Equinoxium: Chapter 10
by Lisette

Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

Author's Note: Sorry for the LoTR canon glitch in the last chapter. Apparently Tolkien listed Halbarad as one of those lost at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields in one sentence at the end of a chapter. My mistake. Thus, I have used my Valar and PTB-like abilities to raise Halbarad from the dead for this story. That's right folks, just call me God for I have rewritten history. Pretend that one sentence was never written in Tolkien's books as Halbarad lived to tell the tale to all of the dour Rangers back home.

As Thoron's exhausted mount made its way towards the silent clearing, the sun was yet again painting the sky with her wide palette of reds, oranges, purples and blues - all colors that were muted and hidden beneath the towering arms of the trees that coveted the large party beneath her twisted eaves. A full day had come and gone since he had last seen his Prince, surrounded by orcs and bidding him forth. Help had arrived, and yet Thoron knew without saying that the help had arrived a full day too late. With so much time having come and gone, they would find one of two things: Legolas' body cast amongst the ruin or nothing at all. He didn't know which outcome he feared worse.

He had run Andrann hard throughout the day as he retraced his path along the Old Forest Road, and then through the trees as he raced to return to his lord, the Rangers and the twin sons of Elrond ever close on Andrann's heels. Now, with the clearing in sight, Andrann shuddered beneath him, close to collapsing from exhaustion. But they wouldn't stop... couldn't stop. While it was likely that his lord had been killed within minutes of his departure the night before, that he was too late from the moment he abandoned his liege, there was an even greater chance that he had been taken alive - a fate that could be worse than death.

The twins' mother was example enough of the twisted pleasure that the foul creatures took in debasing that which is so pure. Orcs delighted in torment and cruel tortures, and if the opportunity arose, an orc was just as likely to take an elf captive for their enjoyments than to kill him outright. In such cases, death was preferable to the torment of captivity for such was a fate that no elf wished upon another being, be it elf, man or even dwarf. An elf in particular was not made to be the prisoner of orcs, and if that had happened to the youngest son of Thranduil, his lord had been in the cruel hands of his tormentors for a full day... a day in which so much evil could have befallen his young lord. Thus, while there was still hope, it was a precarious hope that wavered amongst so many treacherous possibilities, and with thousands of years and many ages of experience to harden a heart so torn, Thoron dared not trust to hope at all.

Narrowed eyes set in an impassive face, Thoron allowed Andrann to carry him the final few feet past the twisted trees and into the clearing itself. Immediately the elf cast his gaze over the many bodies that littered the blood-stained ground, searching quickly for his prince amongst the black and mutilated bodies. Ai Elbereth - please let him not be amongst this ruin. Surprising himself with his fervent prayer, stern features slipping ever so slightly, Thoron quickly slid from his trembling mount's tall back as the horses of the Rangers and the Twins eased beside his own, their faces grim as their trained eyes took in the slaughtered creatures.

"This is where we were attacked," Thoron stated, more to break the solemn silence than to point out that which was obvious to every man and elf who looked upon the vile desecration of a wood that, many centuries ago, was once filled with life.

"So we see," Elladan remarked dryly as he slowly dismounted and then began to step amongst the ruined bodies, careful to avoid disturbing the tracks that began to tell him what had happened as clearly as any scroll from his father's library.

"Only Legolas or Estel could cause such ruin," Elrohir added with a small grimace as he joined his twin amongst the carnage, his long legs bending so he could touch the blackened, dried blood that painted the forest floor. "Though many of these wounds do not seem typical of our young friend," he added, a small frown pulling at his lips as Halbarad used the toe of one worn boot to turn over an orc that had been laid bare from sternum to base, his entrails pooled around his still form.

"This wound is deep, and much strength went into the blow - yet it lacks the clean lines of the weapons of the Firstborn," the ranger agreed, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully upon the dead orc. "If I were to wager a guess, I would say that one of the Rohirrim had been fighting alongside the lad. A very strong Rohirrim."

"And yet this does nothing to tell me what has become of my Prince," Thoron interrupted as he watched the Men move through the clearing with such care. "We need to-"

"Halbarad! Over here!"

Heart hammering in his chest, Thoron moved without thought as he followed the dour-looking man across the small clearing and a short distance into the dark trees. The carnage was lessened here, and the woods showed little of the destruction that marred her grounds just a little ways beyond. Yet the dark-haired elf saw little of this as his eyes instinctively swept the churned ground for the body that he expected to find crumpled amongst the trees, fair golden-hair painted red with precious immortal blood.

"What have you-" Halbarad began, his words cut short by a loud, angry snort and a muffled curse as one of his men stumbled back from the shadows to land painfully at his feet.

"Rodwen!" Thoron called out, his voice stern as he instantly recognized the plaintive voice of Mirdan's brown mount. Pushing past the winded Edain, the tall elf moved fearlessly into the dark trees, his eyes piercing the shadows to reveal the familiar horse. "Easy, my friend," he whispered in his own language as he gently reached a hand to the velvet nose that butted against his warm fingers. "It gladdens my heart to see that you-" he began, his soft words of comfort quickly forgotten as the large beast shifted its bulk to reveal that which he had guarded so closely during the long night. "Sador," Thoron whispered, his words torn from his throat as he quickly hurried to the white mare that was lying on the ground, a long black arrow protruding from a bloody wound in her flank. He had remembered her throwing the human girl and then fleeing into the night... and yet at some point, the horse had returned to the battle - had returned to find her Master.

"Ai, you loyal beast," he murmured as he bent to rub his long hand across the unmoving horse's blood-stained coat, her eyes now forever closed in the timeless sleep that was meant to come to all mortal beings. Closing his own saddened eyes, he murmured an Elvish prayer for the proud steed, feeling his heart wrench with the sorrow that her passing would bring to his prince.

If his prince yet lived to hear the news.

"Thoron, Elladan asks for you."

Sighing softly, Thoron looked once more upon the beautiful horse before finally turning away. "Come my friend," he whispered as he gently took Rodwen's face in his hands, the stallion's large eyes mirroring the sorrow that beat in his own heart. "There is no more for you to do here. We must now leave her to the woods and her sleep," he stated as he gently led the horse away from the shadows and back to the clearing that had seen so much death and destruction.

Turning from his brother and the rangers that gathered around them, the eldest son of Elrond watched the other elf's slow approach, his face impassive as he waited for the stoic elf to come before him. "I see that you have found a friend," he commented, his eyes narrowed upon the tall mount that moved from Thoron's side to greet Andrann, their quiet, sorrowed nickers echoing quietly in the small clearing.

"He was guarding Legolas' horse," Thoron returned, his words clipped as his eyes rested upon the two steeds. "I am not sure if he even realized that she had passed on some time during the night," he added, his words becoming soft, and almost gentle before he shook off his sorrow, his eyes hard and narrowed upon the younger elf that stood before him. "What have you found?"

Frowning softly, Elladan allowed the matter to drop as he turned to his brother and the rangers that stood attentively around them. "The tracks indicate that Legolas was not killed, but taken by the orcs in the direction of Emyn-nu-Fuin... yet it seems that he was not the only one taken captive."

"Much blood was spilled in this clearing," Elrohir added, taking over for his brother as he knelt beside a leaf that was stained with a mixture of both black and dried crimson blood. "Yet not all of it was Orcish or Elven blood. This," he added as he licked his finger and then pressed it against the cracked crimson stain, waiting for the fluid to regain its moisture before touching his tongue against the stained finger pad, "is the blood of a Man."

Sighing, Thoron waved his hand dismissively as he turned and moved towards the elven horses, having heard all that he needed to know. "We were traveling with one of the Edain - a girl," he admitted as he slid onto Rodwen's tall back, thereby giving Andrann a chance to move without his weight to hamper him. His horse had been clipped by an arrow during their escape and he knew that the wound would need to be tended before much more time had passed - but for now, this was the only respite that he was able to offer his devoted horse. Time was slipping through their fingers faster than Thoron could account for, so much so that he was beginning to become aware of each passing hour, minute, and even second that separated him from his prince. It was a predicament that was wholly mortal and something that he was unaccustomed to. After all, he was one of the Firstborn, immortal, and time had never before carried such significance with its passing. Elves marked the passage of time with the passing of the seasons... not the passage of the sun and the moon in the skies above.

"Wait," Halbarad ordered as he quickly moved forward and caught the hem of Thoron's green tunic, ignoring the elf's annoyed glance. "You were traveling with a child?" he demanded, his features creasing as his heart audibly began to hammer in his chest.

"No, older than a child," Thoron sighed as he frowned at the man, forcing himself to remain civil as he bit back the retort that to him, they were all children. After all, Edain or not, this Man was going to help him find his Prince. "Around his age," he added as he nodded towards the young ranger that had been sent to fetch the others back at the inn.

Eyes growing wide, Halbarad looked to the lad, a man of no more than 18 summers, and felt his face grow pale. "You were traveling with a lady?" he demanded as he quickly looked from the indifferent elf to the twin sons of Elrond, his exasperation clearly showing in his narrowed eyes. The fact that the arrogant elf was only mentioning this fact at this hour, and obviously at no great concern for the lady's well-being, spoke much of the elf's opinion of mortals, and Men in particular.

"Yes," Thoron returned, his exasperation growing as he pointedly turned his horse towards the mountains that he knew loomed beyond the veil of the towering trees. "Yet what concerns me is that my prince has been in the hands of these orcs for a full day. We need to find him."

"And her," Halbarad added, his voice grim as he hurried to his waiting horse, "before it is too late for them both."

"Nothing good ever comes of caves."

Smiling wryly at Buffy's soft words, Legolas shifted in his uncomfortable position against the craggy stone. "I have told my friend, Gimli, the same for the past nine years and he has yet to be convinced by my logic," he returned as he cast his gaze towards the darkness that was gathering outside the cavern, reducing their small source of light until it was naught but a memory. "Then again, Gimli is a dwarf, and dwarves think differently than elves. Where we see cold stone, they see beauty and possibility. They are the children of Aul and were created outside of Ilvatar's song, and even Ilvatar predicted the strife that would often occur between our races."

"And yet he's your friend," Buffy countered, trying to ignore the shivers that wracked her small frame as the deep, bone-chilling cold of the stone continued to leech the warmth from her healing limbs.

"Aye, that he is," Legolas agreed, a smile pulling at his lips as he thought of the short creature that contained such passion and boldness. "And rarely have I known a truer friend and companion," he murmured as he forced his eyes from the waning light and instead looked upon the small girl that lay before him, her green eyes betraying her weariness. "I have been told that I see things in those that others do not," he continued as he tried to compare the strong, brave young woman that lay before him with her counterpart from his dream - the woman that his friends had urged him to destroy in order to save everything that he held dear.

Snorting softly, Buffy rolled her eyes away from the dimly glowing elf. "Apparently that's something that we both have in common," she stated softly. "I'm supposed to kill all of the nasties that go bump in the night, but some of my strongest allies and friends have been witches, vampires, werewolves, and demons."

"You've aligned yourself with Darkness," Legolas murmured, valiantly fighting to quell the dismay that spiked through his heart.

"Wouldn't you if that's what it took to save the Light?" Buffy returned, reading some of the reservations that divided the immortal being beside her - easily seeing the judgments that clouded his blue eyes. "Some people choose to see the world in black and white. I can't afford to," she murmured as she turned her eyes away from his. Sometimes it was as though he was able to look past the walls that she had erected around her heart, so battered from so many years of fighting the darkness... so battered from all of the losses that she had accumulated throughout the years. Yet if she was honest, she didn't hide from what he might be able to see within herself, but rather what she would be forced to see in those dark places that were better left forgotten. "Sometimes I think that life is all about messing up, often in the worst of ways, and then trying to find a way back from the dark places that you've traveled."

"And have you ever had to find your way to redemption?" Legolas returned, his voice compelling as Buffy lifted her eyes to his.

"Everyone has at some point or another," Buffy returned, her words solemn. "My best friend, Willow, was a powerful witch who tried to end the world last year. My watcher, Giles, was a man who messed with dark magics that resulted in the death of a friend. Another friend, Anya, was a vengeance demon for over a thousand years. Spike was a vampire who was known as William the Bloody, responsible for so much death and bloodshed. Faith was a slayer who went bad and killed a lot of people. And Angel... Angel was a vampire with a soul whose demon was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people... and I set his demon free. Yet each and every one of them have saved me more times than I can count. And I... I've probably messed up more than any of them," Buffy admitted with a small sigh, her chest tightening with the memories of all that she had done wrong over the years. True, she was a champion for the Light - a warrior for the people, if you will, but that didn't erase all of her mistakes.

She didn't get to Jesse in time and as a result, Willow and Xander had lost their childhood best friend to the darkness that she was responsible for keeping at bay.

She was the one who slept with Angel and caused him to lose his soul. She was the reason why Jenny Calendar and Kendra were dead.

She ignored Faith's cries for help and later sent the rogue slayer into a coma. Faith's blood would forever stain her hands.

She couldn't save her mother. She couldn't save her sister. She couldn't even save herself. The world had become too much and thus she had embraced death. She had died.

She had been so blind... so very blind. She had been so focused on her own pain that she had ignored everyone else's - was oblivious to their cries. She had almost accepted a fantasy over reality. She had almost killed everyone that she loved.

Yet worst of all: she had lived, and as a result, too many innocent girls had not. She had the blood of hundreds - maybe even thousands of girls on her hands. It didn't matter if she hadn't intended for any of it to happen. It didn't matter that at first, she never even wanted to be restored to the life that she had managed to escape. All that mattered was that her life had cost too much.

"Redemption is something that some people will never stop working for," Buffy murmured, her words more of a whisper as she turned towards Legolas and allowed his sharp gaze to look past her many barriers to see the sorrow that lay hidden beneath. As the slayer looked into the elf's unblinking blue gaze, she couldn't help but wonder if this elf could even relate to the many failures that she shouldered. Could a being so seemingly perfect understand imperfection? Could such a being ever be capable of such regret? Frowning, Buffy opened her mouth to ask these same questions when a sudden commotion caused the words to clog in her throat as she tried to move, tried to struggle upright.

"No, stay still," Legolas urged as his sharp eyes looked past her form and to the orcs that were finally beginning to stir from their death-like slumber. "Stay still and do not draw attention upon yourself. If luck is with us, they will ignore you and focus on me," he stated as his lean body tensed, as though poised for flight as he leaned against the cavern wall for support to his aching limbs. He had healed much during the long day, but there had been no rest for his weary body - not in a cave, and certainly not in a cave suffused with the stench of hundreds of orcs.

"Yeah, lucky for me - not so much for you," Buffy retorted as she nonetheless heeded his words and lay still once more. "'Sides, what's their beef with you? Not that I'm complaining or anything, but I'm used to getting all of the attention, and this morning, they seemed all too willing to get me out of the way to beat the crap out of you."

Legolas cast a wary gaze at the orcs that were beginning to noisily mill about the large cavern, their twisted, hideous bodies disappearing down various tunnels while others appeared from other openings. Some carried different packages that resembled foodstuffs, and if such a thing could be said about such creatures, it appeared as though they were clumsily organizing themselves and in the beginning stages of preparing to abandon their lair.

"Legolas? What's going on?" Buffy whispered, catching the elf's attention with her plaintive question as she began to shift and perhaps roll to her other side to see what had caused the small frown to pull at his lips.

"Long ago," Legolas quickly whispered, hoping to keep her still and to prevent her from drawing unwanted attention, "it is said that the dark Lord Morgoth imprisoned a few of the Firstborn and by slow acts of torture and cruelty they were corrupted and enslaved. He twisted their bodies and souls to breed the orcs in a mockery of the elves."

"So... you guys are like distant cousins or something?" Buffy returned, her nose wrinkling as she tried and failed to find some kind of resemblance between the beautiful and ethereal creature that was chained before her to the stinky, twisted, and hideous creatures that were responsible for all of the bruises that caused her skin to look a lovely greenish-yellow color.

Ignoring her question, Legolas returned his eyes to the growing orc activity, his lips turning down in an expression of disgust as a group broke away at the orders of their leader and began ambling eagerly towards them. "They hate us because on some level, they know that we are what they once were and what they will never again be."

Frowning, Buffy attempted to untangle the elf's words until the heavy and unmistakable sound of approaching orc feet drove the statement from her mind. Body growing tense, the slayer stilled until even her breathing became a shallow release of gathered breath as she watched Legolas' face close like a mask. She felt helpless - powerless - with her back exposed to the enemy and the chains inhibiting her movements. She had healed quickly during the day and even though she felt more bruised than not, she knew that her movements could be as fluid as a ballerina's if only she had the space and the opportunity to move; if only she was given the opportunity to fight.

For one breathless moment, the world stood still as Legolas looked to her one last time. In his timeless gaze she saw so much more than the cruel certainty of what awaited them this night. She saw life and vitality, an ageless grace that was as pure as the gaze of a newborn child... yet she also saw a wisdom that surpassed reasoning.

She saw eternity.

An eternity that was going to be cut short.

Eyes growing wide, Buffy watched as four large orcs stepped around her prone form and advanced upon Legolas with loud, raucous cries that caused her blood to run cold. She didn't understand the language, yet she needn't be fluent in orc babble to hear the wicked promises of what they wanted to do to him and the pain that they wished to cause... the damage that they wanted to inflict upon the creature that was bound before them.

Blue eyes narrowed in a face that was carved from the hardest granite, Legolas met each taunt and vicious jab with silence. Even as long nails dug into soft flesh, the elf said naught as the full weight of his elven stare fell upon his tormentors. Within moments, the excited cries of the orcs were replaced by a thick silence as they shifted beneath the unblinking glare - a glare that soon had them trapped within its immortal depths.

Struggling against the heavy chains that continued to hold her to the cold cavern floor, Buffy could only watch as one of the orcs broke free of his paralysis with a vicious snarl and backhanded Legolas with such force that the elf's head rocked against the wall behind him. "Hey Ugly! Why don't you back off?" she stormed as the orcs unleashed their hatred upon Legolas' bound form, the sick sound of flesh meeting flesh painting a horrible picture of the scene that was hidden behind the orcs' turned backs. Yet it was as though she was speaking to a brick wall as her taunts went unnoticed as the gleeful grunts and high-pitched squeals of the orcs bounced off of close walls and assaulted her ears until it was a sickening cadence that was impossible to ignore.

Eyes narrowing, Buffy cursed vehemently beneath her breath as she blithely ignored Legolas' previous directions and used her bound hands to leverage her up and forward until she was crouched on her knees, her neck bent painfully forward by the short chain that held her to the stone floor. The position was awkward at best, and already she felt her bruised ribs protesting the sudden movement, but as a soft, pained groan was heard over the excited cries of the orcs, Buffy found that her pain was rapidly diminishing beneath a growing wave of concern for the blond-haired elf that had been so kind to her for the past few days.

Besides, she was the Slayer. It wasn't in her job description to sit around as a friend got the crap beat out of him.

"I said," she grunted as she rolled to the side with as much momentum as possible, her legs sweeping out in a wide arc as her full weight fell against her bound hands. "-to back off!" she finished as her legs slammed against the legs of two of Legolas' tormentors, sending them pinwheeling into their companions. Ignoring the waves of pain that shot up her battered arms, Buffy took a brief moment to meet Legolas' eyes as he slowly lifted his head, blond hair sliding past a bruised, fair face - before a kick from behind sent her rolling back until the chain at her neck snapped her head against the ground.

Groaning, Buffy felt her empty stomach protest the stars that exploded before her eyes as she felt hard hands close upon her neck, forcing her head against the cold cavern floor. Coughing, gasping for breath, she weakly tried to squirm free of the bruising grip, only to have the chain pulled taut as she once more felt herself being dragged along the ragged rock surface. Eyes snapping open, she watched as the walls and roof slid by in a confusing, disorienting mess that was confounded by the yelling voices and the sneering faces of the orcs that kicked her as she was drug past. In moments the walls of the cave were replaced by the dark night beyond where far, far above she could barely make out the glittering stars in the heavens above.

Chest burning from lack of oxygen, red tinting the edges of her waning vision, Buffy locked onto this sight as her battered body became torn, bruised, and bloody from the uneven ground as it dug against her heavy limbs.

Heavy.... that's how she felt.

So very heavy.

Everything was sparkling like muted diamonds and she felt like she was... dying.

"-not even a little scream for us?"

Groaning, Buffy felt everything shift as she struggled to orient her spinning mind. She was lying on her side, her hands, long since numb and feeling like two dead weights, were still bound behind her as her cheek was pressed against the ground... only this time her pillow was gritty and still retained some of the warmth from the previous day. This time, cool, fresh-smelling air brushed over her dirty and blood-stained features. This time, if possible, she hurt even worse than before.

"Stubborn little elf, isn't he? Not to worry, he can't stay quiet forever."

Her lungs ached and her breath wheezed through an airway that felt stiff and swollen. She wanted a throat lozenge, or even a glass of water. Actually, what she really wanted was a Willow and some of her Wiccan healing charms, or better yet, a Giles with his little box of bandages, creams and ointments.

She wanted her mom.

"Ooh - almost screamed that time, didn't you?"

Frowning, Buffy tried to even out her ragged breathing as the rest of the world slowly began to come back to her oxygen-starved brain. She felt as though someone had jammed two large balls of cotton into her ears as everything traveled through an ocean of space before it reached her addled brain. There were low grunts and excited cries, as well as the unmistakable and familiar sound of flesh hitting flesh.

She smelled blood, and this time she wasn't so sure that it was her blood that she was smelling.

Grimacing, Buffy slowly curled her fingers behind her, wincing as it felt like someone was jabbing hundreds of pins and needles into the torn flesh as she struggled against the two bags of sand that pressed against her closed eyes. There was something wrong. Something that she needed to do and if she could only remember what was going on...

"Not too deep. Don't want to bleed him out already. Fun's not done yet."

Eyes snapping open as everything came rushing back in one giant wave that left her shaking, Buffy jerked instinctively as the cotton balls dissolved upon themselves. "Legolas?" she whispered, the word torn from her bruised throat as she tried to sit, only to have her metal collar dig into her flesh and continue to hold her captive against the ground. "Legolas," she tried again, ignoring the pain that it caused as her wild eyes took in the chain that once more connected her to a stake that had been driven deep into the ground - this time in a clearing just outside of the cavern entrance, the dark woods of Mirkwood opening ominously a few feet away.

"Look boys, we got ourselves a bleeder. Look at all that pretty red blood."

Heart hammering in her chest, Buffy focused on the harsh voice that echoed above the excited grunts, the slayer rolling over her bruised arms until she was facing the writhing ring of orcs that blocked her view as surely as would a brick wall. Buffy forced her uncooperative legs to follow her lead, curling them beneath her until she was once more kneeling with her head bowed towards the stake that held her prisoner. Grunting, she leaned back to try and test the strength of the chain - and then whimpered as the metal bit into flesh that had already seen too much abuse.

Tears stinging her eyes, Buffy quickly leaned forward to ease the tension as she turned her head to the side - and felt the world freeze as the wall of orcs shifted slightly so that an opening appeared between an orc's legs, an opening that allowed her an unobstructed view of Legolas, stretched out on the ground so tautly that his arms and legs, staked to the ground above and below him, were stretched to their limits - and perhaps beyond.

The elf's tunic was more torn than she remembered, his face pale and impassive despite his jeering crowd of onlookers - and despite the large, blood-stained knife that one orc had jammed into the archer's thigh until the hilt was pressed against the bloody fabric.

"Sure you don't have something you want to say? One scream and we'll make it stop... for now."

"I sure as hell have something to say!" Buffy called out, forcing the hoarse words past her swollen throat as she struggled to be heard above the raucous cries of the excited onlookers - a struggle that was easier won than she had anticipated as a thick silence fell over the orcs as one by one, they slowly turned and parted until she had an undivided audience. "Although," she added as the orc with the knife slowly rose from his crouched position, "I'm suddenly having a hard time remembering what was so important."

"Buffy!" Legolas gasped, his voice sounding far weaker than he would have liked as he broke his silence for the first time as he craned his neck to glare at the small blonde. "I told you to-"

"Oh, now I remember," Buffy chirped as one look at the elf's blue, pain-filled eyes caused her anger to simmer. The reminder that Legolas was about to give to his stupid idea of her staying quiet so that he could get the crap kicked out of him in peace didn't help, either. "I was just going to point out that you," she continued as she jutted her chin at the orc that slowly toyed with the knife, "are the ugliest demon that I have ever had the displeasure of seeing. Not to mention that you smell like really bad, moldy ass. I can even smell you all the way over here. I couldn't even stay unconscious because of your stench. I'm-"

"Just begging to be next," the orc finished, his eyes narrowed into deadly slits as he began to advance through the parted wall of orcs.

Smiling sweetly, Buffy shrugged her shoulders as best as possible from her bent position. "Maybe," she admitted as the orc party shifted to her side of camp. "Or maybe I'm just hoping you'll give me the opportunity to make you scream," she added, her voice turning hard as she tried her best to imitate the glare that Thoron had been using on her the last couple of days. Unsuccessfully, or so it seemed, for instead of recoiling, the orc's crooked grin merely grew as he waved a few of his friends forward.

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be," Buffy grunted as one of the orcs pinned her chain to the ground with his heavy, booted foot, once more pressing her cheek against the churned ground as she bent over her knees. "Just gonna-" she began as two pairs of heavy hands dug into her shoulders and effectively pinned her forward as another worked at the lock on the chains that bound her hands.

Not quite believing her luck, Buffy ceased her struggles as in seconds she felt the familiar, heavy weight fall free. Yet before she could move, she felt the press of bodies around her increase as the creatures began pulling at the edges of her long, battered leather jacket until they worked the material free of her hurting arms - which was the moment that she had been waiting for.

Arms slipping free, Buffy quickly reached forward and wrapped her small hands around the ankle of the orc that pinned her neck chain to the ground and pushed him back with all of her waning strength. Grunting, she then rolled forward, free of the press of bodies as she came to her knees, reaching for a heavy stone that lay in the dirt before her - and then gasped and brought her hands to her throat as her chain was jerked from behind, causing her to fall back to the ground in a splay of battered limbs.

In seconds the orcs were upon her with a fervor that they usually reserved for her companion as fists and pointed toes beat against her already hurting body. It was as though a storm had been unleashed upon her as old cuts were reopened, new flesh torn, aching muscles wrenched, and as already bruised ribs finally cracked beneath the onslaught and stole her breath from her in a fiery wave that she was hopeless to regain.

Yet as suddenly as it had begun, the storm was over as the orcs stepped back to allow Buffy to fall in a boneless heap at their feet, heeding their leader's call. Blood-matted hair strewn beneath her bruised cheek, she gasped for a breath that pooled in her aching lungs like liquid, wheezing between cracked lips as the sound of rushing water slowly began to fade from her ears. Coughing, the slayer weakly curled into a small, protective ball as the loud voices of the orcs once more grated against her sensitive hearing - that and the familiar, frantic voice of Legolas as he alternated calling to her with cursing the orcs in a language that she couldn't understand. Or maybe that was a couple of different languages that he was using, for one sounded far too abrupt and grating for his musical voice.

"Back to work!"

Cringing as the familiar orc voice originated directly over her covered head, Buffy concentrated on each breath that she tried to bring into her aching lungs. "We'll have more time to play with 'em later. 'Sides - don't want to spoil the goods too quickly, do we now?"

Blocking out everything but the thumping of her own heart, Buffy fought the magnetic pull of unconsciousness as she heard the orc voices slowly begin to fade. She was hurt - oh was she ever hurt - and yet her concern for Legolas as well as her own stubbornness refused to allow her such an escape as she willed the world to stop spinning.

"Buffy? Buffy are you alright? Can you-"

"I'm okay," Buffy gasped as she turned and met Legolas' frantic eyes. "I'll be okay," she amended as a deep cough caused her shoulders to shake and a soft groan to escape her lips.

Sighing, Legolas finally allowed the tension to leave his hurting body as he sagged against the blood-stained earth beneath him. While it wasn't exactly the reassurance that he had been looking for, he supposed that it was most likely the best that he would be getting. It wasn't as though he would have been able to give much better. Buffy had thankfully been unconscious for the majority of the orc's fun, and he had the numerous lacerations and deep cuts to prove it. It felt as though his body was afire with a warm, searing pain that stretched from one cut to the next stab wound - all slowly draining him of his life's blood as his strong elven body struggled to close the bloody wounds. "I told you to stay quiet," he murmured as he rolled his head to the side, watching as Buffy turned to spit out what looked to be a mouthful of dark red blood.

"Yeah, well I don't work that way," Buffy returned as she worked to clear the fluids from her lungs - realizing that it probably wasn't a good sign that the fluid looked to be blood. Then again, she had done much the same after her initial run-in with the Turok-Han a few months back, and she had lived through that horrible night - despite her myriad of internal injuries. "Why'd they stop?" she asked as she tried to discern what hurt worse and where.

"Be grateful they did," Legolas returned, his breath hitching slightly in his throat as he struggled to control the tremors that he had forcefully been holding at bay. He would never allow the orcs to see the pain that they caused. He would rather die than do so. His head fell back to the ground, and his eyes instinctively turned towards the brightly-lit heavens above.

"Oh, all about the grateful right now," Buffy admitted as she tried to shift and then quickly discarded that idea as her broken ribs violently protested against such a stupid idea. "Just wondering how long till the party starts again."

"Not long enough."

Frowning at the elf's uncharacteristically bleak words, Buffy turned to look at her elven companion, hazel eyes squinting as she fought to make him out in the darkness... the darkness.

Recoiling slightly as her eyes snapped to his dimly glowing skin, Buffy finally realized why she was having so much trouble making out Legolas in the dark night. It was as though the eel part of Legolas was slowly dying out or something. He had been so bright just the night before - was it only really the night before? - and yet with each passing hour, it seemed as though his glow began to fade just a bit more. And for some reason, Buffy had the feeling that this wasn't a good thing.

"Death can still claim us. Whether it be by mortal wound or by grief, we do die."

Worrying her lip, Buffy felt her pain drift away as she looked at her companion with shadowed eyes. "Legolas, how can an elf die of grief?"

Smiling sadly, Legolas forced his eyes away from the bright light of Erendil, his sharp gaze meeting Buffy's without hesitation. "It is rare, but it does happen," he murmured as his eyes returned to the stars that were so beloved to his kind, his thoughts drifting far away to a brother that he remembered so clearly, even if he had known him for less than fifty of his over five hundred years. "Human hearts recover more quickly than do ours. You are gifted with the ability to forget and time fades the sting of your wounds, but our memories carry on with us, as clear as the day they were crafted" he murmured, his voice solemn. "If a soul becomes so weighted down by grief, it can choose to release its hold on the body and willingly travel to the Halls of Mandos."

"And does your... does your glow have anything to do with it?" Buffy asked, voicing her fears aloud as Legolas turned to her, a small smile pulling at his lips as he laughed softly, the sound a soothing balm to her weary spirit.

"In a way," he admitted, his smile turning wry. "It reflects the strength of my spirit."

"But you're not really very glowy right now," Buffy pointed out, a frown pulling at her lips.

Laughing once more, this time without mirth, Legolas nodded in agreement. "I fear that my body is feeling a bit too... strained, at the moment. But you need not worry," he assured as he smiled softly. "My friends are what bind me to this world and prevent me from sailing with my kin to the Undying Lands. I shall not fade while they still draw breath," he stated, repeating the promise that he had made to himself long ago.

Smiling wistfully, Buffy looked away as she, too, looked to the heavens... and felt her smile falter as she realized that the stars were in all the wrong places here. They were so very different than the ones back home. Brighter and closer to the ground. They were different here, and yet another reminder of the fact that this wasn't her world. It wasn't her home. She had been banished from her own home. This was now her home.

"It sounds like your friends really mean a lot to you," Buffy murmured, her thoughts inevitably drifting to the family that she had been forced to leave behind... and those that had been forced to leave her in ways that were meant to last forever. "Will you tell me about them?" she asked as Legolas looked at her, silent understanding shining in his bright eyes.

"Of course," he agreed, his voice solemn as his eyes drifted to the heavens, a small smile pulling at his lips. "My oldest and one of my dearest mortal friends is a Man who goes by many names. Many, many names," he stressed, his smile growing as he thought of his dear friend, King now of all of Men, as was his rightful heritage. "In his youth he was known as Estel. Later, some called him Strider. But I, myself, have always known him as Aragorn..."