Equinoxium: Chapter 16
by Lisette

Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

Darkness had long since fallen upon the world as thick, heavy clouds masked the brilliance of the full moon and cast the vast fields of Rohan into the bitter reaches of night. Once more their path was lit solely by the soft radiance of the elves, their muted conversations mingling with the swishing of the long grasses as the horses continued their southerly route with the slow shuffling of beasts long used to travel. Ordinarily they would have stopped hours ago, but this night they pushed on towards the small copse of trees that stood like a beacon to the elves on the vast, open plains.

"I have missed their soothing song," Legolas sighed as the beginning drifts of the familiar, wordless harmony called out to his soul, his legs unconsciously tightening around Drlum's back in a silent plea to bring them quickly beneath the thick canopies.

"Which brings up a question I've been meaning to ask," Buffy returned as she stretched her arms above her, trying to loosen muscles that had grown stiff and tired. "Are you guys pulling my chain or do you really think that the trees are singing to you? Because on my world, singing trees don't exactly mix with sanity. Besides, I certainly don't hear anything," she added, her sensitive hearing unable to discern anything outside of the wind through the long grasses of the plains or through the thick branches of the trees.

"That is because you are not of the Eldar," Thoron responded as Andrann passed into the small gathering of trees in the otherwise flat lands. "Only the Eldar are blessed with such gifts," he added with clear finality as he, too, turned to the small copse, a rare smile lifting his lips. "Although, surely even you can appreciate being amongst their canopies once more."

Shaking his head ruefully, Mirdan ignored Buffy's tired retort to the stern-faced advisor. Sighing as the tension slowly left his long limbs, he lifted a hand to touch a red leaf as they passed quietly amongst the trees. "Alas that the sky is so dark that our first glimpse of these woods is bathed in shadows," he murmured, his features solemn as what went unspoken was that their group had already seen more than their fair share of darkness on this journey south. From orcs, to wargs, to hill trolls and goblins, their small company had encountered just about every kind of evil that there could be found in these parts - and some that didn't even belong on the fields of Rohan. It was as though they had been marked by Iluvatar himself for some misfortune or another.

Drawn from her rather one-sided argument with Thoron, Buffy quickly shook her head. "Yeah, well alas that my butt is so numb that I can't feel anything below the waist... which may actually be a good thing," she amended as she experimentally poked at one leg, her eyes narrowed upon the soft leather. While she had adapted rather quickly to all of the discomforts of riding a horse for twelve hours a day, this extended ride was once more testing her slayer threshold. "So I ask again, what's with the big rush? Why did we have to camp beneath the trees tonight?" she asked as she returned her hands to the soft folds of Legolas' suede tunic.

"As I have told you," the fair-haired elf returned, smiling as his gaze pierced the darkness to track the softly swaying branches above, "it has been far too long since we have last heard the song of the trees."

"Yeah, it's been all of... what... three days now?" Buffy asked, smiling impishly at the back of Legolas' head.

"Yes, but for a wood elf three days is an eternity. Besides, you need fret no longer. Our site is before us," Legolas stated as he swept his hand forward - and then froze as his sharp eyes took note of the flickering light that pierced the shadows before them.

Following his arm, Buffy frowned as she, too, noted the small flickers of light that could be seen through the trees. "Yeah, an idea that appears to be wholly lacking in originality," she murmured as everyone began tiredly reaching for their weapons. "Looks like we're not the only ones with the grand tree plan," she muttered as Mirdan and Thoron somehow went from sitting astride their horses to standing lightly upon the animals' sloped backs, to disappearing into the branches above with nothing but a whisper of moving cloth.

For a few tense seconds, no one moved as Buffy found herself leaning around Legolas, her eyes attempting to pierce the shadows as she stretched her senses to the limits, her teeth unconsciously worrying her lip as she tried to understand what lay before them. This was no orc, and neither was it a warg or troll or anything else that she had come against while in Middle-earth... and yet at the same time, it certainly wasn't human. Frowning, Buffy turned away from the flickering light and glanced at her remaining companions, noting the tense set to their shoulders, their hands locked around the hilts of their weapons, and their bodies unmoving. Even the horses seemed carved from stone as the entire world fell silent - until a single, sharp whistle broke the stillness of the night.

"Thoron says it is a friend that we meet," Legolas sighed as he and the twins released their weapons and urged the animals forward.

"A friend?" Buffy returned as she slowly allowed her sword to slide back into its hand-crafted sheath, forcing her hand to fall back to her side as the three elves continued towards the flickering light, Andrann and Rodwen trailing riderless behind them.

"Well, perhaps not a friend in the intimate sense, but most certainly not an enemy," Legolas amended as the trees finally parted before them to reveal a small clearing, lit by the flickering light of a fire. Instantly his eyes turned past the small pack and neatly rolled blankets that were propped against a far tree, and instead settled upon the tall, dark-haired figure who stood opposite their entrance, the stranger's pale hand slowly releasing the dagger he had drawn.

Silently bidding his horse to stop just inside the small clearing, Legolas slid from his mount's tall back as Thoron and Mirdan landed on the leaf-strewn ground beside him with the inborn grace of those born to the trees. Smiling, the archer crossed his arm across his chest and bowed to the stranger, even as he tried to place his unfamiliar face and strange clothing. He was of average height for his kind, his body long and slender beneath his grimy, travel-stained tunic and leggings, a tattered black cloak thrown about his shoulders. His eyes, as black as coal, were set wide above a straight nose and thin lips that were lifted in a tentative smile, with hair a shimmering dark ebony that framed pale cheekbones and hid all but the highest point of his delicately tapered ears.

"Mae govannen," Legolas greeted as he moved across the clearing, his companions following as the strange elf moved forward and awkwardly returned the customary elven words, as though his tongue was unaccustomed to speaking in Sindarin. "I am Legolas Thranduilion," Legolas continued in Westron, both in deference to Buffy and in hopes that the elf, who was obviously not from Ithilien - and judging from the curious glances from the sons of Elrond, not from Imladris either - would be more comfortable speaking in the Common Tongue.

"Well met," the stranger returned with a small, thankful nod.

"Forgive me," Elrohir broke in as he curiously eyed the dark-haired elf, "but your accent is strange to me. From whence do you hail?" he asked as he noted the elf's garments, which seemed to be a mixture of clothing of all races and cultures. The brown leggings appeared to be of Mirkwood design, while the white under-tunic resembled those as worn by the Men who lived west of the Misty Mountains. Then there was the tunic which seemed to-

"Please forgive my brother's abrupt tongue," Elladan cut in as the stranger's thin lips pursed, twin spots of pink coloring the high bones of his cheeks. "I am Elladan, son of Lord Elrond," he stated as he touched his closed fist to his heart and bowed to the elf, "and this is my twin, Elrohir," he added with an apologetic nod towards his sibling, younger by only a few minutes.

Smile beginning to falter, Legolas listened as Mirdan and Thoron offered their own introductions, his eyes critically sweeping over the unknown elf. In the past, coming upon one of the Eldar that was unknown to him would not have been so strange, but with the Age of Men now upon them, and with the majority of the elven population having already left these shores, such a phenomenon was rare. Especially for an elf that was dressed so strangely, whose accent, as Elrohir had noted, was so curious, and whose eyes contained a brittle hardness not usually seen in his kind.

"Well met to you all," the stranger returned as he mimicked the elven bow, his movements altogether fluid and awkward at the same time. "And the Lady?" he asked, his dark eyes sliding past Legolas and to something just beyond where the small elven party stood.

Turning, Legolas followed the other's gaze, his own eyes narrowing as he found Buffy where they had left her, still perched upon Drlum's dark-gray back with her sharp gaze riveted upon them. While she didn't exactly seem poised to strike, the tense set to her shoulders spoke of a wariness that Legolas had long learned to heed during his travels with the petite woman - a wariness that caused his curiosity to become dispelled beneath a layer of suspicion as he instinctively turned his eyes to the darkness that surrounded the small clearing, his ears straining to pick up any discordant notes in the trees' lulling song.

"Our apologies," Mirdan murmured as he shot Buffy a puzzled frown, oblivious to his lord's mounting concern. He lifted his hand and indicated for her to come forward - and felt his frown deepen as she reluctantly slid from the horse and slowly moved towards them. "This is Buffy," he introduced, throwing her a puzzled glance as she stopped in between he and Legolas, her hand twitching towards her shoulder and her sword's hilt before visibly forcing it to her side. Frown deepening even further, he turned to his prince in confusion - and felt his puzzlement twist into concern as Legolas' eyes narrowed upon the dark woods around them.

"Well met," the stranger returned as he slowly reached down and took Buffy's fidgeting hand in his and raised it to his lips, his black gaze locking with her piercing green eyes. He could feel her distrust in the stiff set to her hand where it touched against his lips, and in her eyes he could see the transformation as her unease sharpened into a fine point, her body jerking with the bolt of recognition that flared in those wide green orbs.

"Vashnak," Buffy gasped, the harsh name that she had heard only once before slipping from her lips as the visage that had haunted her nightmares became superimposed over the beautiful face that was set before her. Intellectually she knew that it couldn't be him; that it was impossible for the twisted orc that had spent a long night making her misery his personal lustfest to be standing before her; that this creature couldn't possibly be the orc that she had last seen writhing in agony upon the blood-stained ground - writhing in agony because he had-

Refusing to finish that thought, Buffy felt her mind spin as logic told her all of these things even as her heart knew the truth, finally understanding what her senses had been trying to tell her all along. Even when the elves had all relaxed at the news that they weren't stumbling upon a camp of nasties, Buffy found herself unable to shake away the nagging doubt that something was wrong. The elf before her felt different from her companions - not innately evil like the wargs, not twisted against nature like the orcs, but.... different. A bad kind of different. Yet it wasn't until she looked into his coal-black eyes, his warm lips pressed against her skin, that she was finally able to look past the pretty packaging to see the twisted soul within - to recognize the creature that had spent countless hours torturing her with his brethren.

"He's an orc-" she began, her hand twisting from his grasp as she reached for her sword, only to have her shrill warning lost beneath a surprised grunt as Vashnak seized her wrist with a speed and strength that spoke of the Eldar. Warm hand wrapping around the delicate bones with a crushing grip, he pulled her forward, tipping her off balance and simultaneously swinging her around until her back was pressed against his chest, his right hand still tightly gripping the injured appendage as he used his arm to pin her against him, a long dagger materializing in his left hand as the sharpened blade came to rest against the hollow of her throat.

Everything had happened so quickly, his actions more blur than movement, that precious seconds were lost before her companions were even aware of what was happening, her warning still echoing in the cool night. By the time that the others had realized that the threat came from within the small clearing, and not from without, it was already too late as the points of five elven arrows were trained without a single shot having been released. Everyone knew that even a killing shot carried too much chance of the knife tearing into soft skin and spilling precious blood. She may have been a slayer, but as she had already learned once by this orc's cruel hand, she certainly wasn't invincible to the bite of a dagger.

Eyes hard and cold, Vashnak lifted his head and released three short, piercing whistles before turning back to his captive. The young woman held her body rigid against his own, her sheathed sword pressed against his tunic and her right arm pulled awkwardly across her body, her wrist still captured in his tight grip. He could feel her chest move as she worked to slow her startled breathing, trying to ease the press of skin against the knife's sharp blade as he felt her heart hammering in discordant chaos against his own. He could hear her blood rushing through her veins as the rest of the world fell silent. For a moment, it was as though nothing existed outside of him and his unwilling captive.

"What did you do?" Buffy demanded, her words slow and even against the knife against her neck. "How did you-"

"Me? I did nothing," Vashnak returned, his words a soft whisper against her ear as he tilted his head forward, his ebony locks sliding over their shoulders. "It was your blood that set me free," he stated as Buffy felt the ground lurch beneath her feet with those five simple words.

"Set you free? I don't understand!" Elrohir growled, his eyes snapping to his brother and companions. While Mirdan and Elladan looked just as clueless as he, Legolas' face had grown ashen and Thoron turned his scathing glare from the dark-haired elf to the young woman he held captive.

"What is your name, Master Elf?" Elladan demanded, his voice as hard as stone as his gray eyes, so like his father's, narrowed upon the dark-haired elf, his arrow never wavering from where it was aimed at his head.

Black eyes narrowing into dangerous slits, the creature tore his gaze from the golden crown of Buffy's head. "Did you not listen, Elf? My name has already been given - though I am no golog!" he hissed, spitting the orcish word for the Eldar as his eyes narrowed into black slits. "I am something more... something new and something old - something different," he murmured, his voice softening into a soft caress as though casting a spell upon them - a spell that was shattered as he lifted the knife and drew the sharp edge over Buffy's cheek in an act reminiscent of his final brutal act only weeks ago, the cold metal biting deep into flesh and drawing blood before it was once more pressed against the soft arch of her throat.

Hissing as the unexpected pain burned a fiery path across tanned skin, Buffy bit back her cry as she felt her blood ooze down her cheek and slowly drip from the point of her chin, splashing upon the hand that was still pinioned in Vashnak's tight hold across her chest. Everything was happening too fast and Buffy felt herself whirling beneath the implications. She didn't understand what any of this meant. She didn't understand how her blood could be responsible for... for... for-

"Orcs!"

Startled, Buffy's green eyes snapped open as she instinctively looked to Legolas, finally focusing her thoughts long enough to realize that the Elf was right. She could feel them, their wrongness nearly overwhelming. Orcs were coming, coming fast... and they were coming because Vashnak hadn't come alone.

"You were waiting for us," Legolas stated, ignoring the trees' frantic warnings of the creatures that swept amongst their dark boles, their shrieks carrying on the night wind. "You are the reason for all of the attacks. For-"

"The Elf is good," Vashnak cut in, his black eyes twinkling with barely disguised mirth as he once more lowered his head to whisper into Buffy's ear, fully aware that the elves could hear everything that he said. After all, though he was loathe to admit it, their senses were one and the same, their abilities reflective of a race that represented everything that he despised. "But I wonder... will he and the others leave you to save themselves? Will they abandon you?"

Frowning, Buffy instinctively turned her eyes to those with whom she had spent practically every moment since her arrival in Middle-earth. While she harbored no hope of Thoron possessing any desire to stick around on her behalf, she knew that the other four wouldn't be so quick to leave her to the orcs' mercy, or lack thereof. Although, that thought alone was enough to cause a small scowl to twist her lips.

This was the second time in less than two weeks that she had been placed in the rather unfortunate and completely unique situation of being at the mercy of someone else. She was the Slayer, and as such, she wasn't the one who was supposed to be held hostage and used as a bargaining chip. She was the one who did the bargaining and saved the day. That was her job, her role in life, and to be put in a situation where things were so horribly reversed only caused everything to feel even more surreal than before. Even though it rubbed Buffy in so many different ways, she had to admit that in this case, she was powerless to do anything. They were at an impasse and they all knew it. The elves couldn't attack without risking injury to her, and it wasn't as though Vashnak was going to just drop the knife. Even more importantly, Buffy was quickly discovering that she liked her neck just the way it was, that it suited its purpose of attaching her head to her shoulders quite well, which meant that when it came right down to it, she wasn't going anywhere. Yet that didn't mean that her companions had to share her fate.

"Go," she whispered, her eyes sliding past the others to lock on Legolas' impassive face - a face that was as still as a statue carved by any craftsman... and yet his clear blue eyes were not made from stone. Instead, his blue eyes shone with the light of the stars as they met her own and remained thus even as the orc cries became deafening. Those blue eyes told her that he would not abandon her anymore now than he was willing to back before they had been taken by orcs in their small campsite in Mirkwood. Legolas Thranduilion would run from no orc.

"Legolas?" Elladan murmured, his clear voice pinched as he turned away from Vashnak and shouldered his bow in favor of his sword, his brother doing the same as Thoron and Mirdan leveled their arrows into the darkness that was hidden just beyond the fire's flickering light. "Legolas, I dearly hope that you are operating beneath some sort of bizarre wood-elf strategy," he stated as he darted a quick glance at the young prince who remained locked as before, his arrow unwaveringly pointed at Vashnak's forehead. "A strategy that you are about to share with your companions, no less?" he hazarded as the orc screams fell silent, the firelight reflecting off of dark, beady eyes that watched them from the shadows.

"Fools," Vashnak stated as the orc troupe under his command warily stepped from the shadows, their dark eyes locked upon the arrows and swords drawn before them as they lifted their own worn blades. "You have already cast your lot by not running when you had the chance. Now lower your weapons before I slit her throat and spill her blood upon this earth," he advised as he shifted his grip, gently digging the blade against her neck.

For a tense moment, no one moved as the elves instinctively turned to Legolas, watching him for their cue - a cue that came when Legolas slowly lowered his bow, the arrow falling from the slackened string and toppling to the ground with a soft snick as the sharpened head became embedded in the soft dirt. "Lower your weapons," he ordered, his voice an even monotone as he casually draped the longbow over his shoulder.

Eyes growing wide, the younger son of Elrond looked from Legolas' tall form to his brother's incredulous eyes, and then past as both Mirdan and Thoron quickly obeyed their lord's command, the unused arrows falling at their feet as they returned their bows across their shoulders and backs. "Leave it to a wood-elf to come up with this for their plan," Elrohir grumbled as he reluctantly followed Elladan's lead, slowly returning his sword to its sheath as he glared at the dozen or so orcs that leered at him with hungry eyes.

"I agree, my brother," Elladan snorted as the orcs broke as though a dam had been released, charging forth like the hungry waters of the Bruinen as their rough, black hands twisted one arm behind his back, forcing him to his knees amidst a sea of dark-clad bodies. "Let it be our lesson of what occurs when a Noldor listens to a Silvan elf," he added, before a meaty, scaled fist connected with his jaw in an obvious order to stay quiet.

Wincing as Elladan rolled with the blow, Buffy suddenly found her view obstructed as a large, misshapen orc stepped before her and Vashnak, its black, cracked lips split wide in what could only be described as a hungry leer. Eyes narrowing into slits, the slayer felt her muscles knot, her body rippling with coiled energy as the foul beast drew closer until he towered above her, its thick hand reaching out to seize her free left hand in its own, easily holding it as the other hand gripped her chin and forcefully turned her head to the side. Ignoring the dig of the knife against her throat, Buffy looked past the small troupe of orcs and once more sought out Legolas' reassuring blue eyes, wanting to draw strength from his strong gaze. But she couldn't find Legolas in the throng, and instead she found her eyes drawn to Thoron from where he was kneeling beside the dying fire, still proud before his captors.

If she didn't even understand what was going on, she knew that the advisor couldn't possibly know. Yes It was apparent that he suspected something that her beleaguered mind couldn't process as the indifference that he usually showed her had been replaced by pure and utter loathing. Wanting to recoil from the elf's heavy glare, Buffy settled instead on slipping her green eyes shut, as though somehow the darkness could protect her from what was happening without - yet as a hot breath washed over her injured cheek, as something warm and slimy, coarse and abrasive pressed against the wounded flesh, Buffy found that comforting darkness slip away as her eyes flew open, her body automatically tensing as the thick tongue grated against the long cut. There was no way that a tongue should hurt that much, but it was as though the orc was striving for something that she didn't understand as the vile thing probed past the sliced skin as though trying to reach something that was hidden within her cheek, aggravating the wound and causing the blood to course into his mouth.

Whimpering as the tears burned at her eyes, Buffy felt all at once violated and sickened by this orc's tongue as it pressed against her cheek, her soft sound of distress sounding muffled and as far away as the angry shouts of her companions and the cheers of the other orcs that gathered around them. Yet what was worse than everything was Vashnak's low, melodious voice as his lips brushed against her ear.

"So your gift has been given to another."

Instantly everything became too much and as her veins filled with ice, she felt herself lose control. Her body was cold - freezing - and suddenly Vashnak's hand around her wrist and his chest pressed against her back were like points of fire against her hurting skin. She wanted him gone, away, and she wanted this to stop. She remembered what happened the last time an orc had tasted her blood and she didn't want to see it again. She didn't want to hear its agonized screams and she couldn't handle the implications. Suddenly it didn't matter that there was a knife pressed against her throat. It didn't matter that these creatures were stronger than vampires for in the end, in her panic, their strength couldn't touch hers.

As an inarticulate cry escaped Buffy's lips, she quickly tore her left hand loose of the orc's tight grip and twisted forward, semi-aware of Vashnak withdrawing the blade before it could slice into her neck. But then everything was a blur as she lashed out with a sharp kick that sent Vashnak tumbling to the ground, her back slamming against the startled orc that had dared taste her wound and sending them both careening into the mass of orcs. Idly, she thought that she saw Legolas and the others follow her cue as they broke free of their own captors, seizing knives and swords as they began to cut through the orcs that blocked the path to the horses that had been imprisoned amongst more of the small troupe. But even thoughts of her companions were a distant concern as she became a beast of fury and uncontrolled panic, hands and feet lashing out against any that dared come near her. She was moving on instinct alone, more so than any other time in her life, that even thoughts of the sword that was strapped to her back were forgotten as she instead used the gifts that the PTB had blessed her with to make everything within reach feel her anger - until the scream that she had dreaded shattered her momentary insanity.

The world became frozen as all eyes fell upon the large orc that had come before her, still lying on the ground from where he had fallen. His black eyes were impossibly large, his back arched and limbs rigid as his mouth became locked in a soundless scream of agony. And then it was moving again as black hands clawed at its throat, sound once more escaping its lips as it began to keen in agony.

Mind growing numb, Buffy felt her energy and will disappear with that soul-shattering sound as she fell to her knees amidst a pile of bodies, some dead and others merely stunned by the scene before them. Tears blurring her vision, she felt her eyes slide shut as her world became enveloped in darkness, her hands pressed tightly against her ears in a vain effort to block out the horrid sound. Yet with each new wheeze and agonized scream, Buffy felt as though something inside of her died just a little bit more.

But then there was a warm hand wrapped around her arm as she was roughly hauled to her feet, her weak limbs trembling beneath her as she stumbled against a familiar, lean form. Eyes slipping open, Buffy found everything moving again as she was guided across the clearing to where the elves waited, their swords catching the flickering light of the dying flames as they battled from atop their tall mounts against the orcs that glistened in the darkness. Turning her weary head, Buffy lifted her eyes to the smooth line of Legolas' chin, his skin glowing with the strength and purity of the Eldar. For a moment, she became lost in his simple beauty before his comforting presence disappeared, her weight suddenly supported against Drlum's strong flank. Head whirling, she watched as Legolas leapt lightly upon the stallion's high back before she felt his hand wrap around her arm, pulling her effortlessly up as her legs slowly struggled to find purchase as she was unceremoniously deposited before him, her hands instinctively becoming entwined in Drlum's coarse mane.

As one, the elves turned their horses away from the clearing, their steeds poised to flee from this deathtrap - only to have the world once more become centered around the shrill keening that hiccupped into an inhuman scream of untold agony. Together, elves and orcs alike turned to watch in muted horror and fascination as the writhing orc, now convulsing upon the ground, lifted one hand before his face... a hand that slowly began to stretch, the sounds of brittle bones cracking and merging as it grew longer, the skin hue changing from deep mottled black to a pale cream, the skin becoming smooth and... perfect.

Without thinking, Buffy found herself turning in her seat as she somehow managed to slide Legolas' bow from his back while snagging an arrow from his quiver with the other hand. Then, before anyone could speak, let alone move, she leaned around the elf and drew back the arrow, releasing the bolt to fly straight and true across the clearing, imbedding itself in the orc's forehead and forever silencing its scream. For a second more, the silence stretched as orc and elf alike watched as the tortured creature slumped upon the ground, a small trickle of blackish blood oozing from the arrow protruding from its black, cracked skin - until the blood began to run red.

"Hurry," Thoron urged, his voice cracking as he turned and spurred Andrann into the cover of the trees. "We must flee!"

"To Edoras!" Elladan added as his own proud mount leapt forward, charging through the trees and into the open fields beyond as the small company fled almost due west to the nearest safe haven to be found in these lands; Edoras, home of omer King and a refuge against the unending darkness of this cold night.

As the elven horses charged from the clearing, Vashnak slowly reclaimed his feet, his hands absently brushing the dirt and leaves from his hopelessly stained tunic. Black eyes narrowing in his pale face, he looked to where Gundug had fallen, the orc's face forever locked in a state of agony with its one perfect hand draped across his chest. Those that had survived the elves' brutal attack slowly gathered around their fallen captain, their faces twisted in reverence as they looked from the orc to the one that had promised them such deliverance - an ascension to that which they were meant to be.

"Vashnak?"

"Join with the others and see that the preparations have been made," Vashnak ordered, his eyes falling to the orc who would now lead this small band. Then, without waiting to see that his commands would be followed, he turned back to the site of the massacre and retrieved his small bag, briefly checking to see that all that he needed could be found within.

If they thought that they could escape with the prize so easily, they were about to learn how wrong they could be.