Equinoxium: Chapter 11
by Lisette

Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

The night waned as the moon crested in the sky, the weak light of Isil filtering through the thick, gnarled branches and bathing the odd party with his pale light. Slowly they moved through the darkness, scattered torches lighting their way as the twin sons of Elrond led along a path that was easily marked with trampled earth and broken branches, the trees lamenting the destruction that the orcs had caused the tainted wood. Glowing eyes followed their movements - eyes that shadowed the party as the large black spiders of Mirkwood scuttled in the branches high above, causing the trees to quake and the branches to shift with sounds that echoed like dry, brittle bones slowly being rubbed against one another.

The Men that accompanied the elves were beyond wearied, their horses stumbling more often than not as the company continued a hunt that had spanned for leagues from Rhosgobel to this darkness, stopping for only the briefest of respites as they continued on into the night. Yet despite the weariness that each man felt, not a single soul thought to halt their search - or to even delay their progress with a few hours rest. The Dnedain, long-descended from the firstborn, had dedicated their lives long ago to keeping the lands around them safe from Sauron's evil. Even with the Dark Lord destroyed now nine years past, their quest and dedication would not falter as darkness still roamed their earth - as innocent young maidens continued to fall prey to the dark.

"Can you read anything else in the tracks?" Halbarad asked as he maneuvered his horse until he rode in between the twin sons of Elrond, their eyes never straying from the path that they followed. "Can you not tell us anything more of the condition of Lord Legolas and the girl with whom he traveled?"

"Nay, nothing for certain," Elladan sighed as he urged his horse onward. "The tread of heavy orc feet have distorted much that we would read, yet I can say that it appears as though they were driven hard, passing through here sometime during the previous night."

"The tracks here seem more irregular than when they set out," Elrohir added, his tone becoming thoughtful as his eyes caught hint of a print that was too small for either orc or elf from where it crossed paths with that which unmistakably belonged to the elf prince they hunted. "They must have been driven hard indeed, for even Legolas' steps begin to become uneven... and yet-"

"What? What do you see?" Halbarad demanded as his trained eyes scanned the ground before them. While the Rangers of the North were known for their tracking skills, their decades - and for some, even centuries worth of experience paled in comparison to the millennium's worth that could be found between the Eldar with whom they traveled.

"I am puzzled," the younger twin admitted, his lips creased in a small frown, "for I agree with Elladan that the speed at which they traveled by foot must have been great indeed, and yet the young Edain seems to have fared no worse than Legolas. But how can that be?" he murmured, his smooth forehead creasing in puzzlement. "How can a child of Man, a woman no less, keep such a strenuous pace for so many hours into the night?"

Riding slightly behind the twin lords of Rivendell, Thoron was no more aware of their questioning gazes than the brown horse that he rode into the darkness, Andrann trotting softly beside Rodwen as the rest of the Men followed in their wake. Instead, his weary mind traveled a far different path as he thought to the daughter and king that yet awaited him across the great seas in the Undying Lands. In a way, his wife would also be waiting for him in Valinor, having long since passed on to the Halls of Mandos during the First Age when the world was yet new to his kind. He longed to leave the darkness that coated the woods that were once his home. He had no desire to watch as his race slowly faded from these shores. Instead, he desired to travel to where the world was yet green - where it would forevermore be green. He wanted to go to where the sun would forever shine, where the stars were always bright, and where the voices of his kin would never again be lifted in grief or lament. He wanted to go to where his beloved daughter and her husband awaited him - a daughter that Legolas had never met as she had voyaged over the sea thousands of years before his birth.

He wanted to go home.

Arms stretched painfully above his head, it took everything in Legolas' power to hold back the pained scream that threatened to burst from his tightly clenched lips. The night was waning and morning fast approaching, but not fast enough. The torture had been an unending game for the orcs that had taken them captive, with only small respites in between each session that grew longer and more painful as the night continued. From elf to slayer, the orcs took in their entertainment as they delighted in both inflicting pain as well as reveling in the panic that was brought to the captive that was forced to watch their companion's quiet agony. It was misery beyond comprehension and Legolas could only be grateful that Buffy was once more unconscious and unable to bear witness to the orc's latest cruelty.

Stiffening as the scalding metal was once more waved in a slow arc beside his bruised cheek, Legolas felt his skin begin to burn by the heat alone as the audience's loud, raucous cries battered against his sensitive ears, their thirst for blood having not yet been quenched by the night's activities. His arms and legs ached from being stretched beyond their limits for so many hours, prohibiting even the smallest of movements as another orc stepped forward, a small familiar dagger clutched in one hand.

Blue eyes slid shut to hide sight of the hated weapon that was responsible for many of the searing, crimson wounds that were covered with clotted blood. Legolas waited for the blade to be driven forward, piercing cloth and flesh and limb, sliding through meat and tissue, refracting off of smooth white bone to be driven into the dirt below. First would come pressure and heat, then wetness around the smooth skin that bordered the blade, and as the knife was pulled free, then would come pain.

The pain would overshadow even his body's most rudimentary needs as his lungs would forget to draw breath, his heart to pump blood, and as his mouth would fall open in a soundless scream.

It felt as though seconds would pass.

Minutes.

Hours unnumbered before the initial pain would fall back into a throbbing ache as his lungs once more struggled for breath, as his heart pushed the blood through his body and out into the night air from the deep wound, and as his mouth would once more snap shut as he forced his scream back into the furthest corners of his mind and soul.

He was helpless before these creatures - of that there was no question. Control had been taken from him, and yet Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood and Lord of Ithilien, friend to Kings and Lords alike - and the small elfling that had been forced to watch the cruelty of this horrible race centuries before - would rather die before gifting his captors with that one scream.

It was the one thing he had left that was his alone.

And yet the expected agony of the hated knife once more being driven into his hurting body never came.

Pain-sharpened eyes snapped open and Legolas watched as the orc slowly lowered the blade's edge to the front of his bloodied tunic and then carefully drew the knife down the middle of the heavy fabric. With the soft sound of tearing cloth as each thread snapped before the sharp edge, the blade cut through the tunic and undershirt below until the mottled bluish-purple bruises on his pale, lightly glowing chest were revealed before the parted fabric.

Frowning, instinctively understanding that no good could come of such a development, Legolas lifted his weary eyes to those standing above him - and recoiled as the hatred in the orc's eyes pierced his soul with the utter disgust and contempt found within those dark orbs. He had seen hatred before, had before been the target of such animosity, but never to such a degree.

It wasn't his deeds or actions that caused such loathing.

It was his very existence - his very right to walk the same earth as the orc that stood before him that caused the anger to burn in the other's eyes.

And then anger and loathing, orcs and elves - everything was forgotten as the orc lowered his ruby red, glowing metal staff until the heated end was pressed against the smooth flesh of his chest. In that moment, truly nothing existed as the ugly instrument, long left amongst the brightly burning coals of a nearby fire, ate through muscle and flesh with a slow, torturous speed that finally unlocked the scream from the elf's throat. It was a heat that rivaled the fiery pits of Mount Doom itself, an agony unrealized as the thin notes of the elf's scream caused the very forest around them to shudder with a barely remembered fury at what was being done to a creature of a race they once knew.

Awakened by the scream, Buffy instinctively surged forward, only to fall in a strangled heap as her neck chain reminded her of its painful presence. Cursing vehemently as her hands, once more bound behind her, took the brunt of her slight weight, the slayer lay still for a moment as the scream slowly died away.

Her body was failing her, her slayer strength long-since departed as thirst and hunger warred against the almost-constant feelings of nausea that wracked her broken frame. She was a slayer - the chosen champion to fight against the darkness, and yet there was nothing she could do against such cruelties. The chains were too thick and heavy, her body too sore and broken to bend such strong metal. If given a moment, she imagined that she could count the broken ribs that shifted with each pained movement, and the whips...

While the brown leather of her halter had been thick enough to prevent the skin from being laid open along her back, there had been little it could do to prevent the long path of stinging welts that she knew marked the skin beneath - nor could it save the bruised skin of her arms as the leather thong wrapped across her back and tore open the flesh it could find. The ugly slashes, reopened by her abrupt movements, bled freely as they covered her arms in blood.

As another pained scream pierced the graying night, Buffy felt her pain fade as her concern rose to the foreground of her mind. "Legolas," she mumbled, the name sounding thick and foreign on her tongue as she attempted to roll to her knees - and faltered as a heavy foot easily rolled her until she was lying on her back, her hands pinned painfully beneath her.

"And where are you going?"

Green eyes raked over the orc that towered over her, and Buffy sneered as she recognized the creature's bent frame. At first glance, he was an orc like any other with black, mottled skin, patchy, lank black hair and dark eyes that alternated between glowering in hatred and hungrily devouring her. Large, brutish, and ugly - smelling of things better left unmentioned - his uniqueness stemmed only from the fact that during the course of the night, he appeared far more interested in eating her than Legolas.

"Anywhere where you're not," Buffy returned, a flicker of her earlier fire returning under the orc's hungry gaze as she shifted uselessly beneath his heavy foot.

Black tongue darting between yellow teeth, the orc quickly dropped so that one knee was pressed into the dirt beside her while the other dug into her broken chest, causing a series of fireworks to ignite behind her tightly clenched eyes. "Others say to Vashnak that elf-flesh is better than man-flesh. Vashnak disagrees."

Breath hitching in her throat as tears stung the corners of her eyes, Buffy bit back her gasp of agony as his bony knee pushed against broken ribs and ground them against those that were still whole. She couldn't breathe and the world began to darken as she forced her eyes to open, forced herself to look at the creature that was slowly lowering his face towards her own.

"Such a pretty little thing," he hissed as he lifted a small dagger, toying with the handle before slowly pressing the blade against her cheek and bringing it down in a long, bloody arc.

Oblivious to this small pain amongst the agony that was building in her chest, knowing that she was close to passing out again, Buffy turned her eyes away from the orc called Vashnak and to the sky beyond. The night was beginning to lighten with the coming day - a day that she was beginning to believe that she would never see. The thought saddened her more than she had imagined it would, even as the thought of seeing Giles again caused her aching heart to hurt just a little bit less. It had only been less than a week since she had last seen her Watcher, a few days less than that since the First Evil had paraded about in his image, and yet she missed him desperately. He had always been her rock when the rest of the world had become confused. When he had gone away the year before, she had become lost without him. She was twenty-two years old, and yet she needed him to be the father that would never abandon her; the father who would always guide her and lead her from the darkness and into the light. Now... perhaps now she would find both her mother and Giles waiting for her, ready to lead her back home.

Feeling warm breath wash over her, Buffy wearily returned her eyes to Vashnak as he lowered his face to hers, his long black tongue sliding free to trail a wet path over her bloody cheek. Aware enough to still feel disgust, the slayer tried to turn away as the orc lavishly worked his hard, grainy tongue over her battered features, his lips pulling at the torn edges of the jagged cut to draw more blood from the wound. As the wet sucking sound filled her hearing until there was nothing else, Buffy felt a small shudder shake her battered frame.

This was too much.

After everything else that had happened over the course of the past twenty-four hours, this obscene and grotesque display was just too much.

Buffy felt that small flicker of fire blaze into a roaring inferno as she jerked her head forcefully to the side, ignoring the pain of bruised flesh as the collar pulled against the raw skin. For a moment the pressure on her chest was lessened, and Buffy greedily regained her breath to let free one last tirade. "Listen, asshole, do you see a 'suck me' sign anywhere?" she demanded as the orc straightened, his eyes narrowed upon her. "I didn't think so because this face is both suck and lick free. You got it? I mean, that was just... that was just-" she began, only to falter as the orc's expression suddenly went blank.

Frowning, Buffy felt a coil of fear ripple down her spine as something seemed to shift in the orc as his face became twisted into a grotesque mask of agony. Eyes growing wide, she watched as the orc tumbled back and onto the ground beside her, a loud, high-pitched keen trilling from his lips as his body began to shake. Horrified, Buffy used her feet to slowly push herself as far as possible from the convulsing body with the short chain still connecting her to the blood-stained ground. A thick silence fell upon the rest of the clearing, the eyes of orcs and elf alike turning to her and Vashnak.

Which was when all hell broke loose.

It was as though the sky had begun to rain arrows as the strangled shrieks of the orcs drowned out the cry of Vashnak as he clawed and flopped on the ground like a fish gasping for air. Soon, even those cries were lost as figures cloaked in darkness erupted from the twisted trees of the bordering forest, their voices calling out cries of war and battle as they charged with long swords held high.

The sight was magnificent and exhilarating, and Buffy became torn between watching her tormentors be struck down by the black-fletched arrows, or as they were hewed by the long swords, or as Vashnak slowly began to crawl towards the yawning mouth of the caves behind her. Then even that option was stolen from her as an orc lunged towards her, ratcheted sword cutting through the air with a sharp whistle as it sang towards her head.

Moving on instinct alone, the sudden rush of adrenaline buried her pain as she rolled to the back and side, ignoring her wounds as she followed the small circle that the chain around her neck allowed. As the sword became buried in the ground where her head rested only seconds before, Buffy, once more lying on her battered arms, kicked out with her legs and caught the orc beneath the chin, sending the ugly beast staggering back... and into the sword point of a familiar, tall, brown-haired elf behind him.

Eyes growing wide, Buffy felt as though the rest of the battle melted away as she met Thoron's startled gaze. He seemed almost as surprised to see her as she was to see him. While the unexpected arrival of the strange group seemed to indicate allies and a good turn of events for her and Legolas, she hadn't had time to even think about who their saviors might be, or who might be amongst them.

"Thoron, we have found Legolas!"

Spell broken, both she and the elf turned as they looked to where Legolas had been staked for most of the evening. However, instead of seeing the blond elf or the one with the musical voice that had called out to the advisor, all Buffy could make out were orc feet and orc carcasses as the troupe struggled against Thoron's companions. Frowning, Buffy began to roll back to her knees when she saw that Thoron had already left her side as the tall elf quickly made his way through the tight pack of fighting bodies and towards his bound prince.

"Gee, thanks for the help!" Buffy called out as she glared in the departing elf's direction - and then rolled once more as her senses barely warned her of the sword that was cutting a low arc towards her neck. Features tight, Buffy finished the roll to her knees, now on the other side of her little circle of pain, and pressed her forehead against the ground as she lashed out with her foot. As the dry sound of shattering bone rang out like sweet music to her ears, she lifted her head in time to watch as the orc, the one who had been taunting her with the keys all night long, tumbled to the ground just outside of her circle, his neck crushed and his head hanging at an odd angle - which was when her broken ribs chose to remind her of their sorry state.

Moaning softly, Buffy's head fell forward as she leaned over her knees, her forehead pressed against the ground with her bound hands hanging limply down her back. "This sucks," she grumbled, her breath wheezing between dry, bloody lips as she tried to regain that wonderful rush that had momentarily kept the pain at bay.

"Here, my Lady, lie still."

Jerking back, Buffy straightened as best as she could as she came face to face with-

"A man? You're a man," Buffy exclaimed, her expression slightly dazed as she cocked her head to the side, taking in the guy who was kneeling opposite her, gray eyes carefully darting between her and the fight that continued to be waged around them. He looked to be about Giles' age, mid-forties with long, shaggy brown hair that looked as though it hadn't seen a bathtub in weeks. Deep lines creased his forehead and marked the corner of each gray eye, his nose long and aristocratically straight, with a strong chin to match. His clothes added to his care-worn appearance, dark in color and bearing the mark of one who hadn't seen a shopping mall in... well, never. Frowning, Buffy looked past the man and finally took note of those who had joined Thoron in his assault upon the orcs that had taken her and Legolas captive. "You're all men," she noted, her confusion growing.

"Aye, my Lady, that we are," the man agreed, a small smile belying his grim appearance. "My name is Halbarad of the Dnedain," he added, as though that would help to either ease her worries or explain their presence. When neither happened, he turned his inspection to the chains that bound her to the ground as the sounds of battle continued to ring through the early morning. "I need a key," he murmured, his eyes straying from the locks to the small woman's strange clothing and extremely battered appearance. She was petite in stature, and while he could understand why Thoron would mistake her age, the old ranger estimated her to be older than the elf had stated - closer to twenty and certainly past any title of girl or child. No, she was certainly a lady - one that had seen too much horror this night.

Heart tightening in his chest, his gaze swept over the long cut that bled freely down her cheek, the bruises that decorated the fine bones of her face, arms and collar bone, the whip marks that revealed loose, torn flesh and muscle, the raw, ragged ring that circled the graceful arch of her neck... he was sure that before this night, she had probably been quite lovely. However, her wounds were so extensive that scarring would be inevitable, her beauty lost amongst so much ruin. And these were just the wounds to which his eyes were privy - although the strange clothing that she wore really didn't leave a lot to his imagination. "I need a key," he repeated as he forcibly turned his eyes away from the tight leather that bound her slender legs and hips, which revealed her incredibly small waist and dipped enticingly low over her... "I need a key."

Rolling her eyes at the conclusion that she had come to within minutes of finding herself in chains she couldn't break, Buffy quickly jerked her head to the side. "Well instead of telling me for the fourth time, why don't you check with Big Ugly," she suggested as she indicated the orc whose neck she had just crushed with a well-placed kick.

Turning to follow her gaze, Halbarad rose and moved towards the dead orc, his movements quick yet careful as he bypassed those still fighting about them... and then frowned as he saw neither wound by arrow nor sword, but rather what appeared to be a very broken neck. Frown deepening, the old ranger slowly crouched beside the dead creature as he automatically processed the strength that would be needed for such a blow, and then turned back towards the petite young woman with the long blonde hair - and vaguely tried to understand why all of the signs indicated that the killing blow had come from where she was currently resting. Arching a bushy eyebrow at her innocent expression, he pushed the puzzling question aside as he rifled through the orc's belongings until he found the large key that he had been looking for.

"I have found the key," he stated as he returned to the young woman's side and began reaching for the manacles that bound her slender, bloody wrists.

"Well la-dee-freaking-dah," Buffy retorted, grimacing as even his gentle movements jarred her raw wrists. Yet the moment that the familiar dead weights fell free, the slayer forgot even her most sarcastic side as she brought her arms slowly before her, her green eyes sweeping over the damage for the first time. "Eww," Buffy murmured, her nose wrinkling as she took in wrists that looked far too red and black to be hers. Then again, with how heavy and numb they felt, they could very well have belonged to someone else.

"Now just the... collar," Halbarad continued, stumbling over the ugly word for what had been forced around her slender neck. Feeling the anger build within him, the ranger forced his hands to remain steady as the young woman obligingly tilted her head forward, one hand raising to brush her long, blood-matted blonde hair to the side to reveal the lock that held her. Within seconds, that lock, too, fell away as he threw the damned ring to the side and then helped her to her feet. "Just head to the safety of the trees," he stated as he directed her towards the tree line. "My men and I will join you once we-"

Twirling out of his gentle hold, Buffy reached for an abandoned sword and swung the short blade at the orc that was lunging for the man's back. Ignoring the pain that flared in her battered wrists at the force with which she applied, the slayer drew the short blade along the orc's neck, ripping through black flesh as a deluge of dark blood stained the earth at her feet. Jumping back with less than her usual grace, Buffy grimaced at the mess, watching the dead orc fall to the ground before finally turning back to her rescuer.

"Sorry, you were saying?" she asked, arching a slender brow at the man that stared at her as though she had bared fangs while asking if he'd like a spot of tea. Yet instead of allowing him to continue, Buffy turned as once more her frayed senses alerted her to a threat that she was almost too late to avoid. Cringing as metal rang against metal, Buffy lifted her eyes to glare at the orc that pushed his sword against her own.

"Hey, I know you," she grunted as her aching wrists began to tremble under the strain. "You were the one with the whip," she finished, her eyes narrowing into twin slits as she forced her way forward, the swords sliding free of one another as she completed the arc before the orc had a chance to, the blade once more finding flesh. Yet before she had a chance to spit on the orc's smelly carcass for all of the pain that he had caused, a semi-truck slammed against her from behind.

Spinning around as she staggered towards the mountain wall behind her, Buffy noticed that her semi-truck was actually a very large, brutish orc with a sword that he was quickly bringing around to relieve her head from her body. Lifting her own sword, Buffy brought it against his just in time as her back slammed against the wall of stone behind her, her teeth rattling with the impact.

Wincing as her battered wrists began to tremble under the strain, speaking nothing of the agony of her broken ribs, Buffy looked past her new opponent and locked eyes with the man that had saved her... and continued to watch her with eyes drawn wide with shock. "You know, I could use a little help over here!" she ground between clenched teeth as her wrists began to buckle beneath the orc's heavy weight.

Shaking his head, Halbarad stared at the petite woman for a moment longer before finally raising his sword. With a great bellow that rang off of the craggy mountain walls, he voiced his battle cry and once more joined the fray.