Title: Bitter Rain
Series: Of Slayers and Knights
Fandoms: BtVS and LOTR (more book in this case)
Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS and LOTR.
When: pre FOTR, undetermined for BtVS
Characters: implied Buffy/Boromir, Faramir, Denethor
Summary: Dreams haunt Buffy after she brings a heavily wounded Boromir to Minas Tirith.
A/N: Sequel to 'Aftershock'. I suggest you read that first. I think I went a bit overboard with this though… Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter! The next one will be happier, promise :) And the reason for the lateness of this one would be school.
Exhaustion pulled at the Slayer as she half carried, half dragged Boromir through the mud, rain pouring over them. Lightening illuminated her way frequently, followed by deafening thunder overhead. Ahead, she could barely make out the outline of the Rammas Echor through the downpour. She was slowly starting to despair of reaching a shelter of any kind before it was too late. Boromir seemed to get heavier as each minute passed and she was well past her endurance. He had not woken up once since she had carried him away from the river bank.
Still, Buffy kept on walking, moving barely faster than a crawl. She was covered in mud, her companion even more so. Her footing was precarious on the slick ground and she had fallen many times. Only the fact that Boromir depended on her made her struggle on.
A bolt of lightening hit the ground nearby; the noise from the resulting thunder shocking her into slipping again to the muddy ground. Buffy choked back sobs of frustration, her tears already unnoticeable from the rain. She crawled the short distance to the unconscious body beside her.
Her fingers curled around his sopping wet tunic, weakly trying to pull him along. Buffy soon collapsed against his chest, spent of her strength, beaten down by despair and still in shock from the plunge into the icy waters of the Anduin. Her back ached from the blow she had received and her head spun from the near drowning. She sobbed against the unmoving figure, still clutching a part of his tunic.
Blackness crept along the edges of her vision threatening to pull her into unconsciousness. Just before her weakened body failed her, she noticed that the comforting thumping under her ear was growing fainter.
xxx
She was wrapped in warmth, surrounded by a comforting softness. Faint noises reached her; hushed voices talking, the rustling of crisp clean sheets and soft footsteps. The faint smell of various herbs hung in the air, pulling her away from the tempting oblivion of sleep. She blearily opened her eyes to stone walls, lit by the soft glow of candles and a crackling fire.
Now more aware, she also noticed the howling wind and familiar rumbling of thunder outside. After a few more moments, a raging headache announced itself. Her whole body felt strained and weak.
A shadow past over her and she looked up into the weary and bruised face of one Faramir of Gondor. Buffy smiled with relief upon seeing Faramir alive and well. He had been among the soldiers who were upon the bridge when it had fallen.
He raised a hand before she could speak.
"Do not talk yet, Buffy. Rest, for you have safely arrived in the Houses of Healing. A search party found you near the Rammas Echor."
"Boro…" she weakly coughed. "Where's Boromir?" she rasped quietly, her throat sore and dry. Faramir handed her a cup of water, supporting her head while she drank. Sighing, he put it down on the small table beside the bed and sat in a chair nearby.
"He is alive," Faramir said. Buffy sighed in relief and relaxed into the soft mattress. Faramir's face was grave upon his next words, "But he has a raging fever. It has shown no signs of abating. Yours broke only this morning."
Buffy frowned in confusion and worry. Faramir cut her off just as she was opening her mouth to speak.
"You must rest, Buffy. Both of you almost died. If you had been found a mere hour later, it is likely that neither of you would have survived. As it is…" he paused, with face drawn with worry before he shook his head, "…never mind that as of yet. Sleep, Dagnir, I will tell you more on the 'morrow. Rest for now, regain your strength…"
Worried though she was Buffy soon fell asleep, lulled by Faramir's voice.
xxx
She was standing on a plain, empty but for the long grass being buffeted by the wind. She watched them for a moment, mesmerized by their swaying under the bright sky. Wisps of white clouds lazily stretched across the sky, making her smile. She laughed in delight and twirled, forgetting her troubles and worries. As she turned, she glimpsed high mountain ranges in the distance, their peaks surrounded by mist.
She paused in her childish glee upon seeing dark mountains. She frowned. Such a gloomy sight had no place here, where everything was fresh and carefree. As she watched, the sky over the strange jagged mountains grew dark. The wind grew stronger, flattening the grass. Dark clouds formed; she could barely make out the faint flashes of lightening searing across them.
A feeling of foreboding grew in her. A shadow fell across the ground, but she continued to watch, unable to tear her gaze away. The wind howled in her ears, grating and unpleasant.
'Ash nazg…Ash nazg…'
With growing fear, she looked about, seeing the dark clouds advancing towards her. She backed away, but the once long and healthy grass, now rotting and filled with decay, clung at her dress, making her stumble.
'Ash nazg durbatuluk…'
She was blinded by the sudden lightening overhead, thunder swiftly following. Another flash of lightening came and she was soon soaked to the bone by the chilling rain. It clung to her skin like oil and tasted bitter.
'Ash nazg gimbatul…'
Finally, she ran, trying to get away from the aura of evil pervading the place. Her skin tingled unpleasantly, like she was being watched. She did not turn however, but kept running, slipping on the muddy ground, tearing her dress on the thorns now growing across the plain.
'Ash nazg thrakatuluk…'
Inevitably she fell. She tried to scramble up, but thorns cut her face and hands, tangling in her hair. Her dress was in tatters, covered in mud. Her blond hair hung in dark limp strings and rain dripped down her face. She sobbed, furiously untangling herself and stumbling to her feet.
'Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul…'
Suddenly she was running up the tall mountain of Meneltarma. Rain still pelted at her, but the earth beneath her feet was now trembling violently. In the distance, the sky was red from the destructive fires and screams filled the air. Before she could wonder at the change of scene or the reason for her sudden despair, she pitched forward, falling to the shaking ground. A rushing roar sounded and she cried to the sky as the turbulent tidal wave overtook her.
'Ash nazg…'
The city was burning, filled with the screams of women and children. She stood in the middle of the chaos, watching as orcs slaughtered the people around her with glee. The long dead White Tree was in flames, spouting an acrid plume of smoke into the sky. Before the fire completely engulfed the Tower of Ecthelion, she glimpsed an eerie pale light flickering at its top.
'Ash nazg…'
Inky darkness surrounded her in the cold caverns. Tapping noises echoed around her, followed by shrill cries and grunts, the clanking of chains and hammer blows. A sudden silence descended. She whirled around, facing the presence she felt behind her. The complete darkness was broken by two eyes in the dark, glowing like coals. Her sudden scream was cut off when her vision exploded in shadow and flame.
'Ash nazg…'
Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed before her. Her face was aglow in the mixed light of silver and gold, showing her awe at the sight. A sudden shadow fell upon the gathering of the Firstborn and amidst the screams of confusion and fear, the light of Laurelin and Telperion withered and died and darkness descended upon the world.
'Ash nazg…'
She was pushed aside to the ground by the fleeing populace of the city. Drums sounded around her and the wails of war horns filled her ears. Ahead of her, fair elves were swept away by Sauron's might, killed without mercy. Bile rose in her throat when she glimpsed His horrifying banner - the body of Celebrimbor impaled on a bloody pole.
'Ash nazg…'
She choked on the gritty air, every breath a struggle. Heady fumes made her weak and dizzy, but she still crawled across the jagged rocks, ignoring her bleeding hands and feet. Ahead of her, smoke and occasional bouts of flame poured out of the mountain. She could not remember why, but she had to reach its summit.
'Slayer…'
Grating cries and shrieks surrounded her, filling her with terror. But it all paled in front of the horrible laughter echoing from the tall tower in the distance. Her skin felt like it was burning from His gaze.
'I see you…'
xxx
Buffy awoke with a sudden gasp, sitting upright. She was drenched in sweat, heart racing, still trembling from the nightmare. She sighed with relief upon seeing the comforting surroundings of the Houses of Healing. Running her hands through her hair, she winced as she felt the mass of tangles. Still not free of the disquieting feeling, she slowly got out of the bed, tripping slightly on her long nightgown as she made her way towards the window.
The stone floor was cool beneath her feet, a relief after the nightmare. Looking out to the city, she idly noted that the storm had abated. Everything was peaceful under the night sky and she could even see a few brave stars shining through the lingering clouds. A slight flickering at the edges of her vision caught her attention. She turned her head and frowned upon seeing the pale light coming from the top of the Tower of Ecthelion. Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember where she had seen that before...
"Buffy," a soft voice interrupted her musings. She quickly turned to face the speaker and smiled in relief upon seeing Faramir framed in the doorway. It faded however when she saw his tired face and the defeated slump of his shoulders.
"You should not be up yet," he started, taking a few steps forward. Buffy cut him off quickly.
"Never mind me, I feel fine. What's wrong?"
"Boromir…"
A sudden fear gripped her. "What about Boromir?" she tremulously asked. It couldn't be, not now, not after she had brought them to safety.
"He has a high fever. Three days have passed since you have been brought here and yet it has not lessened. If it had just been that…it would be different, but he has also suffered a head injury. He has three broken ribs and that deep gash in his leg. Not to mention that he must be exhausted after the long bat-"
"Faramir," Buffy bit out, "the point?" But she already feared she knew. Faramir rubbed his forehead sighing. Softly he said,
"The Healers have little hope of him surviving the fever. The battle and his other injuries have sapped him of his strength; he cannot fight the sickness…They say it's a miracle that he has made it so far and so long."
"No…" She hugged herself, "Not him, no. We made it back, I brought him back." Tears slipped down her cheeks. Faramir gently hugged her. She pressed her face against his chest, one hand gripping his tunic.
"It's not fair," she sobbed lightly, "it's not fair. He fought so hard. I almost died bringing him home…it's not fair," she finished in a whisper. Faramir just held her as she cried against his chest, not noticing his own tears.
xxx
Buffy sneaked into Boromir's room in the dead of night, unable to sleep yet again. Her dreams did not have the intensity of the nightmare she had had upon waking a week ago, but they nevertheless left her unable to sleep and twitching at every sound. The cryptic dreams also left her with headaches and so she had taken to wandering the Citadel like a ghost. More often than not, she found herself here, just silently watching him.
He seemed so weak, lying against the white sheets, with sweat on his brow and damp hair. His breathing was laboured despite the bandages wrapped around his chest. One side of his face was bruised, contrasting with the rest of it which was pale in spite of the fever he still had. Only a light sheet covered him, already tangled from his movements. He would mumble things occasionally, tossing and turning, often moaning as the movement jarred his ribs.
It broke her heart every time she saw him like this. She missed the strong warrior filled with life, who would not hesitate to meet her head on, despite her being a woman. She wanted the sarcastic warrior with the dry wit to wake up so she could banter with him or just spend some time goofing around. She wanted to see him deny taking Faramir's books to read, she wanted to spar with him, see him be the big brother, the accomplished captain, the dutiful son…hell, she would even welcome him yelling at her while he was recovering from hangovers. Anything but this pale shell of the man, who was now shivering from the cool air.
Sighing, Buffy gently covered him with a blanket. She sat down at the ever-present chair next to his bed, reaching out and brushing his hair back from his face. She smiled softly when he leaned into her touch, but it faded when she felt the heat coming from his skin. There had been no change in his condition, even after a week. Holding back tears, she held his hand and continued stroking his hair.
Oddly comforted by the repetitive action, she soon fell asleep, his hand still firmly clutched in her own.
xxx
Once again, she found herself standing on the plain amidst the tall grass. Dark clouds from the East rolled across the land towards her. Fear filled her. The wind picked up, but unlike last time, it was not as harsh. It seemed to whisper to her, but she could not make out all of the words or the language.
'…hta Macilen ya né rá...dessë máras…rinë márë equesiyo…Morculu-carmë……ssë,an Isilduro nwalcólë……Peryanér etortuva…'
She shivered at the strange words, not entirely certain if she wanted to know what they meant. She turned, drawn by the voices, to face the West. A pale light lingered there on the horizon and she could hear the whispering echoes more clearly.
'…Ya Mandë ná harë mássë…'
The light flickered and shifted, taking on a reddish hue.
'…Isilduro nwalcólë…'
As the light grew stronger, rushing to meet her, the whispers grew more agitated. The words came faster, blurred together, becoming lost in the rising wind. The light shone across the sky in fiery streaks, drawing upon itself until it formed a sphere in her hand. Helpless, she gazed into its depths. The light inside the darkened glass sphere churned restlessly, illuminating her face in a sickly glow.
The ball cracked, fissures etching themselves upon its surface before it exploded, sweeping her away in its light. Visions sprawled before her eyes, a cacophony of colour and sound.
…a shattered sword amidst a wasteland…
…a flood sweeping away black shapes…
'…my sons are spent…'
…nine ships on turbulent waters…
… a tall, black shrouded figure: 'No living man may hinder me!'
… a regal elf dressed in rich robes :'…he arrived in the grey morning…'
… glowing eyes in the dark: '…my precious…'
…dead faces in murky water…
…a spout of fire spreading through a long tunnel…
… the light of a forge, a figure silhouetted against it…
… Denethor raging at an unseen figure: 'Didst thou think that the eyes of the White Tower were blind!'
… a man with the bearing of Númenorean kings sitting upon a horse: 'Let the lord of the Black Land come forth!'
…a figure lying sprawled under a tree, arrows protruding from his chest…
…an elf singing under a silver tree…
…a pale Faramir lying on a bed: 'My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?'
'Tinuviel!'
…a sapling of a white tree…
…dark clouds spreading over the land…
… an old woman with sea-grey eyes: 'Ónen i-estel Edain…'
…a grey boat floating down the river filled with clear water…
…winged beasts flying over a battle field, their riders clad in black…
… hundreds of riders thundering upon a plain: 'Death! Ride, ride to ruin and the world's ending!'
… a woman with golden hair brandishing a sword: 'For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.'
…a person burning upon a pyre…
'Do not touch the water!'
…two small figures standing before a chasm…
…a ring of gold upon a black hand…
'Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!'
…an old man in shining white robes: '…there will be no dawn…'
…ageless blue
eyes and a lyrical voice whispering: '…you think you know, who you
are, what is to come…you haven't even begun…'
…a
burning red eye, searing through her…
xxx
"M'lady?"
Buffy jerked awake at the words and the light touch on her
shoulder. She looked around wildly before focusing on the concerned
Healer beside her.
"M'lady, are you well?" he asked again. She absentmindedly ran a hand through her hair, still shaken, her gaze landing upon the restless figure on the bed. She had fallen asleep beside Boromir…again. Light fell into the room through the open windows. It was well past dawn.
"Um…yeah…I just…How is he?" she asked, already knowing the answer from his sweaty brow.
"He is unchanged m'lady," The Healer noted sadly. She just nodded, rising slowly from her seat. Pensively, she left the room with a last glance towards Boromir, leaving the Healer to tend to his patient.
xxx
As she walked down the corridor, Buffy mused on her dream. It had been similar to the first one, but it hadn't been so focused on doom and gloom. Or maybe just not so focused on scaring the living daylights out of her. The first one had been terrifying, but this one seemed more…prophetic. Trust the PTB's to badger her with Slayer dreams even here. Even now, the strange words from the beginning echoed in her ears. She willed them to make sense.
Lost in her thoughts, she failed to evade the person heading straight towards her. She bumped into him, sending her sprawling on the floor. Faramir, startled, dropped the paper he had been poring over. He blinked.
"Buffy? My apologies, I'm afraid that I have been a bit absorbed in reading my paper to have noticed you," he held out his hand to help her up. She glared at it, mumbling under her breath about freakishly tall Gondorians before accepting it. She clutched Faramir's dropped paper in her other hand.
"Yeah, yeah, and this is different from all of the other occasions we did this...how?"
Both of them smiled, glad for the bit of humor in an otherwise bleak week. Make that couple of weeks.
"And what has you so fascinated this time, bookworm?" she glanced at the paper and blanched.
"Buffy?" he said, concerned, disregarding for the moment the hated nickname (no matter how accurate), "What is it?"
She laughed shakily and looked up at him, beyond wondering how the words made sense to her all of a sudden, "You…um, wouldn't have happened to have dreamt these verses, by any chance?"
It was his turn to pale. Slowly, as if in a trance he said, "In a dream I saw the eastern sky grow dark…"
"But a pale light lingered in the West," she continued.
"A voice cried…"
"Doom is at hand…"
"Isildur's Bane," he finished in a whisper, both of them staring at each other in wonder. Finally, Buffy broke the silence.
"So…um, up for a bit of research?"
xxx
"Absolutely not, Dagnir!" Denethor bit out, rising from behind his desk, glaring at the determined Slayer in front of him. She glared right back. "I am not sending one of my best captains traipsing around half of Middle-earth while war is almost upon us!"
"With all due respect, my lord," she said through gritted teeth, "Both Faramir and I have been having the same dreams for the past three days! I'm growing so paranoid I even thought I heard Boromir mumbling part of the damn riddle! Somebody has to go to Rivendell and I'm the best choice!" she forcibly calmed herself down, "Faramir is needed here and Boromir-" she stopped abruptly at the thunderous look on Denethor's weary face.
"Take heed, Dagnir," he said softly, "that you do not overstep your bounds." Had she been anything but a Slayer, that voice would have sent shivers up her spine from fear. As it was, Buffy just stood her ground. "If need be, I shall send Faramir. Your riddle mentions counsels and he has always been far more eager to play the diplomat instead of the warrior." The last part was said in a faintly mocking tone that made her blood boil.
"And you think that I could lead Gondor's army in war? Newsflash, Denethor! I'm a Slayer – I fight alone; I'm not built to lead an army! I'd get them all killed. The troops may respect me even though I'm a woman, but your sons are ultimately the only ones they would trust to lead them!" Her short rant over, she calmed down somewhat, still prepared to argue her case.
Denethor was silent, his face giving no indication of how he felt. He moved from behind his desk to look out of the window, mulling over the problem. Buffy wisely stayed silent as well, although she was itching to badger him into letting her go. Finally, Denethor turned to look at her for a long moment with those steel grey eyes. She caught her breath at how...weary and sad he looked, almost despairing.
"Very well, Dagnir. You have my leave to follow this riddle. I hope to Eru that I am not making a grave mistake, but I shall put my faith in you. Return as quickly as you are able and mayhap this country will have a measure of hope again, for I am quickly loosing mine." He finished in a bitter tone.
Buffy bit back the frown that threatened to emerge. It had taken the better part of two days for them to convince Denethor to give them leave, she was not about to have it revoked. Faramir was still in the library, researching. It had taken her surprisingly little time to convince him that she should go. For all of his love of elves, it seemed Faramir would put his people first (although she had to promise him to bring back a book or ten).
Finally, after it was obvious no more was forthcoming, she just nodded and left while Denethor sat at his desk, staring into the distance.
xxx
Buffy slipped into Boromir's room again, closing the door behind her with a soft click. She made her way to the chair beside his bed, noting how he still looked deathly pale. As much as she didn't wish to leave while he was still ill, she had no choice. Sighing, she took his hand again.
"Well, Boro, looks like you'll finally be rid of me," she began with a weak smile, "the damn PTB's came a callin' and I have to scamper off to do their bidding…I normally wouldn't, but I feel this is so much bigger than usual…"she sighed, "I'm crap at goodbyes, Boro. You'd think with one of the party being unconscious and all, it'd be easier, but nooo…" She absentmindedly caressed his hand, momentarily lost in thought.
"You need to get better," her voice cracked, "for me, Boro…please?" When no reply was forthcoming, she gently disentangled her hand and kissed his brow. "See you Boro…"
She started a bit when he moved, but smiled in delight when she heard the barely audible words, "Don't…call me…that…"
His eyes were still closed, his face was still pale, but his hand clutched firmly in her own was no longer warm with fever. Buffy knew that she should bellow for the healers or send for Denethor, but she just sat there, feeling ecstatic. There was hope yet.
Fin
A/N: I think you can all recognize the Ring verse in the Black speech in the first dream. The elvish bits in the second dream was the Quenya translation for the riddle (curtesy of the Council of Elrond). Dagnir is elvish for Slayer.
