Forever Afternoon
Chapter Seventeen
Word Count: 3,025
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: So, to make up for last chapter being all Varyar, this chapter barely has him in it. There are a few mentions of him, as I wanted to do something with the time in Lórien. One version of the events I thought I would include had Varyar going there, learning what Legolas does, but in the end, he did not go there. I also wanted to try to show the shift in things between Legolas and Gimli, but I don't know that I have Gimli in character yet. So... this is largely Legolas, but I don't think that is a problem...

In Grief and Before Battle

Everyone mourned. Most did so silently, listening to the songs of the Lórien elves. Legolas found that he himself could not sit still. He felt a profound sense of loss, even though he knew he was not as close to Mithrandir as others had been. He was not someone trained by the Istari. He had not seen the wizard as a replacement for a lost parent. Mithrandir was a friend. He was in some ways a mentor, but not in the same way that he had been for Frodo or Varyar. Even Estel had a different relationship with the fallen wizard.

He left their camp, wandering deep into the Lórien woods. He knew he should not trespass, but his own rest was far from him now. He needed more if he was to gain any form of peace.

"You have gone far from your companions, young Thranduilion."

Being addressed in the manner that Mithrandir used was painful. He turned to face the lady, his heart heavy. He wanted to ask for a distraction, for peace, for absolution. He lowered his head. "I feel no rest with them. I wish I did. It feels wrong to lack solace in their company. Again."

"There is no guilt in how we choose to mourn. We must all grieve as we need, not as others would. You have known much of grief, not enough of hope."

"There is Thenidriel. And Estel."

"And Mithrandir. And Firyavaryar."

"I could not save them," Legolas whispered. "I could not save my friends. Varyar would even have wanted that death. He thought he had nothing to offer, no way to atone for—wait. Was there an elleth that went missing sometime ago, one who had golden hair and perhaps resembled you? Did she have a name, perhaps a family here? I have not been able to ask you or anyone about her, and I know little of her, but Varyar wanted her family to know her fate."

The lady turned, and Haldir entered, guiding in a young elleth in a long cloak. Legolas thought this must be a sister to the one Varyar had heard tortured. His friend blamed himself for causing her death.

"This is Gwilwilethel. She has not spoken much since her return to our lands, but you may have information for her."

"Of your sister?" Legolas asked. "I am afraid I know very little, not even her name. My friend said she was captured with him by mistake, tortured, and he believed she was dead. He wanted her family to have answers, but I do not know that I have given you any."

Gwilwilethel pushed back the hood of her cloak, revealing a long mane of bright golden hair, brilliant enough to rival Galadriel's. She studied him with troubled blue eyes, stepping back. "You are not him. His hair was darker. His eyes were darker as well."

"Gwathel?" Haldir asked, frowning, reaching for her. "Are you—"

"It was you?" Legolas stared at her. "Varyar... he said he was uncertain, but he thought—he was convinced that you must have died. He blamed himself. I don't understand."

She turned to Galadriel, but whatever they spoke of, it was silent. She faced him. "I do not know how he could have forgotten. He made a bargain, a terrible one, and secured my release. I have waited many centuries to be able to thank him."

Legolas winced. He did not want to tell her that Varyar was dead. "You should know that he faced that creature that tortured both of you and killed it."

"He said he would."

"I wish he was with me to hear this," Legolas told her, being as honest as he thought he could be, though Galadriel must know the truth. She could make him say it, though she could already have told Gwilwilethel everything he had. "It would relieve him to know you did not perish."

"I would like him to know that. I value what he did well beyond what I can say."

Legolas almost promised to tell him, but he did not manage it. She placed her hand on his arm, giving him a small, sad smile before she turned away. She lifted her hood up over her head as Haldir walked her out of the glade.

"Why did you not correct me or tell her that Varyar is dead?"

Galadriel inclined her head, watching him. "Do you doubt the power of hope?"

"No."

The lady placed her hand on Legolas' cheek. "There is still a gildin. Do not lose that."

"Where did you go?"

Legolas stopped, frowning. He was accustomed to Ehtyarion asking him such questions, to his ada demanding to know where he was, but to have that demand come from the dwarf after his conversation with Gwilwilethel, that was almost as infuriating as it was unwelcome. He was, he feared, more grieved than he had been when he left, despite Galadriel's words about hope. "Nowhere."

"Do not lie to me, elf. You think you can run about in the woods without so much as a word, think you can have secret meetings and plot with other elves—"

"Are you truly so suspicious, Gimli? And would you make grief a crime as well?"

"Grief? And what does a pointy-eared princeling know of grief?" The dwarf shook his head. "You do not seem the least grieved. We lose Gandalf, and you continue as though nothing happened, blaming me all the while for wanting to go to Moria."

"Is that what you believe? Are you jealous because I spoke to Galadriel? I did not seek her out. I was only looking for a place to find peace."

"Is that what the lady gave you?"

"It is what I wish she could have given me. I am afraid that I cannot find it, not now. Not after losing Mithrandir. After..." Legolas sighed. Why was he defending himself to the dwarf? He did not have to justify himself to Gimli. "I am tired. We should both rest for the night. The journey before us is still long."

"Tell me about this Firyavaryar, then. Who is he?"

Legolas blinked. "How do you know about him? Did you follow me?"

"You spoke of him before, with the ranger, when you thought we were all busy somewhere else."

"You are a suspicious dwarf. I suppose that is... warranted," Legolas said. He knew that he was not what he should be, had not been since Varyar died, and he should not have come on the quest. He would cause another incident like Gollum. That creature now followed them. He had been in Moria. "Have you ever had a friend you consider close enough to be kin? To be a brother? I have. Varyar was one."

Gimli watched him, still suspicious. "Was one?"

"He died." Legolas let out a breath. He did not know why he was saying this. He did not need to speak to the dwarf at all. "It was not long ago. He... fell. He was lost saving all of us from a great evil. Saving me."

Gimli grunted. Legolas did not know if the dwarf cared that he had almost been killed, and he did not know if he understood anything close to what this grief was, the weight of that guilt, the oppression of that kind of loss.

"From Gollum?"

"Much worse than Gollum," Legolas corrected. He sat down. "I know you do not think much of me, not of my kind, but we do not die often. Death for us is difficult, almost foreign. To see so much, to lose so many, to know... Firyavaryar was my friend when I was still a child. That was centuries ago."

"Centuries?"

Legolas wondered if he seemed that young even to a dwarf who should know better. "I have the same friendship with Estel. I would call him brother. I have done so. I will continue to do so. Yet even he does not understand what it is like losing Varyar. Most people would not. There are some that believe he..."

"That he what?"

"That he betrayed me."

Gimli frowned. "You are one daft elf. You mourn someone who betrayed you?"

"No," Legolas said, trying to contain his anger. He was not a fool, and he stood by his decision to forgive Varyar. "I mourn a friend, a friend I have known almost as long as I had Mithrandir."

"Then he did not betray you."

"No, he did," Legolas said. "He turned me over to a sorcerer in exchange for his family's lives. I knew he would. That was something I never doubted. Yet he is still my gwador—my brother."

"You are insane."

"I must be," Legolas agreed. "I am sitting here, talking to a dwarf."

Gimli looked at him, and then the dwarf burst forth with laughter, almost falling over. Legolas watched him, suddenly aware that if he could forgive Varyar, then friendship with a dwarf was not so impossible a thing.

"Legolas?"

The elf lifted his head, eyes coming away from the shore and meeting Aragorn's. He found the look in them troubling. If they were alone, he would have tried to speak to him earlier. The loss of Mithrandir, coming so soon after Gollum's attack, the death of those elves, of Firyavaryar, was all of it enough to make Legolas fade?

It would not be. Aragorn would not permit that.

"Yes, Estel?"

"You have been quiet since we left Lórien. Something is troubling you, and I would speak of it now if we could. I worry over you, mellon-nín, and I would know your thoughts."

"Bah. The princeling's just bothered because he realized my count in Moria was higher than his, and even his new fancy bow will not change that," Gimli said, and Legolas looked at him, frowning. Aragorn found himself echoing the frown, since he had heard nothing of counts. He did not know that Legolas had ever counted his kills, though someone had teased about it. Firyavaryar. Yes, that was something of that elf's, not Legolas. Yet, would Legolas have spoken of his friend to the dwarf? No, he wouldn't have.

"It was Varyar who thought I counted the kills, not me. I never did," Legolas objected. "He did not count them, either."

"Deny it all you want. I know you are ashamed of your total in comparison to mine."

Aragorn shook his head. Legolas smiled. "Very well, Master Dwarf, you may go into that forest and add to your count. When Estel and I finish our conversation, I will give you a true contest, and you will see that my count was always higher, even when you appear to have the advantage."

"Don't need any favors from an elf," Gimli muttered, walking away.

Aragorn turned to Legolas. "I do not understand."

"Nor do I, but a change has occurred since Lórien, and I will not— cannot—argue with it."

"I wonder about that," Aragorn began. "I cannot know the depth of your grief for Mithrandir, andit seems you have known much loss lately. Are you well? Will you be able to continue with us?"

"It is true that I still grieve for Varyar, and Mithrandir has long been a friend of my family. Now I have lost them both. My spirits are low. I admit that much. I have many matters weighing down my heart, including the death of the elves under my command." Legolas let out a breath. " I would not add to your burdens at this time. I know the others look to you to guide them."

"What kind of leader would I be if I did not see to the needs of my friends?"

"A poor one indeed," Legolas said, smiling a little. "You need not worry so over me. It will always be hope that keeps us on our path, and I can still hold to mine."

"You maintain hope amid this despair? Even after losing Mithrandir?"

"Galadriel and I spoke. I was reminded of reasons to hope. You. Thenidriel. There was even..."

"Gimli?"

"Perhaps," Legolas said with a frown. "My thoughts were of someone else. It is—was—a bittersweet sort of hope, though."

"How so?"

"Do you remember when I told you of the elleth that Varyar said was taken with him?"

"Yes. We discussed journeying to Lórien together before we started feeling the rift and strain between us. You found her family, then?"

Legolas shook his head. "I found her. That is, Galadriel knew who she was and introduced us."

Aragorn stared at him. "She was alive?"

"Yes. She did not give me details, but she told me that Varyar made a deal to free her. She said it was a terrible price, whatever it was. She has waited all this time to thank him. I felt she would have sailed if she had not wanted that, and I could not tell her he was gone. Galadriel said she needed the hope. I do not know. I only—Estel, he saved her, and he will never know it. He died blaming himself for her death when he freed her."

"That is indeed bittersweet," Aragorn agreed. He did not know that he felt it redeemed Firyavaryar, but at least that elleth had not died because of him.

"Still, even with hope, a shadow and a threat is growing in my mind," Legolas said. "I know the dwarf is a capable enough warrior, but I do not feel he should be out there alone. I will hunt with him."

Aragorn nodded. "The rest of us will prepare the camp. Be careful."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Just because you are a prince does not mean you cannot die."

Legolas smiled and disappeared into the trees, leaving Aragorn there to shake his head.

"I do not like these things. They do not die easily," Varyar said, yanking his glove back on with a grimace. He was aware that his affliction had limits. He knew it did not kill everything in an instant. Still, these new orcs were harder to kill than their predecessors, and that was worrisome.

Nostalion nodded, shaking the blood off the knives Ehtyarion had given him as he prepared to store them again. "We did little against their number. They were not diverted because of us, and we did not kill more than a handful."

"They moved with a purpose."

"Toward the fellowship. That is their prey."

Varyar winced. He looked down at the pile of strange orcs that they had slaughtered and shook his head. This was not enough. Too great a number headed toward those fools in the fellowship. Legolas and his echil were not enough to defend against that force headed for them. He and Nostalion were only alive because the orcs did not care about them. They only wanted the ring.

"These are Uruk-hai. Saruman's army that Mithrandir spoke of at the council."

"And he has set them against your friend," Nostalion agreed. He kicked one of the corpses. "When Ogol wanted to create that army you were to lead—"

"No. Ogol never experimented on his orcs. When he spoke of breeding an army, I always understood that to mean elves. It was why he had my parents meet, why they had the three of us, why he killed her when she refused to let him have me. He was not interested in creating hybrids. His idea of breeding the army was always by natural means."

Nostalion nodded. "The breeding stock he offered you. He still intended to create his army that way, using you to do it."

"Not just me," Varyar said, though he knew it would upset Nostalion to consider the possible fate of the elleth that was now his bride. This was why they had gone to seek Ogol. They had to know that he was not a threat to Thenidriel even if Alassë was not the breeding stock that Ogol would have chosen for Idhrenion. "He would have used natural means. He did not know any other way."

"Someone else did. Someone that was supposedly his prisoner."

Varyar almost vomited. "Draugminaion."

The silence of the darkness became chastising, a taunt almost from the first day that he had found himself in this torment. He knew that he should not have come, that he should not have trusted, not even himself, and he knew what a fool he was for doing so. Now that he was here, he was well-punished for that mistake.

He had suffered, and he would have said that he had been tormented enough, but the darkness and his own guilt did not agree with him. He had only the company of that silence, having lost all else here, having betrayed himself and everyone else with his insistence on coming.
He would not live, but then he did not deserve to live.

"Is it ready, Master? Can we use it?"

"Soon," Draugminaion told the orc. "We must be patient. It is almost time."

Varyar grimaced. He almost wanted the silence back. That, or the comfort of death. If he did not need to get back to his family, he would fight harder to get that death. He did not want to be here when they decided he was ready.

"Yes."

"It is unlikely," Varyar forced himself to say it. He did not want to ignore the possibility. That would be foolish. Still, he did not like the idea. "Why would he breed this filth? He had some sick idea of having a beautiful army."

"Beautiful?"

"You do not think I am pretty? I am offended. The edain did," Varyar said. He almost laughed, but he stopped himself. It was not amusing. He let out a breath. "That force is headed to them. They will have no warning, and we cannot give them one."

Nostalion glanced toward the path that the orcs had taken. "They are not far. We can catch them."

"Even if we kill them, he will send more."

"Then we go to the source," Nostalion said, stowing the knives. "Cut it off at the head."

Varyar smiled slightly. "Time to kill another wizard."