Forever Afternoon
Chapter Twenty-Three
Word Count: 3,257
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: So... I was a bit afraid of making this whole chapter about one decision, but Aragorn's reaction was hard to pin down (I finally did after three edits and some discussion with Brightpath 2) and I finally think it's close to where it needs to be, but it did take the whole chapter to get him close to the decision that he was going to have to make to let the story continue, so... this was necessary.

I even think it might work as it is. Maybe.

Decisions and Deceptions

Echil. The word still stung a bit, and Aragorn knew of only one person who would use it—one person that wasn't dead, that was. He would have expected it from Nostalion, since he had followed Firyavaryar's custom of calling Aragorn follower, turning it into an insult, but it was not Nostalion who spoke. It was someone else.

It was impossible, but it wasn't. "Firyavaryar?"

"That is one of the names I have been known by," the elf agreed, nodding his hood, though he did not reach up to push it back. Aragorn had not thought anything of the gloves when he assumed the cloaked figure to be a ranger, but now he understood—they belonged to Legolas' supposedly dead friend, and the other cloak must have been Nostalion. "Currently I think it best if you do not call me that, nor do I recommend using Gildin, as fond of it as Mithrandir is."

"I do not understand. You are... dead."

"And have you taken to having delusional pipeweed induced euphoria at random moments? Is that what you believe this is?" Firyavaryar asked. "I assure you, were I to be the sort of spirit that roams after death, I would think of better people to torment than you."

Aragorn set his jaw. The elf was certainly as annoying as Firyavaryar had been. "If that is true, then why are you—"

"Your brothers suggested that having a ghost would be of value to you on a journey through the paths of the dead. I do not believe that, nor am I certain that I qualify, but as I owe a debt I cannot repay if Legolas dies following your folly, I will not allow him to die."

"You won't allow him to die?" Aragorn demanded, heading toward the cloaked elf. He knew what he'd told Legolas—that he'd give him back the friend he missed so much if he could, but he didn't know that he could, not when the betrayer stood before him, seemingly unrepentant. "You betrayed him."

"Yes, I did," Firyavaryar said, not making any attempt to deny it. "That is why I have a debt that cannot be repaid, or were you not listening again? Are all edain deaf or is it just the ones I encounter?"

"Not just them," Nostalion said. "They did not listen to your sister, either."

"I would blame being Avari, but I think I would rather blame the stupidity of the edain."

That was almost too much for Aragorn. He didn't understand why his brothers would have allowed Firyavaryar or Nostalion to travel with them, even if Nostalion was probably the reason why their company had found Théoden's. Aragorn stopped in front of the elf, looking down at him with contempt. "I should kill you—"

"Do try, but it does seem that such small rewards will never be mine," Firyavaryar said, letting his shoulders rise and fall as though dismissing the threat entirely. "Had I died, then I would have earned what little redemption death offers, but I did not. I do not know how I survived, but it would seem that I cannot have the comfort of death. Mithrandir has told me that I have a part yet to play, but I assure you—it is one I do not want and would rather not have."

Aragorn grabbed hold of the elf, dragging him up by the cloak, careful to keep an eye on Nostalion as he did, knowing that any attack would come from him. "Legolas mourned you. He would give anything to have you back alive, and you mock that?"

"I would mock anything to do with you, but not to—No. Not now. Let go, echil. Let go now," Firyavaryar said, trying to loosen himself from his cloak in an almost desperate struggle, making Aragorn frown. He had only to yank off a glove and make that threat, didn't he? Or was he alive without his walking plague? It had not sounded that way a moment ago, but he wasn't trying for it, was acting more like a helpless elfling than the embittered warrior that Aragorn had seen fight. The struggles weakened as the elf started repeating a phrase in the dark tongue, going near limp in Aragorn's hold.

He frowned. If this was the lead up to an attack, he refused to be tricked by it. "Firyavaryar, I don't know what you're doing, but I want answers. Why are you here? How are you still alive? What is your—Damn it. What is he saying?"

"He is asking Ogol to let him go."

Aragorn glared at the assassin. That had to be a lie. Why would Firyavaryar do this? It made no sense. "Ogol is dead, and he knows that. This is ridiculous—"

"Estel," Elladan began, and Aragorn turned to his brother, still frowning. He almost cursed when he realized that he'd left himself open to Nostalion's attack, but the assassin did not do more than force Firyavaryar free from Aragorn's hold. His eyes were dark, but he held his companion up, speaking to him in the language only the two of them understood. "It is a waking dream. We have seen it before—centuries ago when Varyar stayed in Imladris and more recently now, when he rode with us. He does not know where he is—he is remembering past horrors. It is so vivid to him that it takes him from the present to that moment and does not let him free."

Aragorn looked over at the two elves and back at his brothers. "I do not understand. He did not do that when I last saw him."

"The trauma is more recent," Elrohir said, shaking his head when Aragorn would have protested. "He died. Or he should have. He expected to. By his own admission, he does not know how he survived. He cannot remember Mandos' halls. He can, however, remember that Ogol kept him on short chain and choked him with it when he tried to disobey."

"His cloak got caught earlier on our ride, and he was much like this," Elladan said, glancing toward the others and shaking his head. "It will pass."

Aragorn grimaced. That was was not reassuring. "How long will it take?"

"It varies," Elladan answered when the assassin did not so much as glare at them. "His sister thought he should go with us, but I do not know that she is right this time."

No, Aragorn found himself doubting that she was. Firyavaryar might not have been a ghost, but that did not make him any more fit for travel than a dead man would be.

"Now, now, pet, if you could be trusted to stay where you belong, you could find we have no need of this," Ogol said, jerking on the chain. Varyar choked, coughing even after the pressure was released. He hated the chain, but he would not give Ogol what he wanted.

"My family will never be yours," Firyavaryar said, rubbing at his sore neck. "I do not know how you found me again, but I will not ever give them into your hands. You may as well kill me. I will never bring them here, and I will never tell you where they are."

"Oh, you will," Ogol told him, dragging him forward by the chain. Varyar clawed at it, trying to get free, but he could not do that any more than he could breathe. He thought he heard himself begging to be let go, but he did not want to beg. Not from Ogol. Not again.

He would rather die.

"Firyavaryar."

He forced his eyes open, drawing in a deep breath as he did. He felt weak, as he always did after coming out of one of the dreams. He leaned against the nearest object—his gwador, Nostalion would not be happy—and grimaced. He did not want to be a burden, did not want to annoy his brother. He did not like this weakness. "How long?"

"Few minutes, not more."

Varyar closed his eyes again, trying not to think about the people around them. He did not know how badly he'd humiliated himself this time, but he knew it must have been worse than usual—he did remember Legolas' echil, and that meant that the edain had all seen him lost in that nightmare again. Had he whimpered this time? Or was it only the begging? He did not want to know that he had begged. Again. He could not always remember the moments when he did—he knew there were times when he did not. Why did they not come to him instead?

"I suppose we have not moved, then, and others will be suspicious."

"You are in no state to move," the ranger said, and Firyavaryar looked up at him, angry. "How long have you had these waking dreams?"

"What concern are they of yours, echil?" Varyar demanded. He forced himself to hold his head up, to defy the ranger as he had done with Ogol, with Draugminaion, in words when his body lacked the strength to do it by any other means."It is not as if I was in any state to harm you, and who are you to fear me?"

The ranger knelt down near them. "I never said I was afraid of you."

"No? Perhaps you are a greater fool than I realized," Firyavaryar said. He was pleased to hear most of the weakness was gone from his voice. "I am not explaining myself to you. I do not explain myself to anyone."

The ranger's eyes went to Nostalion. "Not even your gwador?"

"No," Nostalion said, allowing a slight bit of amusement to enter his voice. Varyar looked at him with a smile. Apparently, he was forgiven this weakness and his tendency to cling to the other elf.

The ranger shook his head. "I was almost thinking that I—"

"Pitied me? I do not want it, nor am I deserving of such condescension. Save it for someone else," Varyar told him, trying to rise. He needed more help than he wanted to admit, but Nostalion gave it to him without a word. "I am well enough. These things pass. Sometimes they even pass as quickly as they came on, which is... preferable."

The future king of Gondor shook his head. "I almost thought there was something in you worth—You've been alive all this time, but you never once told him you were. Your family all lied for you, let Legolas think you were still dead, and for what?"

"I could remind you that I have already told you I do not explain myself," Firyavaryar said. He let out a breath. "If you seek to blame them, you must do the same with others. There is an impressive list of those who have kept this secret. It is not me or mine only."

"You're lying."

"No. I am not." Varyar did not lie often, and he only did so when it was important. This might be hard for the echil to accept, but he was not lying. "Ehtyarion. Thranduil. Elrond. Glorfindel. All of them know. The worst, though, that would be your own beloved Mithrandir."

"What?" The ranger shook his head. "No. I know it's difficult to fool a wizard, but you supposedly did. More than once, you fooled that sorcerer Ogol. You can fool any Maia. You fooled Mithrandir."

Firyavaryar laughed. "Do you think that he is so innocent? That he has not used you and yours? Do not delude yourself. Mithrandir was there when I first woke after my fall. He has known all along that I live. He was the one to send me on foolish errands to protect Legolas and hunt for a dead man, but he is also the one that twisted all of you into that fellowship of yours, and do not think him blameless. He has never been blameless."

"I do not understand." Legolas' echil looked back at Elrond's sons, who echoed his frown, as Varyar had not included this detail in what he told them of his journey after his fall. "Why would Mithrandir keep that from Legolas? From us?"

The twins exchanged an uneasy look. "He must have had a reason."

Mithrandir knew.

Aragorn did not want to believe it. He sat still, struggling with what he'd heard. He found it easier to accept that Firyavaryar was not dead than to accept Mithrandir's part in this deception, but even as he protested, he knew that he did believe it. He should not be able to. He had known Mithrandir for a long time, and he had trusted the Istari with his life—with all their lives. Gandalf was a friend, a good one, and Aragorn had missed him, had mourned when he thought he was dead.

How could he believe that Mithrandir had betrayed them?

"How?"

Firyavaryar blinked, those damaged eyes altered by the shadow of his hood. Aragorn couldn't say if he thought they were more sinister or more pitiful in this light. "Are you asking me to explain the mind of that wizard? I do not know his reasoning. I am weak to his manipulations, but that does not mean I know his mind."

Aragorn shook his head. "I don't know why Mithrandir would want to lie about your survival."

"I told you—weak to his manipulations. He had uses for me, I suppose, as he has uses for everyone," Firyavaryar said. He let out a breath. "Perhaps others thought it best not to distract Legolas. He was about to go on a foolish quest with the rest of you, and his preoccupation did lead to disaster when Gollum attacked him."

Wary, Aragorn studied the elf. "How much do you know about Gollum?"

"You must be an idiot, which does not say much for the coming age of men," Firyavaryar muttered. Aragorn glared at him. He had accepted the elf's claim that Mithrandir had at least been complicit in keeping the secret of Firyavaryar's survival, and yet the elf could not accept his victory with any kind of graciousness.

"I am not—"

"I told you I don't explain myself. You are asking me to. Again. Stop asking, and I will stop assuming that you are an idiot."

He thought he heard laughter, and he turned back to look at his brothers. Both of them had neutral expressions on their faces, as though they had no reaction at all to Firyavaryar's words. He shook his head. "Traitors."

Elrohir laughed. "In truth, though, brother, he was our friend before you were born."

Aragorn grimaced. Firyavaryar frowned. "I am not your friend. I was your guest for a time, but I—I do not recall ever acting in any way a friend to you. Why would you call me friend when I spent most of my time seeking revenge against you for something you had done to Sérëdhiel or Idhrenion?"

The twins exchanged a look. "You have believed all this time that you were simply a burden or perhaps at best a source of amusement to us?"

"Are you saying I was not? I know Legolas claimed me as friend, but he seems to claim everyone as such," Firyavaryar said. He turned to his brother, and the assassin glanced toward the twins with suspicion. "I have earned no friendship from any of you, and I do not think it wise to claim that I have. There is nothing of merit in me."

"Your love of your family disagrees with that," Elladan told him. "As do other things."

"It is not your family alone that you sacrificed for," Aragorn said, and all of them regarded him with disbelief. "Galadriel introduced Legolas to an elleth that you rescued from Ogol. She said you paid a terrible price to set her free."

Firyavaryar shook his head, backing away from them. "No. That is not possible. She died. She was dead, and that cannot be true. I do not—my memories are all confused and my mind is more than half-broken, but you do not understand. I did not have any leverage with Ogol when he took me. What could I possibly have offered him to free her?"

"Why would Galadriel lie?"

The Avari rubbed at his forehead. "To comfort Legolas? I can offer you no other answer, but I swear—she must have died there. I could not have saved her, and I am no hero. I did not help her. I couldn't. I do not deserve forgiveness or pity."

"Then why are you here?"

Firyavaryar's head turned to look beyond their group, to the others watching them, and Aragorn could see Legolas with Gimli and Merry. Even at a distance, Aragorn recognized the tension in Legolas, and he saw anger in Gimli. They did not have long before Merry's curiosity added to that mix and the others came into this conversation, one that was not finished. Firyavaryar had more explanations to give, and Legolas deserved more from him than... this.

"You know why—for Legolas. I made the mistake of making him family years ago, and I have divided my loyalties ever since—have forced others to do so because I have, and the only way to have a small measure of ease is to keep him safe. When Elladan told me what you fools will do—you protested before, but you will take that path, the path of the dead—it seemed the only choice was to come along with you."

Aragorn almost laughed, recognizing the irony of the situation. "You had a choice. Most of us did not know you were alive. Some of us still don't. You did not have to come."

"Oh, I could have stayed away. I could have taken my family and hidden us until Thenidriel is older and all of this had passed," Firyavaryar said. He let out a breath. "I could have continued to hold onto Eruaistaniel and tried to convince her that no edain would ever harm her again, and I could have let you all go to your deaths without any involvement from me or mine, but while I am selfish, I am not stupid. If Sauron takes over Middle Earth, it is not only you that will suffer. Or did you think I was not aware of that when I chose not to give you to Ogol?"

Aragorn glared at him, his hand moving toward his sword. "You chose not to give me to—"

"I knew what you were. I know you are the heir to the throne of Gondor. That is why these follow you. Remember I knew that then. I chose one I called brother rather than take hope from all Middle Earth, and you are close to making me regret that choice," Firyavaryar told him. He shook his head. "Neither of us likes this, neither of us likes the other, but you know what I can do. I am still a walking plague. You know you need me for this battle, and you also know that as long as Legolas is with you, you have me as ally and with me you have Nostalion. You can refuse what I offer. You would be a fool to do so."

"I would be a fool to trust you."

Firyavaryar laughed. "That is true, but this is not about trust. This is about war, and I am a living weapon. Now—are you a king or are you a fool?"