Aragorn answered honestly, and Frodo frowned at him, and he smiled. "One thing I have learned about wizards is that they know far more than they say, and they are not people that can be known well, not even by the elves."

"Do you know many elves?" Sam asked, curious. Aragorn had noticed that he seemed rather interested in them, and that was another reason why he would have Legolas with them—to answer all the questions the hobbits might have about elves, though even now he could picture the look that Legolas would give him if he did.

"I know several elves, Master Gamgee, and them I would say I know quite well."

"But Gandalf," Frodo pressed, his face still lined with worry. "What do you think has happened to him? Why did he not meet us in Bree as he said he would?"

Aragorn did not know that he wanted to admit that he did not know what had happened to Mithrandir or where he might have gone after his visit to Frodo. Perhaps it had taken longer to travel than he had thought it would, or perhaps he had gone directly to Imladris to wait for them. "If anything has delayed him, I am certain we will hear of it soon."

"Supposing—just supposing, that's all—that Gandalf was dead. How would we know?"

"Sam!"

"Sorry, Master Frodo, but it is possible, and I just thought—"

"Lord Elrond should know his fate. He is a powerful and wise elf," Aragorn told them, not wanting to upset Frodo further. He himself feared the worst when he realized that Mithrandir was not coming, but he did not know that he could let these young ones despair. He had to keep them believing that all would be well when they reached Imladris, even if he knew that it would not be.

No one would be safe until the ring was destroyed.

He saw Frodo close his hand over his shirt. "I hope you are right. I do not want any harm to come to Gandalf."

"Nor do I," Aragorn assured him, though he knew it already had.