Equinoxium: Chapter 13
by Lisette
Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings. Additional credit must be given to Ludacris for "What's Your Fantasy" and to Ray Evans for the lyrics to Mr. Ed's Theme song.
Green eyes looked past the glass and into the bright afternoon beyond. Buffy sighed heavily as her fingers absently toyed with the edges of the thick bandages that bound her ribs beneath the oversized shirt that she wore. Five days had come and gone since she and Legolas had been rescued by the Rangers and their elven companions - five days since the dark night that continued to haunt her dreams. They had traveled hard that early morning, putting as much distance between themselves and the bloodied clearing as was possible when transporting two who were so wounded. They probably would have gotten much further, too, if she hadn't done the unthinkable and passed out when the pain of her jostled ribs became too great.
Snorting at the memory, Buffy forced her hands to fall to her sides as her gaze swept over the crowded street below. One moment she had been contemplating vomiting the lembas that she had eaten all over the horse's pretty black mane, and the next thing she knew she was laid out on the hard ground, the sun shining in her eyes as warm, incredibly gentle hands cleaned and bound the deep lacerations on her damaged wrists that continued to bleed freely. Confused, she had squinted against the bright light, slowly lifting the hand that had already been seen too and shading her eyes to see one of the twins kneeling beside her while his brother saw to Legolas' injuries.
After that the going had been a little slower and less painful, and the hours passed in a blur before the group had finally stopped to make camp for the night. That, of course, brought up the next problem as Buffy was about to have a sleepover with four elves and around thirty guys - some old enough to be her father. Despite this fact and the disturbing sight of the purplish-green bruising that now covered most of her visible skin, not to mention the more than gentlemanly if not overly protective nature of the Men, Legolas was still wary enough that he all but insisted that she lay Mirdan's borrowed bed roll, having been retrieved from the clearing by the rangers the night before, in between his and Elrohir's - a thought that still caused her lips to twitch between a smile and an irritated frown.
By late afternoon of the next day, the weary group finally arrived in the bustling metropolis of Rhosgobel as Buffy was introduced to Middle-earth's version of a settlement of Men - the sight of which originally made her wish for unconsciousness. That had been three days ago, and upon further contemplation, the slayer was able to look past the dirt path that they called a street, past the rough-hewn buildings that they called homes, and past the small, dark buildings that they called stores, in order to see the quaint and quiet appeal of the small town... if you were a blind Pilgrim with no sense of smell.
Buffy wearily pressed one hand against her forehead as she watched a small child play with what looked to be a goat in a paddock beside the two-story building that the elves assured her was an inn. A goat. The kid was playing with a goat as though it was a Dalmatian.
Groaning, she turned away from the dirty glass as her gaze swept over her small room. The floors were long wooden planks that creaked beneath her bare feet, the walls made of stone, and a small table with a rickety chair stood in the corner, a cracked ceramic basin and a few half-melted candles resting on the scarred wood. Oh - and she couldn't forget the chamber pot that was currently hidden beneath the raised plank that Halbarad assured her was a bed, the pock-marked wood covered with a scratchy straw mat.
A chamber pot, for God's sake.
"I've been sent back to the Dark Ages," Buffy whispered, not for the first time as she moved towards the bed, trying her best not to trip over the leggings that were about eight sizes too long, and sunk onto the thin mattress. It had taken her an embarrassingly long time to figure out what in the hell a chamber pot was, and when she did, that embarrassment was matched only by her disgust.
"You expect me to... in there?" she demanded, her eyes flashing from the young girl to the innocent-looking chipped bowl that sat against one square wall.
"Of course, Lady. Where else would you... you know," the maid stammered, a dark blush staining her pretty cheeks.
"God, haven't you people heard of indoor plumbing? Even an outhouse would be better than this!"
"Dressed as you are?" the maid returned, sounding scandalized at the thought.
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Buffy returned as she picked at the clothes that Legolas had been nice enough to lend her.
Frowning, the maid pulled her eyes away as she bustled about the small room, pulling at a blanket here, straightening the chair there." The Mistress has taken your... your garments," she stammered as she thought back to the lady's strange clothing, "to see to the stains, and since you refused the dressing gown-"
"I don't wear dressing gowns," Buffy growled, breaking in on the girl's stuttered words.
"Yes, well the Elves have agreed with the Mistress that it would be best if you remained here until you were... you were... properly clothed," she stammered, forcing the words past thin, tight lips as she made it quite clear that Buffy's normal outfit was anything but proper garments for a lady, no matter how odd her manner of speech nor mannerisms.
"Proper clothes my ass," Buffy grumbled as she pushed the memory aside, slowly falling back on the hard mattress as her eyes traced the familiar lines of the wooden beams above. After being trapped in this small room for three days now, with only Legolas, the twins, and the occasional serving girl for company, the slayer was beyond restless.
It really wasn't fair. The twins insisted that she needed to stay in bed to recuperate from her wounds, and yet Legolas had been up and about for a couple of days now - and she even saw Mirdan seeing to Rodwen outside her window earlier that morning. It wasn't as though she was really injured anymore. Sure, her mended ribs would twinge every now and again, but the bruising was all but faded, and the many lacerations and deep wounds had all closed with only the faintest scar to mark her skin. She was a Slayer, the Slayer, and the term 'bed rest' just wasn't in her vocabulary.
Startled by the soft rapping at her wooden door, Buffy was on her feet and opening it in seconds. Lips lifting in a large smile, she beamed at the tall, blond-haired elf that stood, fist still raised to knock as she grabbed his arm and dragged him across the threshold and into the sparsely-decorated room. "Legolas! What brings you to my prison this fine afternoon?" she chirped as she finally released the elf to plop casually back upon her bed, the blankets in their usual state of disarray.
Arching a slim brow at the small blonde, the lean elf slowly crossed his arms across his chest as he eyed her speculatively. "Does your rather... exuberant mood indicate that you no longer hold me in such contempt?"
Rolling her eyes, Buffy leaned back upon her elbows as she smiled cheekily at her visitor. "I never realized how British you Elves were. Can't you ever just come out and say something instead of doing the verbal runaround? See, repeat after me: Does - this - mean - you're - not - angry? See how easy that is? And did you note the use of 'you're'?" she prodded, her eyes twinkling. "You see, 'you're' is what we normal people call a contraction. In this case, 'you're' actually stands for 'you are.' Other such contractions are don't, wasn't, can't, we're, blah, blah, blah."
Sniffing haughtily, Legolas turned his back on the small slayer as he looked through her window and to the street beyond. "The Eldar were the first to use speech here in Middle-earth, and it is through my kind that language was born."
"So... elves are like the Middle-earth equivalent of the ape," Buffy stated, a slow smile lifting her lips as she shifted on the bed.
"What is an ape?"
"Never mind," Buffy sighed as she rolled her eyes. "And as for your earlier question, no, I'm no longer angry with you. Actually, I was less angry with you than this stupid room," she muttered as she jerked her head at the cramped enclosure. "Slayers weren't built for captivity."
"I know," Legolas returned, his voice solemn as he turned away from the window, his eyes tracing the faint white lines that were all that remained of the deep wounds that had encircled Buffy's neck - and soon even those thin lines would be naught but a memory. "Neither were elves," he added, his hand absently resting on his suede tunic, directly over the smooth flesh that was once marred by charred, gruesome burns, his eyes growing unfocused as the sounds of his own pained screams echoed hollowly in his mind.
Gaze softening in quiet understanding, Buffy slipped from the bed and moved soundlessly across the wooden floor until she was standing before the tall elf, the top of her head only coming to his chest. "Hey, what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger, right?" she whispered as Legolas' eyes focused and as the full weight of his elven stare fell upon her. Shifting slightly beneath the unfathomable depths, Buffy refused to look away as she smiled coyly. "You're free now, and if you value that immortal life of yours, then you'll tell me that the reason for this little visit is to do me the same courtesy."
Laughing softly, Legolas felt his heavy thoughts fade beneath Buffy's bright smile as he tilted his head to the side, his long hair trailing over slender shoulders. "I am afraid that such a decision is no longer in my hands, " he stated as he slowly backed, Buffy's eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "As your healers, Elladan and Elrohir have claimed full responsibility for your care, and have vowed that you shall not step foot from this room until they deem you fit to do so."
"Oh yeah? We'll see about that," Buffy grumbled as she turned and stalked towards the door, her small fingers viciously twisting the knob and pulling the door open - and froze at the sight of the impossibly tall and slender pair of elves that stood before her, large smiles plastered across their beautiful faces.
"Ah, Buffy - just the patient we were hoping to-"
"-torment for your own sick amusement," Buffy finished as she turned away from her only route of escape with a resigned sigh. Slowly shuffling back to the bench that posed rather badly as a bed, she slouched upon the hard surface and dutifully lifted the hem of the large shirt so that the bulky white bandages were revealed, turning her head to the side with a soft sigh.
Surprised at their patient's sudden compliance, Elladan and Elrohir turned to Legolas in confusion before the elder twin broke from his brother's side and knelt beside the young woman, his hands quickly working to loosen the knots that held the bandages in place.
Shrugging his shoulders in response, Legolas leaned against the far wall as his attention turned to Elrohir, his mind immediately returning to the conversation that had been interrupted earlier that morning. "As I was saying earlier, I still find myself puzzled over their actions during that night - aside from the torture, of course," he added nonchalantly as Buffy turned towards them, her attention piqued. "While I do not claim to be an expert on orc behavior, I believe they acted strangely... almost as if their amusements with us were merely a passing interest before they abandoned their holes in the mountains."
"The orcs are leaving the lands to the west of the Misty Mountains as well," Elrohir sighed, his expression growing troubled as he settled lightly on the edge of the worn table, "and we know naught of their reasons. In the years since Sauron's defeat, their kind has become scattered throughout Middle-earth, hidden in their holes and dying out as surely as I stand before you. But now?" he murmured, his voice becoming soft. "Now their behavior points towards ill deeds and speak of dark tidings."
"We have been following them for many months now, over the mountains and into these lands that we rarely visit," Elladan added, his eyes never straying from the bandages that he gently unwrapped from around Buffy's small waist." However, we lost the trail when the orcs crossed the Anduin."
"We were trying to determine our next course of action," Elrohir continued, "whether to return west of the Misty Mountains or continue south into Rohan, when Thoron came upon us."
Frowning, Legolas turned to stare into the bright afternoon sunshine, his eyes shadowed as he thought back to the long hours that he had spent within the orcs' company. "Those that captured us did not originally hail from the Mountains of Mirkwood," he murmured, certain of this fact as he thought back to all that he had witnessed upon first being thrust into the dark caves. "It was as though they were all coming together."
"The orcs are organizing?" the younger twin demanded, his proud lips twisting in a small grimace. "Now that is a troubling thought."
"Yes, but where could they all be heading?" Legolas murmured, his features creasing as he turned back to his friends. "Where could-"
"How can this be?" Shaking his head slowly, voice filled with wonder, Elladan pulled away the last of the wrappings as one hand gently traced the unmarked skin found beneath.
"Hey, watch the cold hands!" Buffy ordered as she instinctively shied away from the cool touch.
"But this is impossible," the elder twin continued as Elrohir knelt beside him, another pair of cold hands gently fingering the lines of her newly mended ribs.
"Estel once broke a rib when he fell from a tree when he was but a child," Elrohir murmured, ignoring Buffy's squealed complaints as he firmly pressed against the ribs that had been badly broken only days before. "He was bed-ridden for a week, and despite Father's close attentions, it took much time for the bone to completely heal."
"One of the perks of being the Slayer is a speedier rehab for the bumps, bruises, and severed limbs that are pretty much unavoidable in my line or work," Buffy returned as she swatted the prying hands away and firmly pulled her shirt down, her eyes daring the elves to try and continue their fascinated perusal of her rib cage. "And to think you guys would have caught on when all of this went away," she added as she pulled down the wide collar of her oversized shirt, showing the unmarked skin that had once been covered in lash marks. Grinning smugly, the slayer pushed past the twins and made a show of readjusting the baggy material.
"Does this mean that she is ready to travel?" Legolas asked as he turned to the baffled twins, amusement dancing in his blue eyes.
"I've been ready for three days now," Buffy grumbled before either twin could offer their opinions, her eyes once more snapping to the blond elf by the window, "as I've been telling you ever since. But no, Buffy's a human and therefore incompetent to judge what hurts and when it stops."
Completely ignoring the petite woman's tirade, Elladan slowly reclaimed his feet as he turned his gray eyes to his brother in a silent conversation that took only seconds. Nodding gravely at Elrohir's unasked question, the elder twin then turned towards their young friend, his hands folded before him. "And where will you continue from here?"
Shrugging lightly, Legolas nodded towards the world outside the dirty glass, his eyes looking past the borders of the small town. "We had planned on journeying south," he admitted with a small frown. "Thoron and Mirdan are ready to return to Ithilien, and I had planned on traveling on to Minas Tirith to visit with Aragorn for a time. An idea that seems even more imperative now, what with all that we have seen and the news of orc movement."
"Just the answer that we had been hoping for," Elrohir announced as he nodded towards his twin. "We would like to join your party, if you would have us."
"It has been too long since we last visited Arwen and Estel," Elladan added with a guilty shrug. "Besides," he continued, his lips quirking in a small smile, "this party seems determined to find trouble where it may and destined for further injury. You will need the skilled hands of a healer-"
"-or two," Elrohir added as he clapped Legolas on the back, his smile matching that of his brother.
"We would be honored to have you," Legolas returned as he clasped arms with his friend.
"On the condition that you leave your Rescue Rangers at home," Buffy added, her glower deepening at the thought of the Men that made up the other party. While some of them didn't seem too bad, Halbarad in particular, it was their obstinate refusal to see her as anything other than a fragile maiden that caused her blood to boil. If she was forced to continue traveling with them for however long it took to reach the Mini-Tear place, heads would roll in no time.
Smiling openly, Legolas shared an amused look with the twins. If Buffy had thought that the Rangers of the North were difficult to get along with, he was interested to see what she thought of their southern kin. The Men of Gondor were known for their grim nature - a side effect of having lived so long beside the creeping darkness of Mordor. "Then it is settled," he stated as he nodded at the brothers. "We shall depart at sunrise tomorrow."
"Tomorrow it is," Elladan confirmed as he gathered the used bandages in his arms. "And if such is the case, we must take our leave as there is much that should be accomplished before that time."
"I have already sent Thoron and Mirdan in search of supplies for our travels," Legolas offered as he turned and started towards the door, the twins nodding once to Buffy before following his lead. "He also speaks with your men," he continued, his words directed towards the elves that accompanied him as he softly closed the door behind him.
Scowling at once more being shut in her room, Buffy started towards the door - only to trip on the cuff of one extremely long pant leg that had become unrolled sometime during the elves' visit. Cursing beneath her breath, she regained her balance with a minimal of stumbling and glared at her overlarge clothing and painfully bare feet. "Will someone just find my freaking clothes?"
Long fingers explored new territory as they glided over smooth, clear skin, dark eyes locked upon an unfamiliar face through the rippling waters of the small, dirty puddle. A stranger met his serious gaze - a stranger with a face that was both frightening and at once glorious. A face that contained eyes that narrowed when he narrowed his own eyes, lips that would stretch into a fierce grimace when he grimaced, and a nose that would tremble as he sniffed the dank cavern air.
Everything was different.
Everything was strange.
The very darkness around him seemed deeper. The wet, heavy air of the cavern smelled more delightfully sour. The voices of his kin amongst the rock sounded clearer. And touch... never before had the sense of touch held such promise - such pleasure. It was as though an unseen barrier had been removed from around him - as though a thin veil of fog had been lifted which allowed everything around him to seem more real. It was as though he had finally become everything that he was always meant to be.
"It is a gift from the Master himself."
As the stranger's lips twisted in a dark frown, the creature known as Vashnak finally turned from his muddied reflection to look down upon the orc that addressed him. Once this dark, bent beast had been his captain - his leader. Now Gundug was no more than a distant memory - a creature that shared his dark heart and yet bowed beneath Vashnak's awakened senses and thoughts.
With a derisive snort, Vashnak curtly shook his head as he turned back to the small, scavenged pile of spoils that had been brought before him. "A gift, that much is certain," he stated, his voice all at once beautiful and horrible to listen to as the Black Speech slipped from his tongue. "But I am not so certain that Sauron is the creature to thank," he murmured as he found a creased, stained tunic that had been taken from some nameless man during one of the troops' many raids.
Stiffening at the implied slight to their fallen Dark Lord, the orc captain bit back his angry rebuke as he instead bowed his head reverently towards the tall being that pulled the tattered clothes from his shadowed body. The Dark Lord Sauron was gone - defeated by a mere Halfling - and after what he and the others had witnessed, there was no doubt in his feeble mind as to who they now owed their allegiance. Especially if Vashnak held to his part of the bargain. "What now?" Gundug asked as the creature began to dress in clothes that were far different from his orc raiment.
"Continue south with the others," Vashnak ordered as he fumbled with the strange fastenings to the large garment. "I... have some other business to attend to," he stated, pausing as his eyes drifted towards the distant entrance to the large network of caves that ran through the Mountains of Mirkwood, his thoughts far away from the dank ancestral dwelling of his kin. "Continue south and I will meet with you and the others in six days time at the fortress of Dol Guldur. And Gundug - do not be late."
Wincing as slender fingers worked their way through the tangles of her long, wet hair, Buffy lounged against a large boulder as the sun's weak rays bathed her with their warmth. Two days and countless miles of scattered trees and a long, green valley separated their small group from the village of Rhosgobel, and despite the substitution of the hard ground for the rather weak attempt of a bed back at the inn, Buffy found herself grateful to be back on the road. In the wilderness there were no chamber pots nor small rooms that could contain her for days on end. In the wilderness, she was finally free... not to mention that they now followed the banks of the River Anduin, which meant that in the wilderness, Buffy got to bathe every night as the others set camp. That fact alone more than made up for the hard ground and the many hours spent on the large, dark gray horse that Legolas had purchased from the Rangers - even if the water was so cold that she was numb within seconds of stepping into the swiftly running waters, especially now that it merged with the River Gladden from the Misty Mountains - or the Happy River, as she had quickly dubbed it. Now if she could only get her hands on some kind of soap...
"Ai! Elladan, watch yourself! That was my foot that you almost clobbered, and as I only have two of them, I hardly have one to spare!"
Snorting softly, Buffy watched as Elrohir glared from his twin to the stack of dead wood that was lying haphazardly at his feet. While Thoron seemed to find the twins' constant bickering irritating, the slayer couldn't help the smile that never seemed far behind where the two elves were concerned. In their own way, they reminded her of Xander - only doubled and far wittier than her goofy friend could ever be. Yet at the same time, they were capable of such seriousness that she instead found herself reminded more of Giles or even Angel - although they were never quite broody enough to be very reminiscent of the vampire. Still, it was their tendency to switch back and forth from such a lighthearted nature to the more serious side that always managed to throw her. She imagined that it had something to do with them being Elves and the fact that her mortal mind just wasn't equipped to deal with such... with such flighty creatures. Nonetheless, she couldn't help but be enchanted by four of the fives creatures with whom she traveled. As for the last of the elves... well, she had to admit that she found the horses more intriguing than Thoron. Or maybe that was just the grudge of being abandoned in the midst of battle that was still talking.
"You are correct, my brother. Perhaps I should have dropped them on your head, for you shall have never missed that."
Rolling her eyes, Buffy reached for her long jacket and drew it into her lap, her fingers instinctively lingering over the many cuts and tears that decorated the heavy fabric. It was amazing, really, that the small breaks in the leather were the only lasting damage of her time with the orcs. Her cuts, bruises, and broken bones were completely healed now, without even the faintest scar to mark where the grisly wounds had once marred flesh and drawn blood. That alone was enough to puzzle her if she allowed herself to think long on the matter. Before her 'resurrection' by Willow, while she may have healed faster than her friends, she was still able to scar as easily as any of them. In fact, from fang marks to stab wounds by her own stakes, she had scars enough to prove her own body's fallibility. But in the time since she had been brought back to life, her healing abilities, already impressive by normal human standards, had been heightened and it seemed as though no wound left a tell-tale mark. It was almost... frightening, and yet another reminder that for some reason, she wasn't quite the same person that she had been before her swan dive from that tower almost two years ago.
Buffy turned her mind from such thoughts with a frown as she looked upon the long, leather duster that she cradled in her lap. Thanks to the women of Rhosgobel, even the crimson stains were gone from the brown leather - or maybe when Whistler had created the outfit for her, he had added a special Balance Demon charm to the material that made it stain-proof. If that was the case, the least that the short demon could have done was make it knife-proof as well. She liked to pride herself on her unusually high tolerance of pain - most likely a direct result of how much pain her Slayer-enhanced body had endured over the past seven years - yet even her body had been on the verge of calling it quits after enduring so many hours of being the orcs' pincushion and play toy. Her body certainly would have appreciated such a charm.
"Why have you not repaired it?"
Startled from her thoughts, Buffy met Mirdan's inquisitive brown eyes from where he knelt beside his saddle bag, the slayer confusedly attributing his words to the beating that her body had taken just a few short days ago. Then, with a pointed nod towards the jacket that she still cradled in her lap, Buffy finally understood the elf's question as she sighed heavily, once more fingering the several different cuts and tears in the thick leather. "Because I have yet to find Middle-earth's equivalent of a seamstress," she returned as she traced one particularly long cut that marred the soft brown.
"You do not sew?" the elf returned, his fine brows arched in confusion as he quizzically tilted his head to the side in that infuriatingly bird-like manner.
"I was born in 1980 - not 1880," Buffy retorted as she tossed the jacket beside her with a frustrated sigh. Yet when Mirdan patiently waited for clarification, she curtly shook her head. "No, I don't," she stated, her tone flat - and then paused as a new thought occurred to her. "Do you know how to fix it?" she asked, beginning to understand what it must mean to live in their world. It wasn't as though these people could just run to the mall for a new cloak, tunic, or leggings when theirs got ruined. Common sense would indicate that they not only knew how to care for their clothes, but that they most likely carried the implements to do so.
"Of course," Mirdan returned as he rifled through his neatly packed saddlebag before holding up the Middle-earth and Elvish equivalent to a needle and thread. Without another word, he then sidestepped the location that the twins had finally agreed upon for that night's fire, and settled beside the young woman, his long legs crossed before him. Accepting the strange coat, he then examined the heavy material, his long, skilled fingers toying with the fabric before he began to thread the needle and proceeded to teach her how to mend the damaged coat.
Grunting occasionally at the elf's detailed instructions, Buffy feigned interest for all of about two minutes before Legolas' return to camp provided her with a much desired distraction. Smiling, she nodded towards the blond-haired elf - and then grimaced as she noticed the rather large bird and the two rabbits that he carried casually in one hand. Feeling her stomach muscles knot, Buffy quickly turned her gaze from the dead animals, trying and failing to tell her mind that no, those two adorable little bunnies really didn't look that much like Thumper.
The same had happened when the twins had tried to take her hunting the other night. Intellectually she understood that if she wanted to eat anything aside from lembas, nuts, dried fruits, and meat, this was the only way to get it. Nonetheless, she and the others had learned rather quickly that she and hunting just didn't mix. Give her a leering orc any day and they were as good as dead, but an adorable deer that could have passed for Bambi? Nope - pretty much anything of the non-evil variety was safe from her borrowed arrows.
"So here's what I don't understand," Buffy stated, forcing her eyes away from the rock that Legolas now began to clean the animals upon. "Your ancestors and... well, some of you guys in particular," she continued as she waved airily at the gathered elves, "have been around for thousands upon thousands of years. You guys were the ones who came up with the origins of this neat little thing called English-"
"Westron," Mirdan and Legolas automatically corrected as the twins watched in amusement.
"Whatever. And yet no one's come up with electricity yet? Or indoor plumbing?" she continued as she crossed her arms across her chest. "How is that possible?" she demanded as she looked to each elf in turn. "Don't you have any Ben Franklins or Thomas Jeffersons in Middle-earth?"
Amused, Legolas continued to work with the tough, sinewy meat on the small hares as he hazarded a glance in the small blonde's direction. "And what are these things of which you speak?" he asked, his eyes sparkling.
Buffy's enthusiasm deflated as she settled her back against the large rock and ignored Mirdan's quiet snickers from beside her. "The best darn discovery and invention that man ever made - and something that I took for granted," she stated as her eyes drifted to the flickering flames of the newly started fire.
"How do they work?" Mirdan persisted as he finished working the leather around one tear and moved onto the next, his stitches so fine that the narrow line was nearly invisible to the naked eye.
"Well, they..." Buffy began, only to have her words falter as she frowned in confusion. "You know, that's a good question," she murmured, her green eyes narrowing in thought as she shrugged lightly. "I never really thought past the whole flipping the switch and on comes the light, or push the lever and flush goes the toilet. I mean, I guess that someone back home understands how it all works - the mechanics of it - but for the most part... I guess the details are just something that we all overlook.
"Things are much simpler here," she continued as she waved towards where Legolas continued to skin the hares that he had caught. "And much more complicated all at the same time. Here, if you want meat for dinner, you go and catch it. In my world, as long as we could still pick up the hamburger from the grocery store, we never thought about the in-between process of getting the cow into the neat little plastic package," she explained as she held her hands in the brief semblance of the familiar squares of ground meat that she was really coming to miss. Actually, once a girl got past the really large things that were missing in Middle-earth, such as other modes of transportation outside of horses, or even modern conveniences like hundreds of hotels that line the highways, a McDonalds or Starbucks on every corner, and the use of electricity to light the way - the small things started to get noticed. In the end, those were the ones that Buffy found herself missing the most: a soft bed, paved and level roads and sidewalks, radios, television - hell, even the constant drone of freeway traffic... the crash of the waves upon the shore, her morning jolt of caffeine to get her through the day, a washing machine, a spare change of clothes, pajamas, mirrors, hairbrushes, shampoo and conditioner, deodorant, makeup - even towels. There was so much to miss that at times she felt overwhelmed by how different this world was... and by how very much she had lost when she had been banished from all that she knew. Then again, small creature comforts continued to have nothing on the very real pain that was a constant companion to her hurting soul - the pain of the people that she had lost. Buffy didn't survive seven years as a slayer - or even die and come back again two different times - just for coffee and Chicken McNuggets. It was always her friends and family that brought her back and kept her going. "I guess-" she began, her tired sigh catching in her throat as she felt her muscles stiffen, a conditioned response to the soft whisperings that she felt in the back of her mind.
Looking up as Buffy's words trailed into silence, Legolas felt his own body begin to tighten as he instinctively lifted a hand for silence, his ears straining towards the soft song of the scattered trees that guarded their small encampment. Yet after a moment of tensed silence, the blond archer found his muscles beginning to relax as he turned questioning eyes to the small slayer. "What is it?" he asked, ignoring the twins' puzzled looks.
Frowning, Buffy forced her body to relax as she pulled her eyes from the deepening shadows. "It felt like someone was watching us. Like there were eyes-" she began, her words faltering as Thoron stepped into the light of their small fire, oblivious to Buffy's discomfort.
"The horses have chosen to once more wander this night," he stated as he bent to retrieve his small saddlebag and rolled blankets from beside a nearby tree.
"Rodwen and Andrann grieve still for Sador," Legolas murmured, his words a soft sigh as he turned his eyes back to the game that he had killed for that night's meal. What went unspoken was the burning grief that continued to weigh upon his own heart. Sador had been gifted to him by omer after Arod's death, given when Sador was naught but a beautiful young colt, taken to Ithilien to be reared amongst elvenkind. Five years they had spent together, traveling the wilds and making the frequent journey to Minas Tirith - five years that were supposed to be nothing but a heartbeat to his kind - and yet five years that had formed a strong bond between horse and master. Now he had no choice but to move on, his path now bound with Drlum, or Darkshade, as the Rangers had called the stallion, his coat so dark of color that it was nearly black - even if Legolas' heart would never forget the loyalty of the white mare that had carried him for so many years.
Green eyes glancing out in the dark shadows of the coming night, Buffy frowned for a moment more before shrugging away the queer whisperings that tickled the back of her mind. "As I was saying," she stated, forcing her eyes to slide back to the gathered elves, "I guess that I won't be the one to bring the modern marvels of man to Middle-earth."
"Thank the Valar," Thoron muttered beneath his breath, fully aware that not even Buffy would have missed his words as he settled lightly before the small fire.
Laughing lightly as Buffy scowled at the dark-haired elf, Elrohir clapped Thoron on the back before settling beside Legolas, pulling his knife from his sheath to help the prince with their evening meal. "Elladan and I have been talking-"
"You consider that talking?" Mirdan questioned as he arched a fine brow at the pair before returning his attention to Buffy's jacket.
"-and have decided," he smoothly continued, "that we should like to hear a song from Buffy's world."
"A song?" Buffy stammered, the feeling of being watched drowned beneath an all-consuming panic as she turned wide eyes towards the expectant elves. Sometimes it seemed as though her companions knew of only one thing to do in order to pass the many hours upon horseback, and that was to sing, and sing, and then sing some more. Not that Buffy truly minded, for it seemed as though all elves were gifted with clear, flawless voices that were just made for singing. Rather, it was the subjects and the melodies that really demonstrated the differences between her world and theirs. Their songs in English were usually about nature - trees in particular - or legends and tales of the brave deeds of those either long-dead, or those that should probably be long-dead. One time they even sang a song that they claimed was created by a hobbit that they all knew, one about the wonders of hot baths, no less. As for the songs that were sung in their own crazy language - well, that was anyone's guess, but she was pretty sure that they weren't the kind of songs that were found back in Sunnydale.
"Yes, a song," Elladan agreed with a small smile. "Any will do," he added as Buffy's look of panic only increased. "You.. you do have songs where you come from, do you not?" he asked, his smile beginning to slip as he tried to imagine a world without music.
"Of course they do," Mirdan assured as he finished putting in the final stitch, his lips stretching into a large, teasing smile as he nodded at the petite woman who continued to sit beside him. "Why just last night I heard Buffy singing the most interesting song as she was bathing in the riv-"
"Hey!" Buffy broke in, her face flushing a deep red as she lightly smacked the elf beside her. "What did I tell you about me and my alone time in the river?" she demanded as she crossed her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing into green slits. "Off-limits, no elves allowed!" she reiterated as the twins began to laugh, their clear voices ringing on the cool night breeze.
"Now come, dear Buffy," Elrohir called out, his eyes dancing as he beckoned the young woman closer to the fire. "Surely if you can bless the swiftly running waters of the Anduin with your sweet voice, our ears shall be all the more more inviting."
"Sweet voice?" Buffy parroted, her face beginning to grow warm. Even though she may have serenaded her friends and quite a few vampires the year before when that damn singing demon tried to make Dawn - or Xander, if you were getting technical - his new unholy bride, that didn't mean that she was at all confident in giving free shows. It was hard to feel self-conscious of how bad your voice wavered when the people you were singing to responded back in their own booming bass or lilting soprano. Besides, at the time, she could honestly say that she didn't exactly have the worst voice of the Scoobies, and not to be unkind, but all she had to do was listen to Willow do a verse or two and suddenly she felt like a rock star. But sing now? In front of a group of elves that were perfection defined in every damn aspect of their being - aside from Thoron, of course. It was unthinkable. It was-
"Do not force us to beg," Elladan persisted as he arched a fine brow at the blushing girl. "Just a simple tune will suffice."
"Simple tune. A simple tune," Buffy repeated frantically to herself as her mind went horribly blank. As all eyes turned expectantly towards her, Buffy found herself unable to remember the melody to the most basic of songs. How did 'I'm A Little Teapot?' go, anyway? To make matters worse, she had spent the past few months living in a house that was far too small for the many different teenagers that spilled from the rooms and into the hallways. Every hour of every day had been filled with bickering girls and the loud, blaring music of one Top 40s station or another. It had been annoying at the time, but now... now it was catastrophic as the very first melody that popped into her mind was one that she began to sing before she processed what she was doing.
"I wanna li-li-lick you from your head to your toes. I wanna... move from the bed down to the.... uh... never mind," Buffy stammered, her face now positively burning as her mind finally caught up with her mouth, her jaw snapping shut so quickly that the sound of her teeth rebounding off of one another echoed in the silent clearing. "Oh God," Buffy moaned as she dropped her head into her hands, trying to block the sight of the twins' incredulous faces, the reproving look in Thoron's eyes, the faint blush that colored Mirdan's cheeks, or Legolas' twitching lips as he very obviously tried hold back his laughter.
Groaning, Buffy was about to apologize when, mercifully, another far more appropriate song fell from her lips. "A horse is a horse, of course, of course, and no one can talk to a horse, of course, that is, of course, unless the horse is the famous Mr. Ed," she sang, the blush beginning to recede as her smile once more lifted. "Go right to the source and ask a horse; he'll give you the answer that you endorse, he's always on a steady course, talk to Mr. Ed. People go yackity yackity yack and waste their time of day. But Mr. Ed will never speak unless he has something to say," she sang, her voice rising in volume until she was belting out the familiar tune to such a favored childhood show. Sure, it wasn't exactly as beautiful or haunting as any of the songs that the elves had sung, but at least it was about horses. And damn if the song wasn't a catchy little tune. "A horse is a horse, of course, of course, and no one can talk to a horse, of course, that is, of course, unless the horse is the famous Mr. Ed!" she finished, the final note falling away to allow a thick silence to descend upon the group.
Smile faltering, Buffy waited as the silence thickened, each of the elves obviously attempting to process the song as they turned to one another - and then burst into immediate, delighted laughter as they echoed their approval to the dark night.
A short distance away from their small clearing, the echoes of laughter teased Vashnak's heightened hearing. Grimacing, he leaned away from the branch upon which he was perched, the very sound of the elves' merriment causing his pale features to twist in disgust. Their fair voices were as though daggers to his sensitive ears, raking across his senses and causing his lips to stretch in loathing. Yet even as the laughter washed over his hidden perch, he watched through narrowed eyes as the young woman with whom they traveled once more looked away from their bright fire, her green eyes piercing the thick shadows as she searched the night.
Somehow, she knew he watched, even if she didn't trust her senses enough to raise the alarm to the others. He would have to be more careful - follow now from a greater distance in order to ease her fears. No, there was time still - time for confidences to be raised, guards to be dropped, and for preparations to be made. And then...
And then he would come.