Forever Afternoon
Chapter Twenty-One
Word Count: 3,515
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: I admit, I have been fighting against the idea of taking this story down again, not just for the sins of original characters taking over and lack of research and lack of my time to write it, but also because it just seems to get worse in all its crimes as I go along. I sat down and reread it the other day, cringed at the many typos I found (stupid autocorrect on the tablet is to blame for some of that,) and realized that the first part of the story was a lot tighter and better than the later parts. Probably because I keep skipping around the events from the books and movies that everyone knows, writing only a side of it that is not shown, but without those parts that are known, it seems to be a bit less coherent and cohesive. I do not know that inserting those pieces would solve all of the problems I now see, since Tolkein did it better, and if he didn't, then the Jackson movies did a good job of it, and me? I'm not at that level, and I know it.

I'm still writing around things here, and this is again movie influenced, with the party at Edoras from Return of the King being the basis for a lot of the beginning, as that time when Legolas is standing outside and Aragorn walked up to him seemed a perfect time to have their conversation, and I liked the idea of Gandalf sneaking off during the festivities for the other conversation. Then, of course, because I can't stick to one or the other when it comes to books and movies... Elrohir and Elladan come in with the Grey Company near the end...

I suppose I should just say, this is a mess and I'm not sure it's going to get any better, though I did fix the typos I found when I reread it.

Oh. Yeah. And the ent... Not planned on, but he kind of took over. So did Éowyn, a little.

Concerns, Cautions, and Convergence

"You are late."

Nostalion grunted, but Sérëdhiel rushed to embrace him anyway. His expression softened, and he held her close against him. Firyavaryar watched the exchange with a frown. He turned toward Idhrenion, trying to determine what had happened to his family during his absence.

"She had a... moment before we reached Edoras. She was nauseous, and Alassë thinks—"

"No." Varyar refused to hear that. He did not want to know anything like that about his sister and Nostalion, even if he knew it was possible for any bonded couple to have children at some point.

"Her reaction was about the same." Idhrenion smiled. "His will be better."

"I will not be here for that," Varyar said. He was not going to endure the assassin's reaction to finding out he was a father. He had been fortunate to be in Ogol's hands when Idhrenion did. Nostalion would be far worse, and none of them would survive. "Something else happened while we were gone."

"How did you—no, it is you. You always know."

Firyavaryar could have told him that it was obvious in the way Idhrenion remained close to his wife, how tightly Alassë held onto Thenidriel, the renewed fear and tension in Eruaistaniel, and the way Sérëdhiel clung to Nostalion. He did not.

"While we were in Edoras, wild edain attacked the palace. We fought them, but they kept us from leaving before the Rohirrim returned, and there was almost an incident."

Varyar cursed. Why was it that they never seemed to be able to avoid conflict? It chased them, the same monster on a relentless hunt, as torturous as Ogol had ever been. "This should not have happened."

"You cannot protect us from everything," Idhrenion said, and Varyar frowned. His brother smiled ruefully. "I am a father now. Every little thing could hurt my daughter. It has tried. Alassë barely lets anyone else hold her, even me. I know now how much you worried, how much you had to worry..."

Idhrenion looked at him, and Firyavaryar was unable to move before his brother grabbed hold of him. Idhrenion held tightly to him. "Thank you. I know you never want to acknowledge what you did in raising us, protecting us, but I know now, more than I ever knew before—and I did know before—how difficult it was and how important."

"Get off of me."

"No."

"Alassë, give him the child to hold so that he will stop clinging to me like one," Varyar ordered, pushing his brother off of him, shaking his head as he did. He had been gone for longer times, and much worse had happened to them in his absence. Idhrenion did not need to fuss or fear. Not this time.

"You are in a mood tonight," Alassë told him, shifting Thenidriel in her arms. "More so than usual. What happened to you?"

"Strange elf," a voice said from behind him, causing him to stiffen. He winced, not wanting to turn around. He knew what he would see, and he did not want to see it. He did not know how the Onod found him, but he needed to get away from it before it made him sing.

"That is what happened to me," Firyavaryar muttered, trying to dodge the tree's grasp as it went to pick him up.

"I thought those things were myths."

"Surely not, young Idhrenion," Mithrandir said as he came up beside them. Varyar, distracted, was caught in the ent's grasp, and he sighed. Damned Istari. "You are more knowledgeable than to assume that all myths are lies."

"I think I am looking a myth I wish was a lie," Idhrenion said, folding his arms over his chest. "You are not sending my brother off on another quest."

"That would be rather difficult at present," Mithrandir observed, looking up at Varyar with amusement.

Firyavaryar reached for one of Lothanlass' branches, glaring down at the wizard as he prepared to throw it. He could hit him from here as he had done the dwarf. "I may be here in what could pass for a tree, but I am far from defenseless, and Nostalion over there already wants you dead."

Mithrandir glanced toward the assassin, not seeming to be worried at all. "Lady Éowyn spoke of what you did for Edoras, and yet you make your camp outside its halls. You do not join in the festivities."

"Nor do you," Firyavaryar said, looking the Istari over. The wizard was cleaner these days. Gone was the messy beard and hair, gray replaced with white. White for wise, as they had called Saruman who betrayed them? Or white for purity? Mithrandir deserved neither title. He was not wise or pure. "We have nothing to celebrate."

"Not your part in saving Edoras? In diverting Saruman's forces? In helping to wake the ents?"

Varyar shook his head. "You speak of things that have little meaning—for we did very little. And I cannot give you the reassurance you want. Saruman was not Ogol."

Mithrandir studied him. "You are certain of this?"

"Yes."

"You are out here alone," Aragorn began, a bit troubled by the distance he saw in Legolas' eyes. He had not been able to talk to his old friend much of late, and it grieved him. He supposed that others would find it amusing that he was almost jealous of the time Legolas spent with Gimli. Aragorn thought that it was the weight of his responsibilities coming down on him again. A king had very little time for his own wants, even for his needs, and at times it seemed like he did not have friends at all, that he knew only grief and battle. He had watched Théoden struggle with the loss of his son, with the battle of Helm's Deep and all that loss, and Aragorn had done what he could to help, but he did not know if he was strong enough for what was ahead.

He would need those old friendships more than ever now, when he truly would have to become the king he was born to be. And yet now he would rather speak to Legolas and ease the elf's troubles if he could. He would shed the mantle of warrior and king and be a friend only.

"I have many thoughts in my mind, and while Gimli's game was diverting, my troubles return to the forefront of them," Legolas answered, letting out a breath. "It disturbs me to know that Sérëdhiel and the others were here and left before we arrived. Again. I do not know what Nostalion was doing at Orthanc. I keep wanting to believe that Firyavaryar is alive. If I do that, though, I call friends liars and must wonder if Ogol lives, too. Then there is all the death we have seen, the loss of friends and allies, and my thoughts of hope seem determined to darken."

"They do not have to," Aragorn told him. "There is still hope. You are not the only one who struggles to see it. Éowyn does not believe it is there, either."

"That is because you give her one that is false," Legolas told him, and Aragorn frowned. "No, Estel, you cannot remain ignorant of the way she feels, not anymore, and you are not being kind to ignore it. You have become her hope, and you may well crush her when it is gone. You are betrothed to another, and she does not know this. She knows only that a hero has come in a time of great darkness when she is most vulnerable. She may only believe she loves you, but that belief is still enough to cause her harm."

Aragorn sighed. "I am not what she thinks I am."

"Then tell her that," Legolas advised. "I have lived for centuries, and I know as an elf how easy it is to convince ourselves that there will always be time to say what should be said. It is not true. We may all die tomorrow."

"Should I truly rob her of her hope, then? Is that any kinder?"

"It is not right to let her believe a lie."

Aragorn looked back at Edoras. He thought of the lies they told the dying men, the ones that went to war against impossible odds, and he knew those lies let them fight and even die with hope. Sometimes lies were a kindness, and Legolas had thought so in the past. "You wanted Firyavaryar to die knowing that he was forgiven."

"That was different. He would have been caused no harm if he believed and survived. It was also not a lie." Legolas smiled sadly. "I do forgive him, and were he alive now, I would still forgive him, even if he had concealed his survival from me."

Aragorn nodded. He did believe that. He knew that Legolas' heart was open enough to forgive, to accept almost anyone. He could be almost too trusting sometimes, but he was a good person, and people were privileged to have him as friend.

"There is a shadow growing in the east," Legolas said, and Aragorn gladly pushed thoughts of Éowyn and Firyavaryar from his head, focusing again on the threat growing around them.

"Come on, you annoying beast. I know you wouldn't do this to the elf. Just because I don't have pointed ears does not mean that you can bite me," Gimli grumbled as he tried to grab hold of the horse's mane. With a snort, the horse pulled back, almost knocking him over.

Éowyn watched the dwarf's preparations for departure with a smile. "I do not think your friend wants to make this ride."

Legolas looked over at Éowyn, forcing a smile for her sake. He had tried to be amused by Gimli's actions with the horse, but he could not be. His heart remained heavy with the weight of the upcoming battle, but even more so with ones that had already been fought and lost. He struggled, too, to know how to behave around Éowyn. He knew that Aragorn had decided not to speak of his betrothal, that he thought he should let her keep her hope rather than let her know before the battle that admiration and esteem was all he would feel for her.

He could not say that Estel was wrong, did not know that it was his place to interfere, but he knew that he did not feel that she should remain ignorant. He believed that she deserved the truth, even if it was painful. He was tired of his own false hopes. He did not want to feel that again. He could not take another around of disappointment.

"You, though, you want to ride," Legolas said, uncertain why he knew that, but he was convinced of it nevertheless.

"It is not so terrible or shameful a thing," she began, leaving him to wonder who had made her feel that way. He did not ask. "It is not like being always left behind."

"It is a shame that Sérëdhiel did not stay. I think you two would have had much to share," Legolas told her. He thought that his old friend could do much to soothe the troubled spirit within the shield-maiden. She knew how to be strong and protect the ones she loved, but she also chose the role of healer for herself. She let others fight, let others protect. She did not object to being left behind.

"Sérëdhiel," Éowyn said, her lips pursing. "Was that her name? She never gave it, not to me. She said that you did not know that they were here, but she thought we should thank you. I did not understand it then, and I do not understand it now."

Legolas smiled. "She is, I fear, more like her brother than people realize, or perhaps it was only her husband that they reached. Still, I believe that she and the others were perhaps there as some means of protecting me, as my friends will do."

"Then why did they not travel with you?"

Legolas could not explain the decision made by Elrond's council, nor could he tell her all of what would lead Sérëdhiel to leave the safety of Imladris for the many dangers of a journey to Edoras. It was complicated, his relationship with those he claimed as family and friends. They were always at a distance, and he knew part of it was for his protection, even if he did not like it.

"Sérëdhiel would not have taken her niece on the journey that we undertook when we left Imladris. In her brother's absence, she leads the family, and she must consider their welfare."

"And is such leadership taken from her the moment the men return?"

"Taken?" Legolas shook his head. "Sérëdhiel gives that up gladly. She has never sought power or glory. She seeks peace above all else, and while she can fight, she has always chosen not to."

Éowyn frowned. "You cannot mean that. She fought the Dunland raiders that attacked Edoras. She spoke with great authority, as one meant to rule. She is not some timid, helpless female to be left at home desperately hoping for her brother's return."

"I assure you, she would desperately hope for his return," Legolas told her. He let out a pained breath. "Firyavaryar is dead. He died saving my life."

Éowyn lowered her head. "I am sorry. I did not know. I thought her brother was the one with her, the one with the daughter. I did not understand."

"He is also her brother," Legolas told her. Éowyn was not wrong, but she did not have all the information. "Idhrenion is her younger brother. Firyavaryar was the older brother. He raised them after their parents died, and he was the one who trusted her to lead them in his absence. Idhrenion is the one who is willing to follow her lead, has since they were children."

Éowyn frowned. "I do not understand. If she lost one brother, and the other follows her, why would she ever give up leadership?"

"She can give it to her husband, and she would do so willingly," Legolas said. "She has always been a better fighter than Idhrenion, and she might have had enough skill to surpass Varyar, had he not been corrupted, but she chose the path of healer for herself a long time ago. She said she was glad to be able to turn away from battle. More were saved by healing than were ever helped by war."

"There is no glory in healing."

"There is renown, for many know of Lord Elrond's skill," Legolas said. He gave the woman another look, frowning. "I think that may not even be the issue at all, my lady. I think what you truly lack is not glory but the freedom to choose for yourself. Sérëdhiel is happy with her choice, but it is also her choice. Perhaps if you felt that you had made the decision, not your uncle or your brother or someone else, perhaps then it would not matter if you were the one who stayed behind or the one who did not have glory. You have to decide what you truly need and want."

She stared at him, and Legolas grimaced. He had said too much. He had not meant to lecture or assume anything. It was not his place.

"Excuse me," he said, looking back toward Gimli. "I think I had better go rescue the horse."

"He is taking too long," Idhrenion began, turning and pacing, his whole posture fretful. He glanced toward his daughter and then back to the trees, shaking his head. "It should not take this much time to put a tree to sleep."

"An Onod is not a tree," Sérëdhiel reminded him, and he sighed. She did not like how long it was taking for Varyar to return, either. "Patience, Idhrenion. We could not travel with an Onod following us. Firyavaryar had to convince him to stay behind, and Lothanlass did not want that."

"An ent could have been useful," Idhrenion said. He went over to his wife's side and smiled down at Thenidriel. "You liked the silly tree, yes, my littlest love?"

Alassë laughed. "You cannot use your daughter to keep the tree, silly."

He frowned at her. "You think I am silly?"

Sérëdhiel shook her head as they descended into their familiar bickering. Giving Eruaistaniel a glance, she frowned, uncertain how to repair the damage done by the raiders. The other elleth's eyes were darkened and seemed to look at nothing. Sérëdhiel turned, seeking out the figure at the other edge of their camp.

"What troubles you?"

Nostalion lifted his head. "Why do you ask if I am troubled?"

"I am not bonded to you without reason," she said, holding out her hand to him. He took it, wrapping his fingers together with hers, some tension leaving him. "It is Varyar. You are worried about him. Why, specifically? What happened while you were gone?"

Nostalion gave her a look. He did not discuss her brother with her, not with anyone. Sometimes she could persuade him to give her a few details. Sometimes she could not.

"The waking dreams are worse, and with Saruman dead and not being Ogol, Varyar's spirits are low again."

Nostalion grunted, but he did not disagree. Instead, he tensed, getting to his feet. He reached behind him for a knife, pulling it out as the first of the intruders entered their camp.

One of the riders in front laughed, pushing back his hood as he surveyed their group. "This is rather a sad lot of elves, don't you think?"

"If the sad lot you refer to is yourselves, then I must agree," Sérëdhiel told Elrohir, her arms folded over her chest. She shook her head, trying to hold back her dismay. Though the twins might have been welcome in other circumstances, they traveled with edain, more Dúnedain rangers from the north. She looked to Eruaistaniel, who stared at the group in terror.

Elladan slid off his horse, bowing to her, holding out a hand. "May we offer you a ride, my lady?"

She drew back, wrapping her arms around herself, and Sérëdhiel started toward her before her friend could panic and run.

Elrohir frowned. "Fair lady, you are trembling. What is it?"

"You travel with edain," Sérëdhiel told him, touching her friend's arm. Eruaistaniel shuddered. Sérëdhiel would have pulled her close, but someone moved, and she screamed, fleeing from them.

Elladan turned back to his companions with a frown. "Cordof, could you not have stayed still for a moment longer? You terrified her."

"It was not his actions only," Sérëdhiel said, in part to remind her own companions of that fact. "We were attacked by raiders from Dunland, and they were no more gentle with her than the ones who caused her nightmares first. She was forced to kill one, and she has not known peace since."

"We must go after her," Elrohir said, turning toward the trees.

"No," Nostalion said. "Leave her alone. If you want to help, take your company and go. The ones you seek are gathering their forces, and if you want to join them, you should go to them now."

Elladan frowned. "I know your gift will allow you to find her later, but I do not think she should be left alone."

Sérëdhiel could guess that she was not alone. Nostalion would already have gone for her if Firyavaryar was not closer to her. Eruaistaniel was safe. The ground trembled, and Sérëdhiel realized that not only had their guests frightened Eruaistaniel, they had woken Lothanlass. "Who harms my elves?"

The Dúnedain looked up as Lothanlass entered the clearing. Their horses shifted uneasily as the strange being approached. He frowned down at them. "You are elves. Why did you hurt my elves? You scare one and make the other angry."

"Because they are fools," Varyar muttered. "Put me down, Lothanlass, and Eruaistaniel, too."

Lothanlass set him down, and Varyar started dusting himself off with a grimace. The Onod carefully placed Eruaistaniel on the ground. She forced herself up, shaking her way to Firyavaryar's side, grabbing hold of his shirt and burying herself against him. He looked down at her with a frown, wrapping an arm carefully around her, speaking low in the dark tongue until her shudders ceased.

"Firyavaryar," Elrohir said, shaking his head. "I do not understand—we saw you fall. You... died."

Varyar combed his gloved fingers through Eruaistaniel's hair as he had done in the past, when he sought to soothe someone else, to comfort his sister. Sérëdhiel almost smiled, but she did not know if he realized the inadvertent pain that he was causing Eruaistaniel. "Yes, well, it seems these days I am a ghost that goes around charming trees."

Lothanlass grunted. "Am not a tree, strange elf."

"Perhaps it is good that you are a ghost," Elladan said, grimacing. "We may need one when we travel the paths of the dead."