Three days later, the úlairi attacked.
Buffy heard their shrieking cries before they'd gotten close enough to see and had blown a horn, warning the elves. If she listened, she knows she would hear the trees whispering about the shift in movements by the elves. Trees lived a long time, and sudden routine shifts confused them. Most of the forest was still weirded out by the elvish guards, and they'd been here for twenty years.
The sudden cold heralding the úlairi was the much louder concern for the trees. While time meant very little to plants, shifting seasons were something they paid attention too. The green season had only just started, and the sudden the cold snap was dangerous. If the sudden return to winter conditions lasted, saplings and seedlings would die.
Buffy swung her bow off her back and looked up to the sky. Cold wind rushed over her, the birch tree's leave rustling uncomfortably. It had gotten dark a few hours ago, but this wasn't the chill of a spring evening but the menacing cold of something evil. Buffy had a feeling even normal human would be able to feel the approaching darkness.
Squinting up at the sky, Buffy spotted three dots darker than the night sky behind them, blotting out starlight. The shapes were large, and shifting wildly, like something large was flying through the air. As they got closer, Buffy realized that the úlairi were no longer the ghostly figures she and the other members of the White Council had fought a decade ago, but fully re-embodied creatures.
Back in their undead flesh, Ringwraiths 2.0.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her flint. She carefully balanced three arrows coated in tar between her knees and lit the end of her first arrow. Drawing her bow, Buffy made sure that the flames stayed far away from the birch tree. She lifted her bow and pulled back on the string, sighting carefully. When the nazúl got close enough, she let go. The burning arrow streaked through the air, a blur of orange. The small flames wouldn't have been anything more than an orange dot to most eyes, but for the elves below it was more than enough light to aim their own bows.
A wave of arrows arched out of the tree line, none of them flaming, so that any that miss don't set the forest ablaze. There are loud orders being called out in Sindarin, Callon's voice loud enough to be heard by the entire regiment of guards stations in the trees.
Buffy quickly lit her next arrows, and released them both in quick succession. Back in her home dimension, the flames would have gone out immediately but Buffy has mostly stopped questioning the small differences between Arda and her Earth. Giles and Willow were the brainy ones who would have been fascinated by the science behind why flaming arrows stayed lit here. Buffy was mostly focused on how useful it was to be able to shoot flaming arrows at evil things that hate fire.
After thousands of years of practice, Buffy's aim was impeccable. But not even a slayer could curve arrows to follow their intended target. The first úlairi screamed in anger, but managed to dive out of the way. Luckily for Buffy, but less lucky for the úlairi, the wraith directly behind him was hit. The wraith's black robes immediately went up in flames, turning the evil thing into a beacon of light in the night sky. A target that illuminated the other targets.
A second wave of arrows arched out of the trees, flying towards the wraiths ,aimed at the wings of the horrible snakey flying monsters the nazgúl are riding. Buffy's own bow sang as she sent arrow after arrow towards the evil menaces. They weren't flying away though. Instead they hovered over the forest where Dol Guldur used to stand, swooping in wide circles, screaming. A shudder worked its way down her spine, but Buffy shoved away the fear. The arrows coming from the trees faltered every time one of the úlairi or their monsters screamed, and the cold shroud of evil they were radiating was creeping into her bones. Buffy shuddered at the piercing cry echoed out again, sending fear shooting down her spine.
She is the Slayer. Darkness fears her, not the other way around.
She gritted her teeth against the feeling and unsheathed the scythe. Buffy carefully got to her feet, setting her bow inside her quiver before tossing them down to the lower branches of the tree.
The birch tree she's perched in is the tallest tree in the ruins, and was also the tree that happened to be the closest to the úlairi. Buffy eyed the distance between herself and the swooping monsters. She could probably make it. Buffy is fairly certain she's jumped larger distances. She bounced on her toes lightly, making sure the branch under her was stable enough to move across. The birch helpfully followed her movements as she breathed through the anxiety racing through her limbs. Buffy fixed her eyes on her moving target, deliberately not looking down, and jumped.
Her arm was already swinging, before she even knew she would make the jump. The deadly whisper of the scythe's honed edge cutting through air is the most beautiful song the slayer has heard since arriving in Arda. The scythe dug into the leather tack of the flying monster. Buffy already was in motion, using her momentum to swing her body around, and launch a kick at the first wraith, sending him flailing as he fell overboard. Flaming arrows flew from the trees, setting the wraith on fire as he fell.
Buffy gripped the reins and grunted as she wheeled the flying monster around to face the other úlairi. With a war cry worthy of a slayer, Buffy and her newly acquired monster charged the other two wraiths.
She slashed with the scythe, the golden glow she managed to score into the wraith's arm satisfying, as she ducked to avoid the sword swing of the wraith on her other side. The one she injured screamed and spiraled away, even as cold filled Buffy. Her whole body shuddered, and she had to grit her teeth to push through the cold settling over her shoulders like a physical weight. Putting her whole body into the motion, Buffy sent her monster diving down as she heard Callon order another wave of arrows to be loosed. She wheeled around and flew straight up, scythe at the ready. Gripping the saddle with one hand, Buffy shifted to the side, and leaned her entire body to the side to score a hit on the next wraith.
But the wraith was ready for her. He smoothly ducked under her attack, and Buffy nearly didn't dodge his retaliatory strike. The two of them circled each other in the air, weapons clashing. The úlairi jabbed at her, and when she parried, he redirected his sword into the wing of her monster. The snakey thing howled and bucked. Buffy twisted and dropped from it's back, just barely managing to land on the wide back of the final wraith's mount. Her head snapped up and she made direct eye contact with the seething shadowy mass underneath the hood of the úlairi.
A cold shock filtered through her whole body, and Buffy froze. Her grip on the scythe loosened, and the weapon dipped down out of it's ready position. With a triumphant snarl, the wraith yanked the reins to the left, and the flying monster rolled to the side. Buffy tried to recover her position, scrambling to grab the tack, but the wraith struck out with his sword. Buffy got the scythe up in time, but lost her grip on the smooth leather saddle.
Terror flooded Buffy as gravity took over, her hand reaching up to claw at empty air. The nazgúl let out another shriek and he and his monstrous mount rolled to fly away. As they moved, the monster's wing slammed into Buffy's side with a crunch, shattering several ribs. Buffy went flying through the air, losing all sense of direction. A scream tore out of her throat as she fell through the air.
Her mind filled the dark sky around her with a flashing blue light, and Buffy heard her sister's scream echoed in her own voice. The scythe was long since dropped from her hands as she clawed at the air around her. Somewhere the wraith screamed his triumph, and the cold terror wrapping around Buffy intensified. Somewhere else his companions screamed abc their response, and terror shot through her veins.
Tears filled her eyes as she dropped through the air, the icy fear of falling stretched seconds into minutes. She choked on air desperately trying to calm herself down enough to remember how to survive the fall. Her eyes grew wide as she spotted the final wraith diving down towards her, sword outstretched. Buffy closed her eyes, accepting her death, even as she felt a wave of guilt for breaking her promise to meet up with Legolas so quickly. Maybe she'll get to see her old friends again.
Heat passed around her as a wave of flaming arrows whistled past her. Buffy opened her eyes to watch as the final wraith pulled up sharply to avoid the 's mount screeched as arrows dug into its' belly. She choked out a strangled laugh, watching the shrinking dot of the ringwraith flying away. The warmth of victory filled her, temporarily suppressing the icy not entirely manufactured fear generated by the úlairi.
Then Buffy hit the first tree.
Limbs cracked and split beneath her body as Buffy bounced down through the canopy. She couldn't even scream, all the air beaten out of her lungs by the fall. It felt like she hit every possible branch on her way down. Leaves and twigs scratched her face and hands, tearing holes into her clothing. She tried to grab at branches, at the trees, at anything to catch herself. But she was falling too fast for the trees to catch her, and Buffy's slayer grip shattered every branch she tried to grab at.
Buffy slammed into the ground, a silent scream torn from her airless lungs. Her head bounced off a tree root and her vision went black.
oOo
Mass panic ensued as soon as Buffy's body was spotted. At least half the bones in her body were shattered, and her pallor was of one close to death. Blood poured from a gash in her head, dying her normally golden hair a coppery red. Her clothing was shredded, exposing deep gashes and long cuts along every limb. The innumerable wounds were bleeding sluggishly, what was left of her clothing damp with blood. Buffy's skin was tinted a blue-black color, a side effect of the nazgul's infamous Black Breath.
"What do we do?" One of the new guards, Amrodel asked. Callon didn't look up at the other elf as he gently probed at her wrist. He felt a slight flutter under his fingertips. He held his breath, almost not daring to hope as he leaned down to carefully press his ear to her chest. A weak, but steady, thumping filled his ears. He closed his eyes as he sat up, tears of relief trickling down his face.
"She lives." He breathed, and a muted cheer rose around him. There was an almost audible release of tension from the entire group, even from those elves among the new guard. Buffy was well liked in Eryn Galen, and was equally loved and hated by those she trained to take up guard at the overgrown ruins at Amon Lanc. But they all had the greatest respect for her, and when she died it would be a dark day. And a grievous blow to the side of light in the coming war against darkness. Mordor was growing in power and all of Middle Earth was growing tense with anticipation. If Buffy died now, Callon would sail west. The war cannot be won without the Slayer and he has no interest in trying to fight a hopeless war. His husband, and their daughter are waiting for him in the undying lands. If Buffy dies, he will join them.
Besides, he did not want to be forced to tell the king that the Lady Dagnir had been killed while under his watch. King Thranduil would be furious if she died, and that is a temper he doesn't wish to face. The whole of the Woodland Realm knew of the king's regard for the slayer, and these last years the whole kingdom had grown and prospered under the king's more relaxed rule as he finally began to throw off the chains of his grief over the death of the queen. All the woodland elves credited the change in attitude to the blonde warrior who had appeared in their midst and befriended not only their king, but their prince.
Had Prince Legolas vanished to go adventuring without the slayer, Callon dreaded to imagine the temper of their capricious and overprotective king.
Joy that the slayer, a well respected almost friend, lived warred with the distress he felt at the severity of her injuries. While she was still alive now, there was no guarantee that she would remain so long enough to recover from her wounds.
Callon worked quickly, trying to set her bones without hurting the unconscious slayer too much. Part of him was glad she had passed out, even though every passing minute that she did not wake made him more nervous. The other guards slowly melted back into the trees, most of them returning to their posts. They may have driven off the nazgúl this time, but who knows if Sauron would send his fell servants to attempt to retake the hill once more. Only Ailmar stayed with him, the two of them the only guards present who had helped her guard Mirkwood against the darkness of Dol Guldur while the fortress still stood.
The only ones who witnessed her enduring strength and the beacon of light she represented while they fought against the near overwhelming blackness of Sauron's evil. They were the only ones who had witnessed her incredible healing after her brief imprisonment in Dol Guldur, and thus were the only elves with any hope that she would wake.
Finally all her wounds were tended too except the most grievous. But neither Callon nor Ailmar, or any of the rest of the thirty guards stationed at Amon Lanc, had the skill to cure the Black Breath. That was a skill that lay only in Rivendell, with Lord Elrond and his children.
"We must take her to Imladris. That is her only hope." Callon told Ailmar. The other elf shook his head, forehead furrowed.
"Even if her only injuries were the broken bones, she would not survive such a journey, Callon. But she also suffers from the Black Breath, so much so her pallor is filled with its shadow. Imladris with her unconscious will take over two months to reach on even the fastest of horses, and that's without any complications to slow the journey. She would die before you finished crossing the Misty Mountains." Ailmar sighed, hands shaking at his side. He knelt down next to Callon, and reacted out to brush a twig from the fallen slayer's hair.
"We should take her to Fangorn. That ancient place is her home, and she loves the strange trees there. She should die in peace there, not on the road to a house of healing she will not reach." Callon shook his head vehemently.
"No. You know as well as I that she does not heal like those of the race of men. And if there is even a shadow of hope that she should live until we reach Lord Elrond, we must try. Taking her to Fangorn will doom her. Going to Imladris will give her hope." Ailmar was silent, his only movements gently detangling Buffy's hair and carefully sponging away the blood that was beginning to stain her body.
Finally he nodded his head.
"I will go to the king and alert him to where you are going. Journey first to Lorian mellon nin (my friend.) Perhaps the Galadhrim will be able to aid you. It is said the Lady of Light calls her friend. Fly mellon nin, like Sauron himself chases you, for I fear she will die soon." Callon nodded and carefully bound Buffy's arms and legs to splints. He then gently lifted her into his arms and the two elves raced for the horses.
Callon and Ailmar worked to arrange Buffy in a manner that would cause her the least amount of pain if, when, she wakes. Her head rolled limply against Callon's shoulder, and he tightened his grip on the dying slayer. With a few whispered words to his horse, they were off, racing across the Gladden fields.
He prayed to Eru as he rode to let the slayer live.