Forever Afternoon
Chapter Twelve
Word Count: 4,640
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: So... I am not entirely certain why I thought it was a good idea to go back to the book version when I do not have the book to consult or a good idea of how to write Glorfindel, but I thought he deserved to be the one who did the ride with Frodo, and it being Arwen complicated things too much in my little world because he might not say anything, but she would, so she couldn't be there.

There are a few phrases in this section from the arwen-undomiel site again, what Glorfindel says in Quenya and what Varyar says as he's leaving. I wish I knew elvish because I would have put together something a bit different for that, but I haven't managed to learn any of the dialects yet. I'm too busy losing the French and Spanish I once knew.

So... Tullen tye-rehtien. Nás harna is I'm here to help. He's hurt. And Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya is May the Valar protect you on your path under the sky.

And I forced myself to go back and try to write the action I was avoiding. I don't know that it helped, but there did get to almost be some action plus an overdue explanation of the scenes in Storms as well.

Strange Forms of Hope and Deliverance

"We must stop and camp."

"I know that the hobbits are camping, and the ranger scouts for the wraiths, but stopping is not our sort of luxury," Nostalion said, casting his eyes toward the ruins of the watchtower. The assassin was annoyed, but then they had been hunting for so long in such inhospitable circumstances as to where anyone would be frustrated, even Legolas, who tended to be more patient. "They have what little shelter there is to be had around here, and the wraith do not track them alone. This area is too open, and we cannot rest when the nazgûl ride."

"I do not want to be difficult, gwador, nor am I pleased to admit to a weakness, but I cannot continue like this," Varyar said, pushing back his hood and hair and trying to clear the obstruction from his vision. He did not know if it was the wind or the rain or their combination that was making the damage to his eyes seem worse than usual, but he knew that he could not keep going right now. "I have done more than I normally would have in a storm. You know this, but the longer we persist, the worse I get. I cannot see, and I have lost all ability to orient myself in this place. I would call it forsaken, but it is not. I know it is not, but I am—the dreams are on me faster than they have ever been before, and if I am not feeling the sickness because of the storms, then I am sick because the wraith are close and I can feel that."

Nostalion turned back to face Varyar, taking hold of his almost recoiled from him when his eyes shifted memories and the present and he saw someone else—something else—there. "Why have you not said anything? How far can you see right now?"

"Not far at all. You are rather... shadowy. I think I am too close to that realm at the moment. Either that or I am confusing memories again—I remember seeing Draugminaion appearing like that once when I was very feverish," Varyar admitted. "And I am cold. It is like the water or the wind has soaked through to the deepest parts of me, only I thought they contained only poison."

"You were not like this when we ventured close to Mordor."

"Maybe when I fell I upset whatever balance was keeping me from completely succumbing to the sickness within me and now it is happening, or maybe it is the ring trying to bind me like the wraiths are—you do not feel it?"

"I feel something any time I try to use my ability. That is why have not been tracking as much as I usually do," Nostalion answered, cursing. "We are both crippled here."

"I know that, and I would say that we must abandon all of our tasks, but we cannot run when they are going where we would seek shelter," Varyar said. He started to close his eyes, but his whole body stiffened as he looked behind him. "Nostalion, they are coming."

"You are in no condition to fight."

"I do not think they want us," Firyavaryar said, trying to calm his body because tension only made the pain worse. "I cannot tell where they are, only that they are nearby. It hurts, and I am losing more of my focus than before."

"I can look—"

"No." Varyar fixed his eyes on what he believed was the watchtower. "We may as well go for the same place as the others. If nothing else, we can be what gives them time to escape."

"And your sister will never forgive either of us."

Varyar almost laughed. "I would say she would understand the cause of the greater good, but while she does, she would still be angry with us. She is not that understanding. The greater good can happen, should happen, but never at the cost of those she loves."

"I should say something about her managing to be so naïve, but we both agreed long ago that it is better that she sees the world the way she does and not the way we do," Nostalion said as he started forward, dragging Varyar with him. "If I have to carry you—"

"I would make a joke now, but I fear you might have to do just that," Firayvaryar muttered, stumbling. His legs were weaker than they had been since their escape from Draugminaion. "I think the wraiths are already at Amon Sûl. Every step I take toward it weakens me further."

"Then we cannot help them."

"You could. As long as you do not use your ability, you can fight, and I do not know that the ranger can drive them off on his own."

"If you expect me to leave you out here on your own, you are a greater fool than I have ever—that was one of the hobbits."

Varyar nodded. He'd heard that scream as well. "I think we may have argued too long. The wraiths are upon them."

Nostalion shoved him against a tree. "Stay there. I do not know if there is anything to be done, but if there is, I will do it."

"I am not explaining to my sister why you died, so you will live," Varyar called after him, leaning against the tree and cursing himself for his weakness.

"I do not understand Ada."

"Perhaps he feels insulted as well, having my nephew reject his gift as he did," Ehtyarion said. He shook his head. "Or perhaps it is that he feels that Gollum should be found in his land by his people, and not by any other means."

"I fear Gollum has already fled far from our lands," Legolas said, shaking his head. He did not know what had happened to that creature, but he did not think it was anywhere in Greenwood anymore. Perhaps if Nostalion had been here when it escaped, they could have used his ability to track it down, but he did not think that they would find Gollum, not now. That creature must be gone, and they could not regain their honor by recovering him, not now.

"I agree, but your father does not."

Legolas sighed. "You know he is wrong. We both do—we must go find Nostalion or—"

"Prince Legolas? Your father is asking for you," a servant said from the doorway, and Legolas nodded to her, though he did not know that he was ready to argue with the king again. He did not want to fight with his father. He did not know how else to fix what he had done wrong. Half his patrol was dead, many others were injured, and Gollum had escaped.

"Perhaps now he wants to listen."

"And perhaps I should order you to accompany me for my protection," Legolas said. The captain shook his head, but he followed anyway, as was his duty. Legolas was relieved—he would rather not go in to speak to his father alone. "You are willing to go to Imladris with me to find your nephew but not to face my father?"

"That is different. I will not commit treason. If he wishes you harm—then I think I must fail in my oath," Ehtyarion said, and Legolas frowned, trying to determine if the other elf was teasing or not. "I cannot go against the king's wishes. He is the king. You are only the prince."

"It is times like this I miss Estel," Legolas said, tempted to sigh. "And Varyar. They are not—were not—afraid of my father."

Ehtyarion shook his head. "It is not simple, the position that you put anyone in when they disagree with your father's decisions and agree with yours. I should have forsook my oath centuries ago when I realized what trouble you were. How could anyone protect such a willful creature?"

Legolas made a face. "You could resign. Or ask for a new assignment."

"How could I? This is the greatest honor in the kingdom," Ehtyarion said, and Legolas stared at him. "You are the one thing your father values above all else, and it is a privilege to protect it. Not always a pleasure, but still a privilege."

"I have to wonder if your nephew shares your sense of humor. It would explain why Varyar would keep company with him," Legolas said, and Ehtyarion looked at him, raising an eyebrow in that way that all elder elves seemed to have perfected.

"Are you going to suggest that my sense of humor is why you do not keep company with me?"

"No, though I am starting to wonder what happened when you were attacked because you are not the guard captain I remember," Legolas told him, stopping to prepare himself before facing his father.

"I think it was the presence of the gwinig," Beridhren said. "I have not seen so many grown elves make such fools of themselves before, and I hope I do not see it again."

Ehtyarion snorted. "Says the one who is determined to have the king allow him to go to Imladris to find and tutor that child."

"I have never bonded," Beridhren said. "My pupils were my elflings, and Idhrenion was a favorite with a gift for learning. As such, she is almost my own granddaughter."

"And I am nothing, I suppose?" Legolas asked, folding his arms over his chest though he was amused by his tutor's reaction.

"Not as adorable as Thenidriel," Ehtyarion corrected, and Beridhren laughed. Legolas frowned at both of them, and Ehtyarion pushed him forward into his father's chambers.

Legolas straightened up, trying to appear composed as he walked toward his father. "Ada? I know you wanted to see me, and I was hoping that I could talk to you about—"

"Elrond has called a counsel."

"He has?"

"I believe, knowing what we do of the creature Gollum, that the one ring has been found," Thranduil said. He looked at Legolas for a long moment, and the younger elf fidgeted under that gaze. "Our efforts to search for him will continue, but you must go to Imladris and tell them what has happened. Some may already be aware of those facts, but not all will be. It is supposed to be a meeting of all races—watch the dwarves. They are not to be trusted."

"Yes, Ada." Legolas did not know that his father had to worry. He did not intend to have any dealings with the dwarves. He would still like to speak to Nostalion if he was there, and he would enjoy seeing Sérëdhiel, Idhrenion, and the baby again. Legolas wondered how much Thenidriel had grown in the time since the others had left.

"You are my son," Thranduil went on. "I may not always agree with your choices, but I trust you will know what needs to be done and see that through."

Legolas smiled. "Thank you, Ada."

The king's eyes left him and found the guard captain. "Ehtyarion, since you have accompanied Legolas here and are to accompany him on his journey, there is something else I wish for you to do, someone you must speak to while in Imladris."

"I thought we were giving up the search for Gollum."

"Legolas." His father's tone was a warning. "This discussion no longer concerns you. Go and ready your things and come see me before you leave. I would like to say a proper goodbye."

The prince frowned. That sounded unpleasantly like the king did not expect him to return.

Darkness had become his only companion, all that he knew.

Firyavaryar did not lift his head. The pain was too great, and it worsened with every movement that he attempted to make. He had become accustomed to this prone position on the hard floor, and he did not know that he would move from it again. He did not know that he could ever have believed that Ogol's torture could almost be preferable to this, but at least there he saw light. He felt as though this place was free of all of it, leaving him to know only black whether his eyes were open or not, through day and night and somehow whatever he suffered was made worse by this darkness, the shadowy whispers in his ears, the pain and the sickness, fevers and chills...

He would have liked to see the sun again, would have loved to feel the warmth of a breeze through the trees, but such hope was foolish, something he had long since parted with as the darkness lingered on, as the pain continued, and the shadow grew in his mind.

He would never see home again, never see Idhrenion or Sérëdhiel again.

He would always be in this darkness.

He wanted to die.

Something grabbed hold of him, and Firyavaryar heard the shadowy whispers again. He struggled in its grasp before he recognized the language was not that of Ogol or Draugminaion or their orcs. He shook his head and frowned, almost thinking he saw Legolas for a moment, but no, that was only the hair and its illusion faded quickly, helped by the fact that this elf spoke to him in Quenya.

"Fó. Tullen tye-rehtien. Nás harna."

Varyar looked at Nostalion leaning against the other tree, and he did not know what had caused him to be huddled in such a way—had he faced the wraith, then? Was he wounded? He must be. He would have woken before the other elf got close if he was not. Firyavaryar cursed himself for passing into another waking dream. "If you did that to him, I will be annoyed. As it is, you are fortunate that you only grabbed my tunic. You could have died. Do not touch me again."

The other elf frowned. "I am here to help. I thought you had somehow survived an encounter with those that I now hunt."

"If you are going after the ringwraiths, you are insane," Varyar said, pushing himself up with the tree's help. "I know they were around Amon Sûl—the storm. Yes, I felt them during the storm—there was a storm... I cannot remember clearly. That one was supposed to help the—oh, gwador, please tell me that you were only an idiot, not a hero."

"What?" The elder elf did not care for Firyavaryar's words, that came through in his voice.

Varyar ignored him, going over to his brother and trying to rouse him. Nostalion should not have done it on purpose, but if he had, he had done it because Varyar's distraction had let the wraiths get too close to the knew that they would be unable to avoid the nazgûl forever, not when they followed Legolas' echil and someone bearing the ring of power, but they should have been able to fight."Gwador-nín, can you hear me?"

The other elf knelt down beside them. "He would not rouse when I tried to wake him. I do not know what ails him. I could see no signs of injury, but yet he is unreachable. I have seen comas and catatonia, but this is different. I have seen nothing like it before."

"I am certain you have not. We are special mutilations, the pair of us, and what we have there is no cure for," Varyar said, checking to be certain he had his gloves on before he examined Nostalion closer. He did not know how he could bring the tracker out of something like this—it was usually his sister's touch and voice that did. He did not think he should use the dark tongue around this other elf, either, but it was the option he favored. He spoke in the quietest whisper he could—that language needed nothing more. "If you make me tell my sister that you died, she will never forgive me."

Nostalion grunted, forcing himself into awareness, glaring at him. "Your sister forgives you everything."

"At least that woke you," Varyar said, taking care to resume using Sindarin. "You scared our rescuer over there, and I do not know how long either of us was incapacitated."

"Rescuer? Do not tell me that we had to be rescued by the ranger and his hobbits."

"Now who is being the elfling?" Varyar asked, smiling, and Nostalion glared at him. He turned back to the other elf. "We are fortunate. If I had tried to wake him the way my sister does—"

"I would kill you," Nostalion said, and Varyar laughed. The assassin shook his head, stopping with a frown, tensing at the sight of the third elf. "Who are you and what do you want with us?"

"I was trying to help," the elder elf said, his tone suggesting that he regretted that action. Varyar knew that all who crossed their paths did end up with those kinds of regrets. "Who are you that would demand that answer of me?"

"I am... Gildin," Varyar answered, using Mithrandir's name for him. He had a name he went by when they lived among the edain, but he did not think that the elf would accept it. "My brother is ashamed of his name, so I will not give it."

Nostalion snorted. "You are the one that should be ashamed of your name."

The elder elf put a hand to his head. "It is like being with the twins. What are you two doing here? Were you attacked by the wraith or not?"

"You know Elladan and Elrohir?" Varyar asked, and then he cursed himself and his poor memory. He knew that elf, and the elf knew him, though their acquaintance was brief. Glorfindel. The balrog slayer. Varyar forced a smile. "My condolences. Thank you for your assistance, but we must go now. Our prey is escaping."

"I thought you said hunting nazgûl was insane."

"It is, but we do not hunt them. We track prey of a viler sort."

"Orcs?"

"Something worse."

Glorfindel almost looked amused. "I almost think I should like to see what is worse than wraiths and orcs, and yet I would not."

"It has long since eluded us. The ranger and the hobbits are that way," Nostalion said, pointing in the direction his ability told him they were. "The wraiths were on them last I knew, but now they are not. They are close, though. If you seek them, you should hurry."

Glorfindel frowned, but if he thought about asking how Nostalion knew that, he did not ask. He turned away, walking toward a horse that approached him. He swung himself onto its back. "Very well. You should know that there are those who would be glad to know you are alive, Firyavaryar."

"Not if the ranger dies," Varyar said. "Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya."

"You shouldn't have let him take him," Sam said, not for the first time, and Aragorn frowned at him. He knew that the hobbit was worried, but he could not allow this to continue. He had to find some way to stop the hobbit's fretting because it was getting to him and the others. "I know it was far from here to Rivendell, I know he was doing poorly, but I made a promise and—"

"Peace, Sam. Glorfindel will see him safely to Lord Elrond," Aragorn assured him. He did not know how else to reassure the hobbit. His friend would fare better in the care of Aragorn's father, and he trusted that if anyone could heal Frodo, it was his ada. Sam, though, he did not know Elrond, did not know of his skill and dedication. All he knew was that he feared that Frodo and Glorfindel had been killed by the wraith or by the shadow sickness that Frodo had been poisoned with.

"But supposing the horse stumbled or supposing they got caught by the wraith or supposing they were too late—"

"You rush to add to your burdens, Sam. We must hope that Frodo and Glorfindel reached Rivendell safely, and we cannot allow ourselves to believe otherwise, not until we know differently."

"Um, Mr. Strider," Merry began, and Aragorn looked down at him, almost expecting the hobbit to be tugging on his cloak. "I don't want to be adding to our burdens, but I think I see one of them riders in the trees."

Aragorn frowned, turning back to look at the trees. He had not sensed anything, though his attempts to reassure Sam had distracted him. He took in the figure, almost thinking it was a shadow for a moment, but then he saw it was indeed what Merry thought it was. "I do not believe that is a wraith. Stay here a moment."

"Shouldn't you maybe... um... shoot it with your bow? That might be a good idea," Pippin said, moving up behind Aragorn.

"Maybe Pippin's right. I mean, supposing it's an orc or something—"

"I think I am insulted, or I would be if I considered hobbits creatures of any kind of intelligence," Nostalion muttered, coming out of the trees. Aragorn grimaced, but then he did not expect the former assassin to be anything close to diplomatic. "I must say, echil, you have a strange choice in companions."

"I would say the same about you, Nostalion."

The elf inclined his head, pushing back his hood and allowing the hobbits to see him for what he was. The four of them stared at him, but no one said anything, not even about the scar on his face, still in awe of his arrival and unique appearance. "The one you object to most is gone, and if you say anything about Sérëdhiel, I would be forced to defend her honor—and you would die."

"Peace," Aragorn said, holding up his hand. He did not want to fight with the assassin. He was aware of his own limits. He had not the same skill as an elf trained from birth to track and kill, not even with all his brothers and fellow rangers had taught him. "You startled the hobbits, that is all."

Nostalion almost sounded amused when he raised an eyebrow. "Just the hobbits?"

Aragorn tried not to get too annoyed with the elf. "I recognized you for what you were and not one of the wraiths. I do not know how you came to be here, but I did know your dark outfit when I saw it."

Nostalion gave him a slight smile, as though that statement amused him further. "I am on my way back to Imladris."

"Back to Imladris?" Aragorn had heard that his father had accepted them into the land, but as it had not come from his brothers, he had not been quick to accept it as the truth. He did not know anyone that could turn the baby away, but he still thought it was dangerous to have that family as guests. "Then the rumors are true and you did settle there."

The elf shook his head. "We settle nowhere. However, Sérëdhiel is there, and I will return to her."

"Is she your wife?" Sam asked. He had shown curiosity about elves before, but now he had one to talk to, unlike Glorfindel who had rushed away with Frodo, and Aragorn would have thought he'd never get Sam to stop if not for Frodo—though Nostalion would never stay long enough to answer half those questions. "If I had Rosie—I mean, if I had a wife, I don't know that I'd ever want to leave her. Why'd you do it?"

Nostalion gave the hobbit a glance that was far from indulgent. "I was hunting something. I lost it. Now I return home."

Aragorn would not have thought the elf would admit to that, nor would he have thought that Nostalion, of anyone, could lose what he was tracking. "You lost your prey? Is that even possible?"

"You know nothing of what being near wraiths does to my tracking."

That was true. Aragorn still did not know if he understood the elf's ability, but he had sometimes compared it to the way the wraiths hunted in his mind, and if that were true, crossing paths with one of them would be dangerous if not painful for an elf like Nostalion. "I imagine that made it difficult."

"As I said, I lost it."

Aragorn nodded. He hesitated and then asked, "You were not close enough to know if the wraiths or the hobbit—"

"If you seek comfort, you might know that the wraiths are scattered, and the elf made it to Imladris unharmed. I assume that anyone with him did as well."

"How do you know that?" Sam demanded, and the elf shook his head. He had no intention of explaining that to the hobbit, and Aragorn knew he could not force him to do so.

"Some elves have... gifts. Nostalion's is for tracking, and you can trust him to know where Glorfindel is as long as he has met him, and since he apparently has, we know that Glorfindel is safe in Rivendell. That means that Frodo is likely also there, and we can make haste toward them knowing our path is clear and our friends are safe," Aragorn said, touching Sam's shoulder. The hobbit looked up at him with a smile.

He turned to Nostalion. "Thank you, Mr. Elf, sir. We appreciate your help."

Nostalion frowned. He did not seem to think he had helped at all. Aragorn felt a strange sort of smile overtake his face. "You know, Sam, because Nostalion's family is in Rivendell, you will have the opportunity to see something very rare and special—a baby elf."

"Elves have babies?" Pippin asked, frowning.

Nostalion glanced toward him. "Exactly where do you think we come from, pe-channas?"

Aragorn gave the elf a warning look that the hobbit missed.

"Um... I'm not exactly sure."

"'Course elves have babies, you idiot," Merry said, elbowing Pippin. "They're not so different from us."

"Oh, aye. Just taller and older—"

"Wiser."

"Hey!" Pippin cried out, shoving at his cousin. Merry pushed him back, and Nostalion shook his head, starting to walk away instead of watch them squabble.

"You two," Sam muttered, getting in the middle of them and separating them. "Enough. I want to go see Mr. Frodo. I want to know that he's all right. Let's go."

"But—"

"Sam is right. We should go," Merry said, nodding thoughtfully. He looked over at Aragorn. "Just how rare are elf babies anyway? Hobbits are born all the time, and you'd think with how long the elves live they'd have lots and lots of babies, but I think this is the first I've heard of such a thing."

"I want to see the elf baby." Pippin suddenly decided. "Is the baby a boy? Is it his son?"

Aragorn almost laughed as he got the hobbits moving again. Nostalion would hate that idea. "No, she is his niece, and she is a very adorable baby. I do not think that Nostalion wants children of his own."

"I'd say that was a shame that was, but he's kind of intimidating," Sam said, frowning. "Not sure I can picture him as a father. Now my gaffer, he's—"

"What does Nostalion mean?" Pippin gave him a look. "What? Don't all elvish names have meanings?"

"Many do," Aragorn agreed. "Nostalion is... kind fortress."

"I don't know that I'd say he was kind, but I can see him as a fortress," Sam mused. "Kind of like you, Mr. Strider, only taller and older and not as nice though not as smelly..."

Aragorn knew that wherever Nostalion was, he was laughing at him now.