Summary: We were foolish enough to think we could just waltz into another world and take their Scythe. Little did we know that complications, like Elves, war and the One Ring, would make our mission a life altering experience.
Chapter 1 – The Best Laid Plans
The plan had sounded simple enough while sitting around the table in our cramped RV.
I had been with Slayers for roughly six months when Giles and Willow came across strong magical indications that another Scythe existed in a distant dimension. All the Slayers traveling with us at the time were surprised and we were self-centered enough to think that the existence of Slayers was unique only to our world.
At first Buffy had wanted to go personally to retrieve the weapon but Willow overrode her suggesting that I be the one to go. Willow said she would go with me to make sure the mission went off well. Her suggestion was met with a mixed response and eventually dissolved into an argument between Buffy and Willow. I was rather new, but Willow stuck to her guns. She was confident that I was the one meant to go. Said she saw it in a vision while meditating on the astral plane or something like that. After the blow up between the "Head Slayer" and the witch, no one questioned Willow's choice, least of all me.
Willow had changed a lot since she had harnessed the power of the Scythe and made all the Potentials full blown Slayers. After I had joined the group and began my training we had become friends. I knew about her being gay, but it didn't bother me at all. One of my foster sisters had been a lesbian so in an odd way she reminded me of the only home I had ever known.
I had never met my parents but was lucky enough to be adopted by a wonderful family while I was still an infant. I grew up thinking that the people who cared for me were my parents, and in every way that counted they were. When I was in Middle School they felt that I was old enough to understand and told me that while they both loved me very much and would always be my parents, they hadn't given birth to me. It was a difficult thing to wrap my mind around but eventually I came to understand the situation. More and more information was revealed to me the older I got so by the time I came into my power as a Slayer I had found my biological mother and was exchanging letters with her about once a month. I still hadn't found my biological father, though.
About six months after I woke up one day and broke my alarm clock in half with my newfound Slayer strength, I met Faith. They were traveling the country looking for the new Slayers and asking if these girls wanted to join them and train to fight the things that go bump in the night. I agreed. By that time I lived on my own, hated my job and had been attacked by vampires enough times to know that just being strong and quick wasn't enough. I needed to learn to fight. The rest is history.
Six months after meeting Faith and signing up, Willow and I were crouched around the RV's table plotting how we would go about retrieving the Scythe. The spell Willow would use to propel our corporeal bodies into the new dimension would hopefully put us near to where the Scythe rested. The conditions of the dimension were unknown to us, but she was at least able to tell that it had enough of an oxygen atmosphere to support our breathing.
At least we weren't expected to breathe Methane. Again, we were self-centered enough to think that we could just waltz into this other world and take something like that without complications.
Complications arose immediately when we materialized in the lush landscape of the dimension as we were attacked by a horde of smelly demons, clad in armor, spattered in white face paint shaped like hands and wielding odd shaped swords.
Great.
I struggled to fend them off, my short sword clanged off of their crude weapons and armor, but the truth of the matter was obvious. There were just too many of them. They already had captives. I could see them, hanging from the necks of two demons piggy back style. Two young boys, their hands bound around the necks of their captors stared at us with wide, fear filled eyes as we fought.
What would demons want with young boys?
The question nagged at me, but I couldn't give it much attention. For every demon I managed to wound two more stepped up to take its place. Willow fired off as many combat spells as she could think of but I could tell she was struggling. Whether it was due to fatigue from her magical exertion to get us here, or if magic just didn't work the same in this dimension, I couldn't tell. Again, not much time to analyze the situation. I had problems of my own.
I was dealing with my own vertigo from the magical trip so while I fended for myself alright, I wasn't at my best, even by my own high standards. It became clear that the demons, once they realized that we were outnumbered, were toying with us. I was quickly getting tired and frustrated as they danced in and out of my swords reach taunting me in guttural voices. They knew English, which surprised me; all the demons I had met and fought didn't like to speak English unless they had to.
I yelled at them to stand still and fight, but my words were met with barks of inhuman laughter.
So I'm a comedienne am I?
The vertigo lifted for a brief moment and the sudden clarity gave me the opening I was looking for. With the unnatural speed of a Slayer I feinted left, dodged right and swung my sword. A demon larger than the others and clad in more elaborate armor, fell victim to my onslaught; his head left his shoulders cleanly, the headless body hesitating as if confused, before slumping to the ground in a heap, the head flying off into the forest to my left.
Everything stopped as the demons looked in disbelief at what I had done. They looked at me, a mere slip of a woman with long brown hair and strange clothes, carrying a sword, and then to their fallen comrade, and then back at me.
Breathing hard from my unexpected exercise I moved to lunge at another demon but the harsh voice of one of them rose in the silence.
"HURRY! They are coming! Take that one, kill the other!"
The words seemed to break the other demons out of their stupor. They roared in answer to the command and swarmed us anew. I heard Willow scream as one of the demons picked her up in a fireman's carry and started to run with her. My booted feet bit into the dirt as I tried to run after her but something large and hard collided with the right side of my head, and the world went black.
I thought I heard Willow screaming for me as the demons carried her off, but I couldn't be sure.
"Kestrel! Kestrel!"
Maybe it was a dream. That's it. I'm dreaming. I'm home, in my bed and all of this is a dream. I'm still just a girl, okay more like just a woman, with an ordinary life, a family who loves her and a job she hates. I never became a Slayer when the power of the Scythe was harnessed. I never met Buffy, Giles, and Willow, Andrew, Xander or any of the others. I don't know what it feels like to have a vampire dust under the stake you've just driven through its undead chest. I've never had green demon blood staining my clothes. This is a dream…
I lost time. I have no idea how long I was out, laying on the cold, grass covered earth, surrounded by sparse trees, the wound on my head bleeding into the dirt.
I never heard other foot steps approaching, never heard them speak with urgency to each other as they took in the signs of struggle etched into the land, the headless body on the ground and finally my own slumped form, short sword still caught in my right hand and covered in the dark, viscous blood of my fallen enemy.
I felt someone touching my neck, looking for the pulse of life, but I wasn't sure if I was feeling it in truth or if that too was part of my dream. The touch moved to examine the wound on my head and from the pain I felt there I was certain I was not dreaming. This was still real. I was still a Slayer. My name was still Kestrel. Willow was still taken, along with those two boys.
I groaned and turned my head away from the touch, gentle through it was, and the hurried movement made my head throb. My hand released the sword and rose to try to fend off the cause of my pain, but another gentle touch stilled its weak protest and a voice murmured words of comfort and patience.
"Be at peace, Lady. I must see to your injury." The voice was low and soothing, yet gravely. I groaned again, voicing my displeasure in the only way I was able. I couldn't open my eyes. They felt heavy and glued shut. The gentle touch combed through my hair, now sticky with my own blood, untangling it from around the wound on my scalp. I winced as the hair pulled away from the open gash. Some of the blood had dried and it was painful when tugged away.
A lighter tenor voice broke through the haze of my pain. "Aragorn, what has happened here?" The tones and vowels of this speech were cultured and smooth, like silk against my ragged nerves. I started to feel calm again. Someone who sounded like that wouldn't hurt me more, would they?
"A FIGHT! That's what happened!" I winced at the intrusion of this harsh, rough new voice when it cut across my abused consciousness. "The orcs seem to have found new PREY!"
"Not so loud, Gimli," the first voice, Aragorn's maybe, softly intoned, his hands still gently examining my head.
Another groan escaped my lips but this time my eyes opened, adjusting to the sunlight that filtered through the sparse trees. I focused first on the owner of the gentle hands who continued their work, cleaning and applying salve to my wound. Dark hair fell in soft stringy waves to his jaw; his angular, tanned face was accentuated by scruffy stubble. Pale blue eyes focused on his task. I couldn't tell what he was wearing; his face loomed large in my vision.
My eyes flickered upwards to meet the sharper blue gaze of, well; I couldn't be sure what to call him at first, other than gorgeous. Long blonde hair lightly fell about his broad shoulders yet was pulled back from his squared, chiseled, fair skinned face. His lips pursed into a firm line of concern as he watched the man he called Aragorn work, his beautiful blue eyes moving between us until he saw that I was awake, and then his eyes held mine steadily. I sucked in a breath and distinctly remember thinking that I must look like a mess lying here in the grass and dirt. My jeans and hiking boots were bloody and dirty from the fight and my fall, my t-shirt was torn along the right shoulder seam, and my long brown hair had come out of its pony tail, probably made that way by the man who worked to stem the flow of blood from my head.
I tore my eyes away from his gaze with effort, but then I noticed his ears, and my mouth dropped open. His ears were pointed. Like Mr. Spock from Star Trek.
I made a strangled sound in my throat and tried to sit up. Firm hands grasped my shoulders and urged me to lay back. "Peace, Lady, peace! Legolas, help me hold her." The pointy eared Adonis bent to help restrain me but I flailed my right arm out, knocking Aragorn back into his rump with a strength which clearly surprised him.
I finally found my voice.
"No! No, please. It's alright. I'm alright. Let me up. I just need to walk it off." I heard Faith's voice in my head, cajoling me as she had in the past during training sessions. 'Walk if off, Slayer! Walk it off! It won't hurt so much when you move so get off your butt and walk it off!'
Staggering to my feet I swayed like a drunk. I saw my Adonis, Legolas he was called, hold out his arms towards me, probably to catch me if I fell. Pride surged through me, a definite desire to not look weak in front of these strangers. I breathed deeply, willing the dizziness and nausea to go away, and leaned on a nearby tree for support.
Faith's voice called in my mind, 'You're not walking!' I held a hand to my head while the other gripped the tree and I began to walk, in a circle, around the support.
"Well! She's got spunk. I'll give her that!" The harsh voice, Aragorn had called him Gimli spoke up and I felt a hand pat me on my elbow.
My elbow?
I stopped walking and looked down.
Pushing my hair out of the way my eyes fell on a very hairy, yet very short, stout man, the source of that booming, jovial voice. He stood no taller than my chest but what he lacked in height he made up for in beard. Long, intricately braided and a tawny brown color, it fell to his waist. His eyes twinkled up at me from amidst a weathered and smiling face. The helm he wore glinted in the sunlight. His clothing and armor was distinctly medieval looking, but then so were the clothes the other two wore, I realized.
"Wow," I said dumbly, "You're short."
He broke out into a loud belly laugh which caused the pain in my head to resurface, but I fought to ignore it. "And you're TALL!" he observed.
That earned him a smile.
"Ah! She'll be alright," Gimli said sagely to the other two, as if he were the healer of the bunch. I looked over at them. Aragorn had risen from his unexpected seat and now looked at me with an appraising gaze. Legolas, still gorgeous, was staring at me as well and though his eyes held concern, his stance held wariness, which put me off for some reason.
What had this pointy eared guy have to be wary of me for? He's not the one sporting a headache!
I sighed and carefully rotated my head one way and then another, cracking my neck. "Yeah. I'll be alright. Just gimme a minute." Slayers heal quickly; I just needed to get the blood pumping. It didn't really occur to me until later to question just how quickly I was healing. My dizziness was receding rapidly and I was soon feeling fine again.
"While you recover you could tell us what happened here," said Aragorn, his appraising gaze still on me, his hands resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.
"Yes, who killed that orc?" Legolas pointed at the corpse of my one and only kill so far on this little trip.
"An Orc. Is that what you call those demons?" I asked. I had never heard of such creatures before.
Aragorn nodded, "Yes, though that one specifically is call an Uruk-hai.
I tried to nod but it hurt and my neck was stiff. "We were attacked when we first arrived here," I explained. "I killed that one."
My voice sounded flat in my ears but to be truthful I was very proud of myself. It was the first time I had beheaded a demon. Too bad Buffy and Faith weren't here to see it. Or Willow for that matter.
Oh crap! WILLOW!
Panic flew across my face and I never registered the varying looks of shock and disbelief that crossed the faces of the three men who surrounded me. I moved away from the tree, which I immediately regretted as dizziness washed over me again and I lost my balance, stumbling towards Aragorn. He moved forward to catch me; strong hands gripped my upper arms to keep me from falling.
"WILLOW! My friend, Willow was taken by those demons! I have to go find her. She's my only way home!" My voice broke on the word 'home' revealing to these strangers my heightened level of panic.
"Peace, Lady! Please!" Aragorn's soft, commanding voice interrupted my tirade. "If the orcs took your friend we will help you find her, and them." I managed another smile in my relief.
"Did you see two hobbits with them?" Gimli cut in, running over to us and shoving his way between Aragorn and I.
Hobbits?
I stumbled again but put my hand on the top of Gimli's helm to steady myself. "I saw they had two small boy's captive…"
"That's THEM!" Gimli bellowed, cutting me off and gesturing wildly.
I looked down at the short, stout man, suddenly very irate. "Just what ARE you, anyway?" Yes it was a rude question, and I didn't try to hide that with the tone of my voice, but at the time I felt it was a highly necessary thing to know.
Gimli looked taken back at my boldness, his expressive face showed his shock, but he quickly recovered. "I, Lady, am a Dwarf!" His voice was tinged with pride.
"Oh," was the only response I could come up with, my irritation suddenly draining away as I realized that I had no idea what a Dwarf was, aside from the Snow White story. Gimli didn't look anything like Doc, Happy, Grumpy, Dopey or any of the others, though.
I looked over at my pointy eared Adonis, Legolas. He had picked up my short sword and was in the process of cleaning the demon…um…orc blood off of it. His intense blue gaze met mine and I stumbled over my next words as I felt my cheeks get hot under his scrutiny.
"A-and you?"
He inclined his head and gave a regal half-bow to me, and then he spoke. "I am an Elf, Lady."
"And I am a man, how is it that you do not know this?" Aragorn stepped up to Gimli and me, obviously irritated at my ignorance.
"Um…well…I'm not from around here," I explained. Wow. That was lame and totally cliché, but it was the best I could come up with. Aragorn looked at me skeptically.
"Are you from the East?" he quizzed, crossing his arms.
"It matters not where she's from!" Gimli boomed. "What matters is that the same orcs who took Merry and Pipin now also have her friend!"
"And she killed one of the Uruk-hai single handedly," Legolas mused softly, holding up my sword to the light, running his nimble fingers along the flat of the blade.
"Alright," Aragorn said. "Our time is short and we have tarried here too long as it is." He caught my gaze with his own. "What is your name?"
I squared my shoulders and met his gaze as if by giving my name I was answering the call of some unspoken challenge. "Kestrel."
"Lady Kestrel, you will join us in our search for the Uruk-hai. We travel light and by foot. We cannot spare you any comfort along the way," Aragon's instructions were clipped and factual, as if he thought I would back down from the task once I knew what was expected of me.
"Sounds like a party! What are we waiting for?" I said to him, lifting an eyebrow. Something passed through his eyes at my response. I couldn't be sure, but it might have been respect.
"My Lady's sword," Legolas' voice came from behind me. I turned from Aragorn to see Legolas down on one knee, holding up the sword to me. My brows furrowed and I quirked my head to the side looking down at the Elf.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice coming out in amused bewilderment.
"Offering you your sword," was his solemn answer.
"Are you proposing too or something?" I quipped back, my gaze dropping to his bent knee, my eyes shining. Yeah…I wish.
"An Uruk-hai, one of the fiercest enemies of the people of Middle Earth, lay dead by your hand. You are truly a warrior worthy of respect," he explained smoothly.
"Then respect me while standing, or better yet while we run," I took the sword from him, and helped him to his feet with a hand under his elbow.
I smiled. "I appreciate the thought, though." He smiled back and my knees felt weak.
"Enough! Let's go!" Gimli grumbled.
"Indeed," Aragorn took off at an urgent jog down the grassy slope which leads out of the sparse wood and onto a large, flat plain. I sheathed my sword in the scabbard which dangled from my belted jeans, briefly bent to pick up the small backpack I had thought to bring with me and jogged after him. Legolas and Gimli were hot on my heels.