Forever Afternoon
Chapter Eighteen
Word Count: 4,040
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: I think I will blame this chapter on the headache I've had for about four days now. It started Thursday, went migraine Friday, and has pretended to ease since but refuses to go away. At least that's a semi-plausible reason for this kind of... um, insanity?

When I considered writing more with Legolas, Aragorn, Varyar, and Nostalion, one of my first thoughts was the scene in here that is extended from The Trees Are Drawing Me Near. Most of the others were for Return of the King. Still, the lead up to this, with the ent... Maybe I should have let it get forgotten with the migraine.

I like that Legolas told Gimli about what happened in All Creatures Great and Small, though.

Once again, the song is from the arwen-undomiel site.

Songs and Stories Make the Journeys

"You are not doing the talking."

Nostalion frowned, stopping their walk to turn back and face Varyar. "Are you implying that I cannot? Do I have some kind of impediment?"

"You are a functional mute. You also cannot lie," Varyar said, watching his gwador's reaction with amusement. The assassin was not pleased by either comment, but Varyar knew that he had spoken with the other elf more in these past few months than he had in most of the centuries that they had known each other. Part of that was the journeys they had undertaken, in part because the others had been taken, and in part because Varyar had died.

"Varyar—"

"Whereas I am the storyteller and improvisor. I do the talking. We both know that your idea of negotiating is to kill all who refuse to give you what you want. That is not an option."

"Not yet."

Varyar smiled, inclining his head, acknowledging the truth of the other elf's words. "Save that for when we need to kill everyone and ask questions later. Today we must leave things alive to answer questions and fool wizards."

That got him a grunt. "Wizards are supposed to be impossible to fool."

Varyar snorted. "Did you meet Mithrandir? He was fooled on several occasions. And he liked pipeweed. They are not infallible. Ogol believed me more than once when I said that I would come back and give him my family. I never did. They can be fooled. We will need that."

Nostalion grunted. The two of them did not always agree on methods, but they worked together well, had from their first meeting even if neither of them had liked the other then. "Is that what you think will get us through this forest and to that tower?"

Varyar frowned. He looked up at the trees, uneasy. Legolas was the one who liked trees. He was the one that the trees liked, and he was not with them. This situation was far from ideal. Still, perhaps they could gain safe passage if they told them this errand was, in one sense, for Legolas. "Have you ever spoken to trees?"

Nostalion's expression darkened. "Spoken to trees?"

"You needn't make it sound so repulsive. Your mother was a wood elf, after all. That is what you do. You speak to trees."

"They speak to trees. Not me," Nostalion snapped. "Do you think the trees approve of what I am?"

Varyar would believe they preferred what Nostalion was over what he was. At least Nostalion's ability was not an abomination against nature as Varyar's was. "We all love you the way you are."

Nostalion was not amused. "There are times, Firyavaryar, when I would gladly kill you."

"There are times, Nostalion, when I would gladly let you."

Another death. Another loss. Another grief. Legolas had had that he would keep to the path of hope, but he did not know how much longer that would be possible. Their relentless pursuit of the orcs and Uruk-hai that had taken Merry and Pippin gave them little time for thought, no time to grieve, and that was, he supposed, a relief.

He was, he thought, almost weary enough in body to ignore how weary he was in spirit.

If they did not find Merry and Pippin, if the hobbits were dead before they did, then what would happen to them? Surely it felt though the quest was already lost, that this break in their fellowship meant that all of Middle Earth was doomed to fall under the rule of Sauron.

Legolas shook his head. He was not usually this prone to despondency. He was not certain where it all came from, but he did not like it. He ended to be able to fight, and despair would rob anyone of their strength. They could not allow that to happen.

"You wouldn't think orcs would be such fast runners," Gimli said, drawing Legolas abruptly out of his dark thoughts and back to where they were. Estel was tracking, searching for what little the rock would tell him, and Legolas would have asked the trees if there were any to ask. Perhaps that was part of it—this area was so desolate as to take away all hope.

"Why not?"

"They used to be elves, didn't they?"

Legolas shook his head, uncertain why the dwarf's words made him laugh. Estel looked up at them with a frown. They had interrupted him, and he needed to be able to concentrate on the signs they were following.

"My apologies, Estel. We did not mean to distract you."

"I would ask you how you could laugh under circumstances, but I know—"

"That you and I have laughed under far worse circumstances?" Legolas asked, getting a frown from the dwarf. "Yes, Gimli, I am certain that these seem among the most dire we have known, with Mithrandir and Boromir dead, Frodo and Sam taking the ring into Mordor on their own, Merry and Pippin in the hands of the Uruk-hai, but I have known darker times, as has Estel. In fact, there was one time that I have never forgotten, one that taught me that I had one true and valiant protector, one that will never abandon me—"

"Not again. Why must you tell everyone about that?"

"You believed that you were safe from me telling the dwarf because elves and dwarves do not get along?" Legolas smiled as the dwarf frowned at him. Estel's expression darkened, and Legolas laughed. "You are fortunate, I suppose, that I did not have time to tell the hobbits."

"The way you are laughing now causes me to doubt that you did not actually tell them," Estel grumbled. "Of all the times to share that tale, you choose now? Now, when we hunt Uruk-hai and are days behind their march?"

Laughter, Legolas thought, was the best way of buoying his spirits—all their spirits—and now was the time for laughter, for remembering their shared past, and this was the best time for it. The only regret he had was that the hobbits were not here to hear it.

"Yes, now."

"Well, then, laddie, out with it. No leaving us in suspense after all that talk," Gimli said, nudging him. Then he frowned. "Unless you have no tale to tell. That would be like an elf, wouldn't it? Building up to such a tale when none exists. All those songs and odes and not one word in them that makes sense. Like that council—"

"He has a story," Estel said, always quick to defend Legolas, even if it hurt him. "He is not telling it now. We have orcs to hunt."

Legolas continued to smile all through the dwarf's grumbling and Estel's objections. "We can talk as we move—"

"Just not sing and walk, that seems impossible."

Legolas almost laughed again, enjoying the dwarf humor. "You see, Gimli, once there was a young ranger and a young elf—the man was younger, as I suppose I had a few centuries on me at the time—and they were riding peacefully through the countryside when they were attacked by orcs—"

"Bah, sensible sorts know better than to ride horses."

"Careful, Gimli. We near Rohan, and they value their horses highly," Estel warned. "It would not be good to insult them."

"Or to mention that the horses were the casualties in the unfortunate circumstances that led to us being in that cave," Legolas agreed. He lowered his head in remembrance of the friend he had lost that day. He had been fond of that horse.

"Horses died. And an elf went in a cave?" Gimli shook his head. "You expect me to believe that nonsense?"

Legolas started forward, letting Estel take the lead as he used what the rock had told him to get them closer to Merry and Pippin. "Now, in Estel's defense, not only was it dark but the orcs were still hunting us..."

"You look ridiculous."

"Must you choose now to be verbose? I have never been good at this, and it takes some skill to have a meaningful conversation," Varyar grumbled. He could not concentrate on what the trees were saying when Nostalion was talking. He could barely do this when he was alone, for all that he teased Legolas about it.

He leaned against the tree and sighed. This forest was old. Very old. He did not like the way he felt in this place.

"Orcs," something hissed, and Varyar looked toward Nostalion just before he was lifted up into the air. He struggled as the wood creaked. He bit back a curse in the dark tongue. He did not need to give the ent more reason to believe that he was an orc.

The ent.

Varyar had almost believed these creatures were only myths. Now, though, one had him in its wooden grip, and he felt as though his back would break.

"It does not seem that the tree liked what you said."

"I am so glad you are enjoying my misery," Varyar said, trying to push himself up out of the ent's grasp. "You could help."

"You were the one that wanted to talk to the trees," Nostalion reminded him, apparently content to let Varyar be killed by the overgrown tree.

"Yes, well, it would seem that trying to be polite and respectful and negotiate safe passage was the wrong choice. Though if this is what being polite earns, I would hate to see what would have happened if we had simply trespassed through this forest."

"An orc wants to negotiate passage through my forest?" The ent asked, stopping his attempt to crush Varyar. "Why?"

"I am not an orc. I might feel like one because I carry a poison within me, a disease, but I am an elf." Varyar saw the suspicion in the ent's eyes. "I know the hair does not look like an elf's, but the ears are pointed, and I am speaking Sindarin."

The ent studied him. "You are a strange sort of elf."

Nostalion laughed. Varyar glared at him, though he knew that the ent's words were true. He was different from all other elves, and he had been since birth, since he was an Avari bred to serve a twisted sorcerer. Still, that did not mean that he needed to be crushed by a giant tree.

"I am," Varyar said. "Now that I have admitted that, perhaps you could put me down?"

"How is it that you come to be in my forest, strange elf? Why did you wake me?"

"Waking you was an accident. My connection to nature is poor, and I did not know that you were an ent," Varyar explained with a grimace. The ent glared at him, but at least this time he was not almost crushed by it. "I suppose you could call me gildin, as Mithrandir did. It is fitting, since I woke you, and preferable to being called 'strange elf.'"

"You are friend to Mithrandir?"

"Not exactly," Varyar did not think the ent would be pleased to know his current feelings regarding the wizard. "Though for a time, he was my tutor."

"You have much to tell me, Gildin. I fear I have slept for a very long time."

Varyar frowned. "You are not going to put me down, are you?"

"Rohan," Idhrenion grumbled, shaking his head as he adjusted his daughter in his arms. "Rohan means edain. Why did we agree to this?"

"Because Varyar and Nostalion will need us," Sérëdhiel answered, knowing that only her brother would argue with her after the arrangements she had made to get them out of Imladris under the watchful eyes of Lord Elrond, his sons, and Ehtyarion. Everyone else respected her or feared her enough not to bother. She was the healer, yes, but she was also the diplomat, a far more dangerous position than most people realized.

"I do not know that we should have left," Eruaistaniel said, twisting her cloak in her fingers. "As much as I was very uncomfortable when Lord Elrond's sons were showing me so much attention, if what Varyar fears is true about Ogol and Saruman, we go toward the one they fear."

"Rohan is not Isengard," Sérëdhiel told her, touching her friend's arm. She believed that they would survive whatever they might encounter on their way to the lands of the horsemen, and she knew that most of them were capable of defending themselves if it was necessary. She doubted it would be. They were not targets. Not ringbearers or touched by the shadow. "We will be close enough without being in immediate danger."

"I doubt we could return anyway, not with whatever Sérëdhiel did to make our... escape unnoticed," Alassë said, reaching to take Thenidriel from her husband.

Eruaistaniel frowned. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Sérëdhiel said. She was aware of the skeptical looks directed toward her. "Do yon think that I could do anything to Lord Elrond? I am not that talented or powerful. I am not Varyar. I could not harm anyone with only a touch. I am not an assassin, either. I am—"

"A healer," Idhrenion said, laughing. "You drugged them."

"Only a little. I had to give some to Ehtyarion and Beridhren, as they were with us, and I suppose the twins since they would track us..."

"And the way they teased you—and me—when we were younger was not at all a part of that decision?"

She smiled. "I can think of better revenge."

"And execute it and let Varyar take the blame for it."

She lifted her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Is it my fault if Varyar is willing to do what I ask even if he knows he should not? I never asked him to accept the blame."

"Even I know he would do that without being asked," Alassë muttered. She cradled her daughter in her arms, frowning. "I know that we could not stay in Imladris, and I do not doubt that my cousin and your brother will find trouble, but I do not want to find it ourselves, not when my child is unable to defend herself."

"If we need to fight, she will be protected," Sérëdhiel assured her sister. A part of her still believed that lifting up her niece was all they needed. Everyone would bow to the adorable and let them pass, as foolish as such a thought was.

"We did train beside a prince and his guard captain, and later we learned more with your family. We will be able to defend her," Idhrenion said, touching her cheek with tenderness. They were a beautiful couple, very much in love, despite everything, and usually that made Sérëdhiel smile.

Her stomach twisted, and she almost vomited. Frowning, she leaned against the nearest tree.

"Sérëdhiel?" Idhrenion asked, coming over to her. "You are unwell? You look pale, and I have never seen—did you take some of your own herbs?"

"She would have been affected before now," Alassë said, getting a nod from Eruaistaniel.

Sérëdhiel shook her head. "It is nothing. It has passed. We can continue."

"I have heard of... certain pairs that sense things from each other when they are apart. Could that have come from Nostalion?" Eruaistaniel asked, and then she shook her head. "I am sorry. That is foolish. I do not remember who told me that, and I have never asked before, but if I had, then you would have told me before that it was not—"

"I do not think it is so foolish, but I do not know that I have ever gotten anything like that before," Sérëdhiel told her. "Most of what I sense is just a conviction that he is still alive."

"I had the same when Idhrenion was taken, but it was stronger. I swore it helped me stay close to Varyar and Nostalion until they freed him. It has not been like that since. Perhaps it was the circumstances. Perhaps it was that I carried Thenidriel then," Alassë said. She looked at Sérëdhiel and smiled, laughing loud enough to disturb the baby. "I do not think that sense that he is still alive is all you got from Nostalion."

Sérëdhiel cursed.

"Do not look at me like that. Getting caught by a tree was not something that could be predicted. It should not have happened," Varyar muttered, trying again to rid himself of the leaves he had acquired in his time speaking to the ent.

"Are you displeased with the new friend that you have made?" Nostalion asked, and then he smiled. The assassin's smiles were not kind. "I would have thought you would be proud of it. Is this not something that makes you happy?"

"Happy? That word should not be coming out of your month. You do not know what happy is."

The assassin grunted. "Do you believe that your sister is unhappy?"

"I hate you. There are things no brother wants to know about his sister, and that is the foremost of all of them," Varyar grumbled. He put a hand to his head, shaking it. He did not want those details, not now, not ever. "Have I not been humiliated enough already?"

"You will offend your friend if you keep talking like that."

"My friend, as you seem determined to call him, is asleep again," Firyavaryar said, refusing to look back and see if that was still true. "I must be grateful, having awoken one of the only tone deaf ents in existence, or else we might still be in its clutches since you refused to sing."

Nostalion looked at him. "My voice is worse than yours."

"Such a thing is not possible," Varyar said with a grimace. He did not want to remember this day. He wanted to forget it as he had lost so many other things.

"You are ill, gildin," the ent said, and Varyar nodded, uncertain if he had only closed his eyes or gone into another fugue to alert the tree to this, but be could not deny it. He was sick. "You must rest, strange elf."

"Perhaps you both could," Nostalion suggested, and Firyavaryar glared at him. Was the assassin trying to get him dropped on his head?

"I could not sleep now. There is much that you should tell me. Though first, I would hear a song. It has been too long since heard the songs of the elves. Please sing for me."

Varyar choked. He had long denied having the ability to sing, and he was not being modest. He could not sing. "Nostalion..."

"No. I will kill you, and I will kill for you, but I will not sing for you."

"Sing, strange elf," the ent said, cradling Varyar against him like a gwinig. He was almost certain that the assassin was down there laughing. He sighed.

"Ai, laurië lantar lassi súrinen, yéni únotimë ve ramar aldaron, yéni ve lintë… Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinomë maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta," Firyavaryar stumbled on the words, unable to remember them all. It did not seem to matter. The tree closed its eyes, and Varyar kept singing, making up words to the barely recognizable tune.

"Firyavaryar?"

"That was not a fugue. Merely... unpleasantness, remembered from earlier. I cannot forget the appalling sound of my own voice."

Nostalion frowned at him. "That is what upsets you?"

"Oh, I could pull from other places, from such terrible memories as we shared or the ones I knew before I met you, but I would rather not. It is difficult enough when I must struggle to stay with what is present and real. I do not need to go looking for more to take me from my tasks."

"We do have a wizard to kill."

"Yes. We do."

"Though if he heard your singing, perhaps we would not have to kill him. He would just die from the horror of the sound."

"You are not amusing."

"And yet you still call me gwador."

Varyar laughed. "Yes, well, in addition to being a poor singer, I am insane, so..."

"So let's go kill a wizard."

Aragorn refused to accept that the hobbits were dead. He tracked them through the battle and into the forest, knowing that their friends had survived, and he would not stop hunting them, not when he knew they lived. Legolas and Gimli that been willing to accept that the hobbits were gone when the Rohirrim told them they were dead, but Aragorn could not do that. He would not lose another on this quest. Not now. He would search all of Fangorm if he had to, but the would find them.

Legolas, though, his eyes roved the forest as though he searched for something else here, and Aragorn thought that this place held more secrets than they could ever know, ancient as it was. He understood the elf's fascination with the area. He could feel something here, something that his people would revere, though not as much as an elf. They had a greater understanding of the land, gained over many centuries, that even the Dúnedain could not possess, as much as they lived close to it.

Were their circumstances different, Aragorn would have suggested that they stay, that Legolas take the time to explore everything as he so clearly wanted to do, but they could not stay. Merry and Pippin needed them. They had to find the hobbits.

Aragorn was not the only one who noticed the elf's distraction. He would have been more likely to miss it, hunting for sign as he was, but he was still watching over the elf, worried that his hope was not enough to keep grief from overwhelming him, not with the hobbits missing. It was a relief to know that Gimli was also watching.

"Look at him," the dwarf groused, looking on the elf with disgust. "He'd spend all day in those trees if he were able, and us with hobbits to hunt and wizards to fight."

The ranger smiled, shaking his head, though he knew that it was fatigue that caused this latest bout of grumbling, not a lack of affection. He had seen how close the elf and dwarf had become, and he knew that they would fight and die for each other. That was the loyalty this fellowship had created—but also it was the way Legolas saw all his friends, even the ones that did not deserve it.

"The trees are talking to each other," Legolas said, his voice full of awe as he looked around the trees, caught up in the language of the trees, a look of longing in his face. He would stay here and listen all day, as Gimli claimed, but Aragorn knew that alongside Legolas' sense of wonder was also a sense of duty and purpose, one that would not allow them to abandon Merry and Pippin to their fate.

"Bah. What do trees have to talk about besides the consistency of squirrel droppings?"

Aragorn frowned over at the dwarf, shaking his head. He could not communicate with the trees himself, but he respected them. He owed his life to the warnings the trees had given his companions, and he would not be here if not for them.

"Legolas?"

"A spark of hope has returned to me," the elf answered. "One I thought lost."

"Hope? Here? In this tree-infested forest?"

Aragorn gave Gimli a warning look, but he did not know that Legolas had even heard him, as lost in the speech of the trees as he was.

"A gildin."

That had a particular significance to the elf, but Aragorn was not certain he remembered what it was—or if Legolas had ever told him. Perhaps that was about the tale he'd meant to tell Aragorn years ago involving teaching some other elfling to talk to trees. No, wait, Mithrandir had used the term as well, but Aragorn could not remember how.

He started to ask, but Legolas tensed, distracted once again.

"Aragorn, nad no ennas!"

"Man cenich?"

The elf darted forward. "The white wizard approaches."

And all thought of conversations with trees were forgotten.