Hope and Fear
Title: Hope and Fear
Rating: PG-15 (Violence) – Those with the faint of heart are encouraged to turn away. I am tempted to call this one R even, making it my first R-rated fiction ever.
Genre: Do you want to guess, or should I just hand over my brain?
Teaser: Buffy realizes she doesn't want to be a Slayer anymore just as the greatest battle of her life comes to pass. Part Four of the series.
Summary: This story continues along the path of the first three. Buffy has been in Middle-earth for twenty years. She is betrothed to a certain Silvan Elf that is waiting for her back in paradise, while Buffy fights in a war she never knew existed. This story follows her path on the Corsairs ships as they reach Minas Tirith. She realizes a vision lost from someone she considered a friend and walks the city of fate. Yet, as the darkness grows, her own paradise is at risk from an outside threat and Buffy is torn in which direction to pass further…
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, despite my wishes. I do, however, own the plotline from both "But A Dream", "Lessons Better Learned" and "Great Expectations" so spoilers abound.
Spoilers: From "Return of the King", mostly.
Dedications: The poetry from "Great Expectations" and "Hope and Fear" comes from A, who wrote 'Visionary' and 'Forsaken' about a year ago. This is also about the fourth scene I've "directed" on Pelennor Fields. Each and every time I do it, I try to do something different. I ended up using "cuts" from the Extended Film version, since there were moments that had me in tears. Mostly book, and partially my edits, though. Enjoy the show.
Notes: My inspiration for the end of this section comes from the end music of "Return of the Jedi", the new DVD version. It was what I happened to be watching when I wrote this part now well over a month ago. Now that I stare at it though, I keep thinking "the beat goes on, la-ti-da-di-di... la-ti-da-di-da..." If I ever do get the courage to post the rest of the story (which seems to go on forever), I shall. I think that you all are beginning to get used to my writing style as it is.
- - - - -
Hope and Fear
- - - - -
Despite the fact they were getting closer to war, the sun burst through the clouds in places. A single ray fell across a stray tear drifting down the cheek of one Slayer, her eyes on the sky, praying for a release by the end of the day.
So much had happened, she thought, staring at the Anduin flowing calmly beneath the ship. From this angle, it looked like the Pacific. She smiled as she saw the water softly churning.
"To the journey," she whispered.
Ahead, the ships were coming to Minas Tirith from the south.
"Come," a gentle, yet stern voice said from behind, and Buffy turned, following Halbarad, the Ranger who'd accompanied her onto the rear ship. Around them were the faces of newly freed men, all wearing the same look of mingled fear yet rekindled hope.
"When we land," Halbarad began, "we will land in Osgiliath…"
Buffy tuned him out and leaned against the mast, staring up at the great black sails billowing over her head.
The sounds of the distant battle were now apparent to all.
She closed her eyes, her life from Sunnydale and later Cleveland flashing before her vision. It was time to let the old life die, she decided. She had to steel her backbone for what was to come. It was a great battle ahead, and she had to be ready for it. Opening her eyes, she felt a surge of strength, as though she had been lit aflame. Her jade eyes held fire as she lifted them to meet Halbarad's. A slow smile spread across his face as he turned to her.
"She will be the one to show thee the way," he said, using his sword to gesture her forward.
And, just as the way she had trained the Potentials, she stole forward, pulling out her sword.
"This is how it'll work—"
A large battalion of Orcs were waiting alongside the shoreline, eyeing the seven boats with great dislike.
"Late as usual!" the leader snarled, stepping forward, his spear digging painfully into the ground. "You pirate scum!"
On the battlefield, the reactions were of cold chaos. The Rohirrim, having arrived at the exact right time, had charged into a field flooded with enemies. The King had been spotted by the Captain of the Black Armies and had gone to take down the leader of Rohan. It was the untimely arrival of Éowyn, King Théoden's niece, which had saved him from complete annihilation at the hands of such a black creature. After slaying the beast, the Hobbit in her care had gone to the dying King, who was unaware that his niece had come to war at all.
Éomer, brother to Éowyn, spotted his sister on the field and knew her. His cries were heard through the hearts of the Rohirrim around him, glancing at the King's guards, broken and bloody beneath their horses and the remains of the winged creature Éowyn had slew.
It had a sad day for the Rohirrim as Éomer called his men to arms and they went charging into the fray, only to come up against the mûmakil, great creatures from the south in Harad. He had found himself outnumbered by many, and the foul creatures were able to sweep aside his horses, where they feared to tread with such creatures storming about.
From the seven-tiered city came the Prince of Dol Amroth with his guards and all of the force he could muster, driving the enemy from the city. But it was the great creatures of the Haradrim that divided much needed help from the despairing Rohirrim. Éomer saw his own error and feared that he would be calling his men to fight for the death.
And then the black ships came.
Seven there were, all of them with gleaming black sails along the harbor, sailing peacefully on the Anduin from the south, graceful and deadly, bringing with them a crashing sense of doom to all still fighting on the field. Éomer, now King of Rohan, drew his sword for what he felt would be the last time and gave the final call to arms, the horns blowing in the air.
But, behold! With the lead ship there was a flag in place of the skull with the crossed bones. In its place was a white tree, with seven stars, all gleaming.
And, for the first time that day, Éomer King gave a grim smile.
For fate had now given them a new fortune in this battle.
The Orcs stared in disbelief at the flag of Gondor, blowing fairly in the strong breeze that had come once the ships had passed into Osgiliath and beyond.
From the bow came one figure. As he landed, many more came. There were Elves and Men, a Dwarf and a woman. They all wore expressions of deepest intimidation, and they had no fear in their eyes. Gracing her forehead lightly with the sword bestowed upon her by the same Elves she ran into this battle with, Buffy lunged forward, and the battle thus began.
On the fields of Pelennor, Éomer led his own knights on, as Prince Imrahil caught up with him. Guards were sent to carry up the dead King's body and the body of Éowyn, to put them in the city for safekeeping.
The path to Pelennor was not a long one, Buffy realized as she fought her way through a small number of Orcs before an army of thousands more on foot tore into the valley. And with them came such great wind, as fortune had indeed turned in their favor.
Éomer soon fought his way to Aragorn, easily striking one at a time, looking as though he were rather amused at something. In the distance, the Slayer fought with the grace and skill only she could possess, easily dispatching a large number of enemies, her sword drinking rather well. Once she'd found an axe, she became even more lethal, both weapons spinning endlessly as she cut her way through the Haradrim. By her side was Elladan, followed by Elrohir, wanting to watch her back, and she in turned watched theirs. The three of the Elf-kind fought valiantly through a group of fleeing men before coming up against a large number of troll-like figures.
She ran forward first, leading the charge into battle. What she didn't realize is that these creatures had hammers that were particularly effective if they spotted someone running towards them with absolute murder in their eyes.
The second hammer swung at her connected and Buffy felt her body lift into the air before coming down hard. She managed to maintain a grip on her sword, but her battle axe went spinning seamless through the air. As she landed, she felt something inside of her snap. Opening her eyes to the murky grey sky above, she cried out as a third hammer stroke fell where she had been lying a second before. Back on her feet, wincing slightly as she breathed, she lifted her sword against the hammer, and found her sword was easily thrust away.
Two could play at that game.
She charged him then, leaping onto his hammer as it swung at her again. As she sailed into the air, she jumped again, this time with a flipping kick, twice over, and sent the troll reeling back. Grasping her sword again, she drove it into the troll's chest before raising herself upon the sword and driving her last dagger through his chin.
Both figures dropped to the ground, Buffy rolling out of the way as the dead figure lay heavily near her. Pulling out her sword, she mourned the loss of her last Elvish dagger for just one moment before she was attacked by a second troll-like figure.
Unbeknownst to her, the mûmakil were regrouping, and their hoards of men with them. Buffy turned away after unleashing torment upon the last troll to face a swarming number of figures. She lifted her sword and snarled under her breath as she charged forward, and to her utmost surprise, a large fleet of the men she'd freed came with her.
The charge was slowed almost at once. Batting away a bow with her sword, she hewed off one head before cleaving her sword into the throat of a second. Twisting her sword, she removed it, and as the figure collapsed, she rolled across his back to impale her sword into a third person.
It was then she received the blow.
It was sharp and quick. A single sword drew into her back, near her waist and ripped out again. She didn't cry out as she spun around, punching away the figure that'd stabbed her. Bringing her hand to her bleeding side, she felt her strength start to wane.
"No," she said to herself. "I am not going to die like this."
You are not going to die like this. Get up… get up!
With a roar and a fervor that she had never known before, she turned back, her sword spinning back into her hand. Her bonus was the battle-axe she had lost a while before and with both weapons, despite the possibility of broken ribs and a flesh wound to her side, she continued to fight.
It took a hard blow from the blunt end of a sword to her head to make her fall again. By this time, she had lost both of her weapons fighting creatures bigger than she had been, and she'd been killing things with her bare hands.
It was a lot harder to get up this time, she thought, glancing up. Through the blurring gaze of the sun breaking through the sky above her, she saw the bodies of the very men she'd freed, broken, bleeding and cursed, lying beneath the corpses of the Black Armies they had gone to destroy.
Death was something she understood a lot of, she realized sadly. She lived for death. That was the one thing that had separated her from the Elves she so dearly loved. They didn't understand death or what it meant to die.
Before a finishing blow could come to the woman on her knees, a sole figure came out and removed the head of the would-be murderer.
This brought Buffy's attention back to the light as sunlight spilled upon her figure, setting off her glow. She came back to her feet with a stumble and faced Legolas. "Hannon le," she said, giving him the briefest of smiles before collecting her sword and dashing back into the fight.
It was almost ironic; the very creature that had saved her from death was the same one that didn't have the capacity to understand it.
The fight went onwards through the day and finally, when the last of the enemies had been taken out, the great armies of Gondor stood.
Buffy walked with Elladan and Elrohir, checking the bodies of the Gondorians they had rescued and had sent in battle to their deaths. She had just finished checking one body when she saw something equally disturbing in the dirt.
It was a standard, one that the Rangers wore across their armor. They were distinctive to their bloodlines, and this one, she knew, belonged to Halbarad.
She saw him lying not twenty feet away.
"NO!" she screamed, pushing past the few Rohirrim standing around her. "NO!"
She fell to her knees beside one of her oldest and dearest friends, gathering his body to her arms, the tears coming almost naturally as the looked at the pool of blood he lay in. His eyes were open, full of the quiet silence of death, staring at the endless sky, now coming to red from the smoke in the city blowing to the clouds, and from the sun bursting through the gloom.
She reached out and with a calm hand closed his eyes, bending over him. He had been the one who had stood by her side for ten years, she realized as she released him and stood up on shaky legs, her body's ailments finally reaching up to her. With a cry, she fell over.
From this angle, she could see where he had been pierced, driven through twice with a sword. She reached for the deep cut, now cold and touched his body. It was so cold beneath her touch and her hand trembled as she pulled it back. A single tear worked its way down her cheek as she placed her head on the dead ground, trying to breathe, but her own blood loss was getting to her, as was the deep cut on her face, the knot of dried blood at the back of her skull, and the ribs she'd broken when she'd been hit with the troll's hammer.
All she wanted to do was sleep. It took all of her power to keep her eyes open.
She heard another shout of "No!" permeate through the fields and attempted to roll onto her back, but as she did, she felt the sharp pain from her side. Her Slayer powers were already working to heal her body, but of the deep chill within her heart, all she felt was death. She was surrounded by many bodies, most of them of the enemy.
A hand touched her face an hour later.
"She is warm," said a quiet voice. She felt her eyes want to open, but sleep was desperate to overcome her.
"We will take her into the Houses of Healing," said a second voice. She felt a shadow come across her face. She felt one arm slide under her neck and another beneath her knees as her body was lifted gingerly into the air. After what seemed like a small eternity, she was placed on a large shield and was brought towards the city. Near the outer edges, many men were pitching tents. One in particular turned to see a figure being brought forth by three Rohirrim, and as they set the shield down, he saw her face, cut and bruised.
This was not the way he would have wanted her to fight, he decided as he reached to grasp her hand. It was still warm, yet her eyes remained closed and impassive.
Buffy didn't wake up until a sliver of moonlight hit her face. She turned her head to rid of the light and felt her eyelids flutter open to reveal an Elf standing over her. In her mental state, she could not tell if it was Elladan or Elrohir.
"Hi," she said softly.
"You have awoken," the Elf replied, coming to her side and dabbing at her face with a towel. She felt the pain and hissed as he gently cleaned the deep gash. "Be still, for you heal rapidly, little one."
Elladan was the only one stupid enough to call her little, she decided dryly. "How many…" she tried as her throat closed. Her mouth was dry and she felt as though she'd been lying in a desert for months. "How many… did we lose?"
"Not many," Elladan said comfortingly, setting the towel aside and gently helping her to sit up before handing her a silver goblet. "Please drink this. You will feel better."
"Elladan," she said quietly, taking the goblet, but staring at it. "Is Aragorn…?"
"He lives," the Elf replied, standing now in the doorway. "Drink now, and rest. He will come and see you when the time comes."
Buffy brought the cup to her lips and drank the cold water, feeling much better when she put the cup aside. Lying back against her coverings, she closed her eyes. It was still rather painful to breathe, yet she felt no trouble with it.
She opened her eyes again when she felt another shadow pass her face. She glanced over at Aragorn standing in the doorway, wrapped in an Elvish cloak. She tried to stand up but felt her weary legs give way underneath her. Aragorn rushed forward and helped her up, but instead of setting her back down, he pulled her into his arms, crushing her with his warm embrace. She clung gratefully to him and for a moment, everything passed away.
He gently helped her sit down again, and she regarded him with those shining eyes. "I'm glad to see you're still around," she said, grinning.
"My heart is glad to see that you live, as well," Aragorn replied, leaning against the wall.
"It was… hard to see them all there," she said, breaking eye contact and looking away. "All of those bodies… and Halbarad… do you remember the first time I met him?"
"I seem to recall that it was you who pulled the sword after he had sworn you a child. You managed to have him on his back within three full seconds," Aragorn said, recalling this with a smile. "Those were good times."
"Yes, they were," Buffy said, folding her arms, wincing slightly as her lungs gave a rather painful twitch. "Where am I?"
"You are in the Houses of Healing," Aragorn replied, watching as she glanced around the room in awe. "They are in the city of Minas Tirith."
"Boromir's city," she said, turning back to meet his steely gaze. "He so wanted me to see this and now I have… or at least the Emergency Room half of it." She gave a dry cough and clutched at her chest.
"You must rest, Dagnir, for our journey is not yet over," he said, watching her with concern flickering across his face. He knew he shouldn't bother. It was her resilience to the cultures around her that made her so desirable to work with.
"I kind of figured we had a bit more of a walk to take," Buffy said, shrugging. "I'm used to it."
"I was hoping to get one of your rallying cries," he said, smiling fondly at the memories of her cries of, "Death!"
"Well, if you close your eyes and wish really, really hard…" she said, grinning again. She noticed then how troubled he looked. "What is it, Aragorn? You're hiding something from me, and you've never been one to do so."
"Éowyn," he said simply.
"I kind of figured she had this thing for you," Buffy said slowly, trying to understand what he was saying.
But that obviously wasn't what troubled him. Her eyebrows snapped down as he took in the puzzled look on her face. "She is here," he finally admitted. "She is resting now within the Houses of Healing." At this, Buffy gasped and pushed herself into a standing position again, wobbling slightly. "She nearly died when… where are you going?"
Buffy had just pushed him aside, rushing into a narrow corridor filled with moonlight and the scent of sweet peppermint. She looked from room to room, feeling all of her energy depleting before she found the room she'd been looking for. Éomer was there with his sister, and when he heard a figure moan behind him, he turned just as a figure fell into the room. He reacted quickly to catch this figure and saw the woman he only knew as Buffy holding onto his arms, looking winded.
"I'm sorry," she said, scrambling back to her feet. "I'm just… sorry." She gave him an apologetic smile before turning her attention to the woman staring up at her. "Éowyn? Éowyn?"
Éomer watched his sister smile tiredly at the figure above her as Buffy knelt down next to her cot, taking Éowyn's hand in her own marred one. "I was an idiot to think you didn't want this," Buffy said softly.
"I had to see this day for myself," Éowyn said weakly. "For my heart has not the courage to tell. I was to fade away into the banes of existence…"
"No," Buffy said, shaking her head. "No. You were never meant to die, Éowyn. You were meant for a great many things, and war was just one."
"I never knew that my path was this one," Éowyn said, pulling her gaze away as she closed her eyes. "I do not wish for it any longer, but to see my days gone in one last battle of—"
"No more battles," Buffy said, reaching up with her opposite hand and gently stroking Éowyn's golden hair. "No more battles for you. No more war. No more despair. Your eyes weren't meant for such grief."
She watched as the woman closed her eyes. "Are you leaving now?" she asked sadly. "Will you go to war again?"
"Not tonight," Buffy said, resting her head on the cot. "Tonight, I'm going to look after you."
Éowyn's eyes closed and her breathing labored. Buffy sat by her side, gently holding her hand and stroking her hair until the younger woman had fallen asleep. When she had done so, Buffy gently pushed herself upwards and turned to face the King of Rohan.
"My lord," she said, giving him a long, low bow of respect before he stepped aside, allowing her passage back into the corridors. He saw her walk towards the gardens and into the darkness, a bit of smoke blowing through behind her. He chose to follow her and paused, watching as she walked into the total darkness, and a soft glow came from her as she looked at the city outside.
Buffy felt his eyes on her but didn't call to him. He wanted to see what she was and who she was, obviously because his sister knew her. Buffy smiled as she glanced around her. Despite the fact that half of the city had either been subject to flame, catapulted rock, attack or a combination of all three, it was still a beautiful sight to behold.
I wish you could be seeing this right now, she said, her thoughts gently easing her back into a state of restful calm.
The voice that returned was soft and reassuring. Your strength returns.
I'm feeling a little better, she replied. I wish you were here, though. It would make this night much better.
I am in your thoughts and with this connection, your mind, his voice replied. I am always with you.
Sí na i veth naid bain, gerich veleth nîn, she said.
What happened next was more than just a simple caress, she realized. It was as though he were there, his arms around her, comforting her pains and easing every last sorrow in her mind. She felt her mind go blissfully calm.
To those seeing her glowing in the darkness, they saw her in a trance. It was only when Elladan passed through the corridors did he go to her. When he saw her eyes, they were very distance, staring into nothing, a soft smile upon her lips. Taking her hand, he gently led her back to her own room and set her on her own cot, not an easy feat since she had gone somewhat rigid.
As an afterthought, he passed his hands over her eyes, cutting off the light from the dawn now fast approaching.
Buffy awoke hours later, tucked into a warm corner of her room, feeling as though she'd just gotten the best night of sleep in her life. She also felt it was easier to breathe, and to walk was almost simple. She was adorned in a long green-grey Elvish cloak, hiding her tunic and trousers from view. When she undid the cloak and stared at the condition of her clothing beneath it, she hastily did up the cloak again and walked into the corridors.
She found Legolas and Gimli speaking with one of the tallest men she had ever seen. Next to Legolas, the Elf looked far too thin and pale, yet beautiful in his own light. When the Elf spied her, he gave out his own welcome. She smiled and greeted him back before turning to the Dwarf. She bowed her head, the most respectful thing she could have done, considering her betrothed had nearly killed him just weeks earlier.
She at last turned her attention to a crowned man staring very curiously at her. "Hîr nín," she said, giving him a full bow before turning to look at Legolas, who was still gazing at her.
"I am called Imrahil and I dwell at Dol Amroth," he said, introducing himself.
"I'm Buffy," she replied, extending her hand in a less formal way. "I'm from around here."
"She comes from the wood of Lórien," Legolas said, his voice intense as he turned his gaze to the Prince. "I have a message for you both and for Éomer; Aragorn has asked you to come to the tents outside of the city. He will not come back, but he must speak with both of you. Gandalf has already gone." Giving them both a small bow, he left, the Dwarf tagging behind him.
"I'll go get Éomer," Buffy offered, turning back to the man and giving him a soft smile. "I wish to check on Éowyn anyway." Leaving him to go back through the city, she went to collect the new King of Rohan, and, by doing so, she found Éowyn still sleeping deeply.
"I did not know you had words with my sister," Éomer said as they walked through the beautiful marble streets together.
"We had several, as a matter of fact," Buffy said, chuckling. "I like your sister. She's a far braver woman than I think she knows. It takes a lot of strength to do what she did, and I think I can safely say that someday war might be a gender-negligent dominion."
"I know very little of you," Éomer commented.
"Not many people do," she echoed. "I live with the Elves who seemed to have lost touch with this reality a long time ago." She gazed at the city as she passed through it. "I don't know a lot about Gondor, but they know how to build a city. I just wish Boromir would have gotten the chance to get back here."
"You have heard of the Steward's son?" Éomer asked.
"He passed through Lórien weeks ago," Buffy replied. "I spent some time with him and found him to be a noble man." She paused suddenly, regarding him. "You know, you really do strike me as a King. It's kind of hard to be surrounded by all of you royals, but you manage to fit the image rather well. I congratulate you."
They were walking through the battle-scarred first level now. There was only a narrow aisle opened, as the rest was debris, and in another section, soldiers and their body parts.
"Okay, that's just disturbing," she muttered as they passed through the broken gates. The tent was only a few hundred meters away, and they both entered. When she closed the flap behind her, she turned to see Aragorn with Gandalf, both men she knew. She bowed her head at both of them before turning her expression to the two impassive faces of the Elf-twins.
She moved immediately to stand next to them. Elrohir clasped her shoulder with his hand before pulling his features back into that impeccable mask of nothingness.
And so the great and final debate began.
Gandalf spoke to them, telling them that victory was not achievable through strength of arms. Buffy knew this, considering far too many had died. They continued to debate whether or not to march on the Black Gates to give Frodo a chance to finally rid himself of the Ring and free Middle-earth of the darkness still threatening to consume it.
Both Prince Imrahil and King Éomer expressed their decision to follow Aragorn to whatever end, although Imrahil wasn't willing to leave the city unguarded.
Aragorn then looked upon his elder foster brothers and the young Dagnir that stood between them. She gave him a hasty smile. "Gurth a chyth-in-edhil!" she said, grinning.
Next to her, Elladan gave a wan smile. Elrohir's eyes started to sparkle mischievously.
"Mae pennen," Aragorn said, gazing at the two Elves and the half-Eldar in his presence. She nodded at him and he noticed the familiar sparkle in her eyes and with that came a single thought: there was no way they could lose.
It was then he noticed a strange expression on Buffy's face. "Excuse me," she said quickly, pushing past Prince Imrahil as she disappeared out of the tent. Once in the bright sunlight, she heard the voice calling to her.
During my time of need you came to me, when an assault upon our home came to pass, she mentally voiced, her tone accusing. I can feel the pain of those that have fallen.
It matters not, his voice returned. Your strength was with us, with me, to the very end. This is why I came to you. Your light and your grace fought two battles.
No wonder I was so tired, Buffy thought sardonically. If you die, I'll come back and kill you myself.
I must make certain I shall not fall. Gerich faer vara.
I know I do, Buffy smirked. I wonder where I got that from. Now, please listen to me. I can feel more darkness coming, and I don't want you to get hurt. We have the rest of our lives ahead of us, and I plan on surviving what's to come.
I know what will come and what will pass will come to be. We have no more a hand in fate than we do in deciding the outcome of war. I feared you had fallen this past night.
I didn't, she said softly. I'm still here. And I'll be here… until the end. Im naer, but I will find you again. Someday soon… I will see you again…
Her thoughts drifted away as a hand lay on her shoulder.
"What is it?" Elrohir asked, as both he and Elladan led her away from the tents. "You have fear in your eyes and your heart feels cold…"
"Lórien was attacked," Buffy replied. "From what I can tell… it's all right."
"There is a deep bond within you," Elladan said. "I can feel your conflict."
"It's really nothing," she said, shaking her head hastily.
"But there exists conflict," Elrohir pointed out.
"There is always conflict," Buffy protested. "My home has been attacked and I'm sitting here fighting a war in the world of men when my people, my own people, who have ignored the world for so long, are getting attacked. It's… it's… not normal."
"She fears for—"
"If you say his name, I will knife you," she said, smiling slyly at Elrohir's innocent expression. "Yes, I fear for his safety. It's not every day when a couple goes off to two separate battles in the same war."
"That is true," Elrohir agreed. "It does not mean that you do not fear this."
"No," Buffy whispered. "It means that I have to fight the fear more."
With the angel's tears alight
And all hopes fade to black
When your heart starts to return
And with it all the fear comes
In the thunder's call
The angels are falling
Returning to heaven's doors
A peaceful visionary
Spoken like a hero sought
Of distant lands and wars
A shield shattered with cold tears
And death became their kin
And thus the world broke in two
One half of love and hate
The other remained cold and broken
And remains so to this day
Two days later, Buffy stood before a large force of Gondorian forces, Elladan and Elrohir by her side. She was now dressed completely in Elvish armor and a cloak, having discarded her ruined Ranger gear. Most of it was buried in the cold ground with Halbarad.
Many looked at the young woman as she appeared, wearing a cloak of midnight-blue, clasped at the throat with a silver star. Her hair was worn long, braided from her face. And a small silver crown adorned her brow, giving her a small bit of authority, considering she and the two sons of Elrond had been given their own charge of the Rangers that followed behind them, and their brother Rangers from Ithilien behind them.
It had been a difficult goodbye that morning to Éowyn. She was restless, lying on her cot staring at the ceiling for hours on end which she claimed was dull. Buffy could, too, feel her pain, considering Elladan had pushed her back to the cot to sleep after the debate that past morning, convinced she hadn't slept much at all when she had gone into what she was considering a state of total Elvish shutdown.
The road was perilous, as many enemies existed between the Black Gate of Mordor and the safe Ithilien.
Buffy used that time to think about what had happened the previous day. During her tours of the Houses of Healing, she had come upon the Steward. Considering how young he was, she didn't know whether or not he could be Boromir's father, until she heard that Denethor had died during the battle. This had to be the younger brother.
So Buffy had finally met Faramir and had spent a few precious hours talking with the brother Boromir had spoken so lovingly about.
"Yes, he spoke of the child who wouldn't get on with his studies but would rather have been off playing with his friends," Buffy said, smirking at Faramir's pale blush as he stared out over the gardens. "He had many stories to tell, but there wasn't enough time for all to be told." A sad look crossed her face. "Now I'll never know."
"He was always the bold one, the one fortune favored," Faramir said in his gentle voice, his sea-grey eyes cast outwards.
"He wasn't the only one," Buffy said, reaching for his arm, but pulling back at the last moment. "Your brother loved you deeply, Faramir. I felt so much of that love when I spoke with him. It makes me wish I had a brother."
"You have brothers in war," Faramir said, telling her what little he knew of her. "My father knew your name years ago. The Rangers of Ithilien even knew your calling, but few actually came to you. I reckon that was your time spent with the Elves."
"It's where I intend to go when this godforsaken war is over," Buffy said, joining his side and staring out at the city below them. "I love this city, but my heart belongs back there."
They parted then and Buffy promised to check up on him if she ever came back to Minas Tirith.
She smiled fondly at that memory, one of the few in the past days that brought any light to her eyes. There was a chill of darkness pressing in on her Silvan paradise, this much she knew. She just wished she could be in two places at once without nearly dying again. But, for now, she was to remain with Aragorn. Such was her decision in the beginning and thus it would remain now.
There were thousands of men now moving at the slowest pace towards the north and east. It was very slow going as the road was considerably dangerous, and Buffy stayed at her end of the line with her two Elvish friends. She kept her eyes on the road in front of her, the horse moving easily beneath her, but inside, her heart was troubled.
She knew she was moving towards home. It was somewhere to the north, probably a few hundred miles away. Although it had only been a few days since they'd left Minas Tirith, she could feel the burning sensation that the home she'd come to know and love was in flames.
She was internally fighting that same battle she knew the Lady Galadriel and the others were. She could see them all so very clearly in her mind, a product of the bond she had with her beloved Marchwarden.
She knew she was distancing herself from what could be the last move she would ever make in this world, but she had a war to fight. It was only when they camped at night, their final night before the march on the Black Gate itself, did they realize something was different. She sat at the fire, staring into the flames, her green eyes far away. She hadn't spoken a word to anyone in hours, something the soldiers noticed. Those few who knew of this connection, which seemed to be Elladan and Elrohir, kept pushing the others away.
In her mind, she saw hundreds of archers and skilled swordsmen beating back the third assault of the Ringwraiths from Dol Guldur, sent by the order of Sauron himself. She could see the fact that there were dead Elves, many of them with wide, expressionless faces that haunted her own heart as she bent down to touch the cold face below her bow.
With a loud cry, the battle raged on. It felt like she were moving through slow motion, watching as Elf after Elf was cut down, falling at times from cliff-tops down steep hills at least thirty feet. No one understood death, she realized, except her. Even in their sturdy Elvish armor and Galadriel taking up her own arms, the ring glowing valiantly on her finger, Buffy knew it would take more than just the power of a ring corrupted by its master to win this single battle.
In the distance, she could hear voices.
"It was wrong to take her with us," Elladan was saying, as he stood away from the Slayer, staring transfixed into the flames, tears shining in her eyes. "She belongs with her people!"
"She is with her people," Aragorn replied, glancing down at the Slayer. He could sense that she wasn't completely there. "Perhaps you did not notice, but she is a woman, and not a she-Elf."
"Say that to her face," Elrohir challenged him, his face taunt in the shadows. "She is bonded with our kind, Estel. She is no ordinary woman. Still she fights…"
Aragorn glanced at her again. "The bond…" he echoed softly.
"The bond goes far deeper than the heart's desire," Elladan said mildly. "Her strength is waning, Aragorn. She no longer fights in one battle, but with two."
For the first time, he could see the exhaustion lining her face and swore he saw, for the first time in a great, long while, a sign of weakness. She was finally beginning to despair.
Hundreds of miles away, she watched as one of her own guard was cut down and as he fell, she went to catch him before he tumbled into the stained river, red with the blood of so many fallen Elves. In her arms, he was safe. She closed his eyes with a whispered Elvish prayer before rising to fight again.
It was then that a great white light shone from behind her. Turning, all of the guard of Lórien saw Galadriel's power exerted and, at once, it drove the Orcs back.
But they wouldn't be denied what had been so rightfully there. They had a chance to remove the Silvan Elves from this land, once and for all, along with their Noldorin Queen.
The power of her ring surpassed that of their own powers, and they found themselves falling back as the guard, with renewed strength, fought onwards.
Suddenly, without warning, the trance was broken as her strength gave out. She started a bit, before breaking down completely in tears. It was the first time that anyone had ever seen her cry. It was with great bouts of despair they saw her face, tired and lined, full of both hope and fear.
They didn't know quite what to do except let her be, as she buried her head in her knees, rocking back and forth slightly.
Elrohir, who remained next to her, gently placed his hand on her shoulder and murmured soft words of comfort as she sobbed. Then, without so much as a warning, her body gave way and Elrohir had to catch her before she fell from her perch, passing out from sheer exhaustion, her mind defeated by two great evils that sought to destroy her. The Elf gently set her upon the ground and wrapped a blanket over her small figure before turning to his twin and his foster brother.
"She must rest. She has no strength left to fight," Elrohir said, his tone grave.
"We do not have the time to allow her to rest," Aragorn said quietly. "We must continue on." Her condition wasn't concerning him, as he knew she would recover rather easily from it. The extent to where she had been though, and the things she had seen, those were gravest in his mind. He wished he could see what she had and knew it had been terrible for in the nearly twenty years he'd known her, he'd never seen her break down and cry.
In her mind, she was walking through a field of blood-red flowers, with droplets of red raining from the sky. All around her were ponds and in these ponds were the bodies of the dead.
"Until the blood stops flowing, it will never stop," she whispered, stopping to stare at one vast pool, at the Elves that lay beneath it. "This has to end."
There was a soft moaning sound coming from beneath the pools. She stared at it, her eyes seeking a familiar face, endless azure eyes staring up past the water. She choked back a sigh as she stepped away, only to turn as a great shrieking figure stood before her.
"This will be your end, Slayer!"
Buffy opened her eyes and cried out. Immediately, the voices around her ceased as many heads turned in the direction of this disturbance. Elladan rushed forward and stepped into her line of sight. When her eyes lit with recognition, her muffled cry became choked as she pulled the blanket up to her lips. "Oh," she said, breathing hard as she ran a hand through her hair.
"Nothing to see, lads, move along!" the Dwarf said, waving his axe threateningly as he and Legolas made their way over to the Slayer, sitting on the ground, newly awakened from a nightmare. The King of Rohan and the Prince of Dol Amroth stole forward to see what had caused this commotion and saw a young woman sitting on the perch, her head between her legs as one of the Elves stood beside her, his hand on top of her head, murmuring words of comfort.
"Andelu i ven," Elrohir said quietly.
"I know," she said, her voice muffled from below them. "There's no safe road anywhere in Arda right about now."
"Man le trasta?" he asked, bending down. He could feel that this was beyond a simple battle in the great wood. It was deeper than this, perhaps deeper than the bond she and her Silvan lover shared.
"It's nothing," she said, shaking her head. "Really." She forced a smile, lying through her teeth and knew they knew she was lying. But they didn't have time to discuss her vision, if she could call it that. No, it was the time to fight something and kill it painfully dead before she completely lost control. "When are we going?"
"As soon as we are all ready," Aragorn said from above her. She slowly moved her gaze to his and gave him a thin smile.
"Thanks, old man," she said, forcing a chuckle, which sounded more like a half-evil cackle. "Let's go."
The rest of the journey was spent in silence. She could hear an underlying voice in her mind, and it wasn't the voice of the one she loved. It was darker, deeper and evil. And it was growing stronger.
The force came to the Black Gates. Buffy rode ahead with the two sons of Elrond, her eyes on the gates in front of her. Already Aragorn was making the motions to move forward. It was time to spring their trap.
They had a White Wizard, an heir to the throne of Gondor, a Slayer, Elves and even a few thousand courageous men to back them up. Facing thousands of Orc and Eru knew what else on the other side, Buffy didn't really worry, but she wasn't exactly prancing forward with joy, either. They had a fight ahead of them, but she was ready for it.
She had to be ready for it. She was the Slayer. This was her chosen existence. It may have been tamed through her years surrounded by others who could fight, though not nearly as well as she could.
Aragorn rode through the Morannon, and with him went his greatest support. Buffy remained behind with the twin sons of Elrond, watching as the King of Rohan and the Prince of Dol Amroth rode forward, along with Legolas, Gilmi and the White Wizard. It was only when Elrohir said, "Aphado nin."
And Buffy had no choice but to follow them. Heralds rode as well, their trumpets in the air.
Aragorn greeted his foster brothers with a swift nod, his eyes appraising the Slayer on her steed, proud and strong. Turning back, he called out, "Let the lord of the Black Land come forth! Let justice be done upon him!"
After what seemed like a short eternity, the Gate opened and a single rider came forth. Buffy felt a cold chill race down her spine as she saw the black banner he wielded. Her mare began moving restlessly and she quickly pushed it a step back to ease her discomfort.
"I am the Mouth of Sauron," the figure said, and from what Buffy could tell, it resembled more of a demon than a man. She recalled the old tales of the Black men, wicked men from the island in the sea, cast out as sworn blood enemies of Númenor. "Is there anyone in this rout with the authority to treat with me?"
Gandalf was the one that spoke. The Mouth of Sauron ridiculed him before spitting, "I have tokens I was bidden to show thee."
And from his cloak he withdrew the Mithril shirt entrusted to Frodo. At once, Pippin cried out and Gandalf turned to him as the Mouth of Sauron beamed. "Silence!"
Buffy drew in a sharp breath as she reached back for her axe, the handle gripped tightly in her pale hand.
"Did you not love the little one? Was he precious to you? He suffered greatly at the hands of Sauron. One could never expect such an imp to endure such pain. For was he dear to you as others you would send to their doom?"
Gandalf seemed to be beside himself with words. Tears were lining his ancient eyes and he looked away. With him was Aragorn, looking stricken. Even Legolas looked stunned. Turning her sharp eyes to the Mouth of Sauron, she opened her mouth just as the creature spoke again.
"Is there no one with the wit to come forward?" The Mouth turned to Aragorn and grinned, blood spluttering from between rotted teeth. "Only a bit of elvish glass could make thee a King, and even then would you remember the death of those befallen you?"
"You know," Buffy said, riding forward, past Gandalf to stand beside Aragorn, "I've just about had enough of you."
"At last," the Mouth said, grinning the cold, bloody grin at her. "Here is one with sufficient strength but outnumbered by the vast, you remain."
"I'm not one for the cryptic," she said coldly, her eyes never leaving his face. "In fact, I'm just the one that fights."
"You have nothing to offer," the Mouth said, the grin sliding off his dead-looking face.
It happened within the blink of an eye. Just as the Mouth cried out, Buffy whipped her axe through the air, the blade slicing through the air before impaling itself in the forehead of the great beast before them.
"Yeah, well who does nowadays?" she muttered, turning her horse to look at Aragorn. He was staring at her as though he'd been roused through a dream. "Frodo isn't dead," she told him quietly. "I know it and so should you."
They had barely the time to react before the gates opened fully and Sauron's army came flooding through.
"Fall back!" Aragorn ordered, and all with him did so, as the army coming out was now circling around their smaller force on the hills.
Buffy came about and dismounted gracefully, pulling her sword with her before sending her horse to the back of the line. In a closed-circuit battle with the evilest baddies imaginable, it seemed a very foolish idea to keep her poor horse around. It had already been abandoned once after the stroll through the Paths of the Dead.
Aragorn charged ahead of them, Andúril flashing in the sunlight. His speech was one of great motivation, Buffy realized, regarding him through narrowed eyes. He was going to make a fantastic King if he could rouse up the men like this.
"By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, men of the west!"
His horse reared then as he turned, the men behind them pulling out their swords and smashing their fists against their shields. Before them, the enemy began to swell, moving ever so slowly forward.
Buffy held her own ground, realizing that if she were to die on this day, she couldn't ask to do it for a better group of men. Here they were trying to regain their freedom from Sauron, the evil lieutenant and oppressor of Melkor. She held her sword in both hands, gently touching the tip to her forehead. Next to her, Elladan and Elrohir pulled out their own Elvish blades, as Gimli lifted his axe, his own face impassive as the enemy continued to move.
And then she heard it. Before her, behind the gates, was a voice. It was calling "Elessar" but in her mind, it was whispering "Dagnir".
"No," she muttered forcefully, her hands tightening on the handle of her sword.
Aragorn took one step out, Andúril lifting as he turned his head, his eyes determined. "For Frodo," he whispered.
And then all hell broke lose.
From all sides, the smaller army of Men rushed against the Orcs. Buffy found herself easily beating those behind her as she attacked the first pike, kicking it aside before beheading her first Orc. After that, everything she did was by hand. She kicked out at one Orc before turning and kicking backwards to knock a blade from another. Using the force from that impact, she flipped forward and brought both feet against the skull of a third. Next to her, she saw Rohirrim and Gondorians alike fighting. Lifting her sword from the ground again, she drove it through the armor of one Orc before kicking him aside and moving immediately towards another.
As she started fighting off these newer Orcs, a loud, piercing cry struck the sky. Glancing up, she saw the winged creatures approaching. "Oh," she said, as though of surprise. In this moment of silence, a sword came out of nowhere and drove into her shoulder.
She didn't cry out at first until a sharp pain assailed her already beaten body. She turned around and knocked away the assailant and quickly drove her own sword through him, but not before the poison from the sword spilled into her blood. "Oh, crap," she moaned, stumbling forward.
A dead hand reached out and grasped her throat and through blurry eyes she saw the cold, smiling face of a troll-like Orc about to take down the one creature unattainable in Middle-earth.
Her body was weakening with the strain of the poison, she thought as she felt consciousness slip away.
And then a shield swung from nowhere and Buffy felt her body drop to the ground as cold oxygen entered her lungs, something she didn't realize she was without until it was nearly too late. Lifting up her dazed eyes, she saw a figure fighting above her. She attempted to struggle to her feet but fell to the side just as the Eagles came soaring down above them.
She closed her eyes, intending to use all of her powers to dispel the poison, but the wound was deep and she was bleeding freely. She felt something heavy collapse on her legs as the carcasses piled around her. She felt cold, suddenly, as though the wind of her fortune had shifted.
"Don't abandon me," she whispered. "Don't let me give into hope and fear…"
Hundreds of miles away, her beloved Marchwarden could feel her despair.
Tolo don nan galad.
I'm trying, her mind pleaded, all of her strength gone. I'm so sick of fighting…
I shall give you what you seek, but you must take all you can bear.
I'm dying, you idiot.
It was, in part, the truth. She heard the cries of those she'd fought besides dying as their bodies collapsed on the ground around her. She heard the wicked voice in her head, speaking of her own death. She heard her own resolve crumbling and with it, her body began to break away.
I have not loved you for this long to allow you passage to the Halls of Mandros. Your time has not yet come.
It's a little late to say there's still hope, she countered bitterly. But even as her thoughts became darker, her breathing eased and sweet oxygen flowed into her lungs as the poison was drawn away, sweeping blue clouds extracting the toxin with every exhale.
You have always found the way.
For the first time, a muscle in her jaw flickered as her eyes slowly opened, facing a spiked club near her head. She felt her body fight back and soon her hand reached out and grasped the troll's deadly weapon as she snapped to her feet, her body fluidic in motion as she turned, swinging the club eagerly.
And then, as an afterthought, she cast it aside.
She ran into the attack with her bare hands, her strength and her speed leaving nothing but bodies and corpses in her wake as she cut a wide swath through the Orcs. As she did, a loud cry rose from behind her and she turned, the wind catching her blonde hair, blowing it from her face as she stared at the Tower before her.
The Ringwraiths above her head gave a great cry before doubling back and returning into Mordor.
It could only mean one thing: Sauron had taken back at last what had once been his.
She turned back, ducking a thick fist aimed for her head and rising back up, swinging with both arms, easily knocking the Orc a good ten feet off course before turning and punching another into a wide circle of the filthy black creatures. In the corner of her eye, she saw Aragorn on the ground, trapped beneath a troll. When all sense of reality came to her, she saw Legolas, trapped behind the enemy in a valiant attempt to get to his dearest friend.
Buffy owed Aragorn a great many things. To save his life would repay all but one of them.
She raced forward, but found herself held back as the Easterlings attacked her. She ducked one axe before taking a second from the hands of its wielder, shoving the blunt end into his throat before using the sharp end to impale the neck of the first. Spinning around, she saw that Aragorn was in dire need and came forward. An Orc blocked her path, but she neatly clove his head before finally reaching the troll and doing the one thing she could do; tackle him.
The two went spinning away as Aragorn could finally breathe. As the troll smacked her across the head with one fisted hand, she turned back, fire flashing in her eyes. The axe abandoned on the ground, she began to hit him with all of the angst, anxiety and fervor she could muster, leaving the body in a bloody heap that she was perched upon before gentle hands pulled her away.
There was another great cry as both she and her captor glanced up. The great Eye of Sauron had just turned a magnificent shade of silver as the Tower of Barad-dúr began to collapse at last.
The enemy that had still been fighting them froze as though their Master's voice had just been silenced and turned, as one, to watch their tower fall. The fight abandoned, many fled, heading towards the Black Gates while those behind dashed away.
Buffy stood on hollowed legs, watching as the light of the Eye died away and with it came a great explosion from Orodruin.
They finally had the victory, she thought to herself, a tear rolling down her cheek. Yet it had come with a terrible price.
The Black Gates started to tremble before falling into the earth. A great chasm opened up, swallowing the forces of darkness as they fled, sparing all of those that remained in the great alliance.
Buffy fell to her knees, overcome with emotions. In the past few weeks, she'd been fighting this great war she'd known almost nothing about. Now that the battle was finally over, it felt as though the weight of the world was off of her shoulders.
Spying Aragorn on his knees, staring at the ground while his trembling hand touched it brought even more emotions forth. She stole forward and wrapped her former mentor in a crushing embrace, feeling his body react oddly to her warm touch. And yet he held her back, feeling the humanity burning within her, as though the Elves hadn't been able to take it away.
"Nad dithen," she said, laughing slightly as a great whoop of joy came from her body. As the others began to celebrate, still more drove the enemies further away as she stepped back from Aragorn and, at long last, gave her respectful bow to the new King.
Gandalf came to Gwaihir of the Eagles and left with them on a secret mission. As he did, Aragorn pulled the remains of his army together and they marched back to the fields of Cormallen.
In the passing days, Buffy was gently seen to by Elladan, who proclaimed that her arm had to be removed to stop the flow of poison. Elrohir just happened to pass by her tent and said that they had to more than likely remove her vocal cords as well since they could suffer a lasting side effect from the loss of an arm. It was only her promise that they would both lose their legs if they dared try anything did all three realize that the spirit of their fond playfulness had returned at last.
Aragorn came to see her the following morning and found a young woman dressed in Elvish clothes and once again wearing a crown of silver upon her brow. "Hannon le," he said softly.
She glanced up at him and smiled, bowing her head slightly. "Buion na 'ell," she replied.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked, closing the flap behind him.
She nodded, stretching out her bare arm. "It's all healed, or it's close enough to it."
He held out his hand and she took it, grasping it firmly. Before she left, her eyes fell on her Elven cloak and she pulled it on over her simple sleeveless gown and did up the threads before taking her King's hand as he led her outside.
The fields of Cormallen were a beautiful place to dwell, she decided as she walked with him. As soon as they reached the edge of the clearing, he released her arm and bowed to her. Turning, she walked into a great push of bodies, many regarding her with polite interest or, in some cases, awe. Many never realized how truly radiant the light of the Eldar burned in her soul, and as she smiled they found themselves relieved, for they found her to be a true spirit of the land, loyal to whatever end.
She walked up to Legolas and bowed to him, for he wore the colors of the King of Mirkwood. It was then that tidings were brought. Galadriel was taking the forces of Lórien across the Anduin to cast down the walls of Dol Guldur. Seeing an opportunity to fight with her own people, she would have gladly gone had it not been for the word that Frodo had finally regained consciousness.
She waited with the rest of the grand party as Gandalf came before the group, leading two tiny figures in their best armor and swords. Aragorn, perched on his throne, stole forward past his Elvish delegation and knelt down before the two Ringbearers, his smile apparent. And then, lifting them to his throne, he bellowed, "Praise them with great praise!"
A loud cheer rose up from the hundreds in the fields. Buffy let out a cheer of her own as she saw the ecstatic joy in many faces as she came forward to stand next to the King.
Dinner that night was a cheerful affair, she realized as she sat on the outside, watching as two Hobbits came forward in battle gear, serving the other two. She smiled softly as she saw the camaraderie between them, and felt her heart lighten. She reached for her mug of mulled mead, something one of the Rohirrim had given her with a feisty wink. After taking three drinks of it, she realized she had to lay off or they would have a drunk Slayer on their hands. Luckily there were more women about, but nonetheless, she was still one of the prettiest many had laid their eyes on, and dressed in next to nothing with her Elvish gown, she knew she presented a tempting target.
For some odd reason, Elladan and Elrohir were respecting her space instead of crowding her and protecting her from her own people. They had finally come to learn that despite the fact that she dwelt among the Silvan Elves, she was still a woman. They couldn't protect her from a world she knew so much about. For this, she was grateful.
She traced her finger along the rim of her mug, watching as the two Hobbits danced. Many stood to watch and she felt her own legs moving her into the front row, cradling her mug and smirking.
Aragorn was there in his armor, smiling. On his right side was Legolas, ever present with his fair eyes glancing bemusedly at the two Hobbits. The Dwarf was sitting at the table the Hobbits were dancing upon, a larger mug in his hand as he cackled, poking at their feet. On Aragorn's right side was the new King of Rohan and the Prince Imrahil, both tall, stoic and proud as they watched the Hobbits with something like fascination. Gandalf stood on the opposite end, clapping in time to the music.
And Buffy could only smile as she hoisted her cup to the two Hobbits sitting at the opposite end, their eyes filled with wonder at the thought of all the stories that remained to be told and the adventures left to behold.
The rest of the world was widely open to them now that the evil had been driven back.
She smiled a fierce, proud smile as applause erupted around them. The two Hobbits both gave half-drunken bows before they hopped from the table. One by one, the Fellowship disappeared into the night. Sitting down again with her mug in front of her, she stared at the people around her.
To know of such a victory was to bring even more lightness to her heart. Even at the end of all things, they had no need for a vampire Slayer. In her two decades in this new land, she had been transformed, and thus it should be to the end of her day.
Her smile widened. Oh, the things she was going to do.
- - - - -
the end.