Equinoxium: Chapter 17
by Lisette
Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.
Author's Note: To ensure that we avoid any and all confusion with the smattering of names that are thrown about in the LoTR world, please remember that quite a few characters go by many names. As we covered earlier, Gandalf and Aragorn are a couple of these people - as are Arwen and owyn. For example, Gandalf is also known as Mithrandir to the elves. Arwen is also known as the Evenstar. owyn is also known as the White Lady. Aragorn is also known as Estel to Arwen and the twins, Strider to the hobbits, and Elessar to his subjects (among others). I know that I could probably just keep calling the characters by one name, but in hopes of being true to LoTR, I'm going to have to call them different things depending on who's addressing who.
With a frantic pace that had lasted them throughout all the long night, the five elven horses carrying their six weary passengers rode up to the great wooden gate of Edoras mere hours after the sun had risen. As a testament to the peace that now blanketed their world, the impossibly tall gates were thrown open in silent invitation to travelers, merchants, and peasants alike, and the small company took advantage of this fact as they charged through the gates and past the startled denizens, climbing the winding street paved with rough-hewn stone ever higher until they finally gained the steps that led to the great Golden Hall of Meduseld.
Landing lightly beside his horse, Legolas reached up to help Buffy from the tall height as she slid into his arms, only to lean heavily against him as her legs buckled beneath her slight weight. Eyes narrowing in concern, he turned his piercing gaze upon her down-turned head, frowning as he noted the pale tint to her pallor, the glazed appearance of her eyes, and the ragged cut that had clotted sometime during the night, crusted blood flaking around the tattered edges and down her cheek.
Their escape had been urgent as they had pushed their horses through the night, desperate to reach the safety of Edoras. With this enemy now revealed, none of the elves harbored any thoughts that their next opponent would be so mundane as a few hill trolls. They had need to reach omer and they needed to do so quickly, which had left no opportunity for talk as each had fallen prey to their own dark thoughts. Yet while he and the others had been rejuvenated by the sight of the familiar Golden Halls, Buffy, it seemed, was still locked in whatever troubled place her thoughts had carried her.
"Here, we will take her," Elladan offered as he and Elrohir moved silently beside them, the twins' gentle hands wrapping around Buffy's slender waist and easily supporting her between them.
"We must see omer and send word to Estel," Elrohir added, his features grim as he nodded to where Thoron and Mirdan waited before the grand steps.
Sighing, Legolas reluctantly released his hold on the seemingly frail slayer and turned towards the high steps and the gleaming doors that waited atop the massive stone entranceway. As always the wind was strong here, so high upon this hill and unprotected by tree or bush. Brisk and cold, it pulled at the long strands of his unbound hair, catching and tangling them around his pale features as he started up the stairs, the others trailing behind him.
Normally, custom would demand that visitors to the King's Hall would relinquish their weapons to the guards outside and wait to be announced before proceeding into the massive stone hall. Legolas, Lord of Ithilien and one of the famed Nine Walkers, friend to omer King, was granted certain liberties not afforded to other guests. This fact, combined with the weight of what he had witnessed, caused for the blond elf to forgo even the most minute of courtesies as he brushed past the waiting guards and threw open the doors to the Great Hall, his long strides carrying him into the shadowed interior as Thoron and Mirdan fell into step to either side of him.
Immediately he found his eyes turning forward, quickly adjusting to the dim lighting as they found omer's familiar form seated upon his throne, the man's curly blond hair nearly hiding the small circlet he wore upon his brow and framing his strong face. Nine years had come and gone since Legolas had first laid eyes upon this young king, and in his place sat a man of nearly forty years, his easy smile belying the firm lines of his strong jaw. Beside him, resplendent in a gown of deep blue with her golden, tousled hair cascading over her shoulders, sat his queen, Lothriel, daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Yet what Legolas hadn't been expecting was the two figures that were seated prominently before the King and Queen of Rohan.
"Legolas!"
Pausing mid-stride, the Lord of Ithilien floundered beneath his good fortune as his eyes eagerly swept over the proud form of the very friend that he had been striving to reach all these long days. "Aragorn!" he cried, his blue eyes lighting upon the tall man that, though mortal, showed the passing years far less than his fellow king thanks to the blood of the elves that ran through his veins. His black hair was just beginning to show the slightest peppering of gray, his silver circlet with the green elfstone shining from his brow as his gray eyes crinkled in joy.
"Legolas, what an unexpected-"
Yet the king never finished his joyous greeting as his wife's slender hand fell upon his shoulder, her own piercing gaze locking upon Legolas and the two companions that paused beside their lord. "What has happened?" she asked, her fair voice ringing off of thick stone as she took in their disheveled state and the shadows that lined their eyes.
For a moment, Legolas found himself floundering beneath the heavy weight of Arwen's questioning glance. Though the Evenstar had chosen to follow her husband to the Doom of Men, to the naked eye she still possessed the full beauty and grace of the elven race. Only those who knew her best would be able to see the changes that her choice had wrought - the slight sorrow that lined her dark eyes and the weight that now pressed upon her slender shoulders. Her senses, while still far more sensitive than those of Men, had become dampened by her choice, the song of Ilvatar becoming disjointed to her ears while the whisper of the trees and the open lands seemed less lulling - and yet the strength in her eyes had not diminished. Beneath the heavy weight of her worried stare, Legolas found that his words had fled from his tongue, leaving the silence to thicken as he tried and failed to somehow explain all that had transpired. In the end, he found that he could not and instead did the only thing left to him as he silently stepped aside, revealing the twin sons of Elrond and the one they supported.
Gasping softly, Arwen found herself riveted by the unexpected sight of both her beloved brothers and the young woman that stood between them. The twins looked worn and tired, while the girl they sheltered looked pale and distraught, her eyes turned to the floor before her with one hand pressed against a bloody gash that was crusted in dried blood and marred her pretty face. Her garments were unseemly and foreign to the queen, tight brown leather that hugged narrow legs and dipped low over the tanned skin of her bosom, vaguely hidden beneath the long coat she wore. Idly the queen became aware of the rustle of thick cloth as Lothriel moved beside her, the younger queen's hand fluttering to her lips before she cast aside her hesitation and hurried towards the gathered elves, her long gown flowing behind her.
"You poor thing," Lothriel murmured as one of the elven twins stepped back to allow her access to the shorter lady, the blonde seemingly oblivious to the world around her. A small frown worrying her pretty face, the queen gently eased an arm around the stranger and guided her towards a low bench.
"Elladan, Elrohir - what has happened?" Arwen demanded as she hurried to Lothriel's side, her warm hands gently pulling the stranger's limp fingers to the side so that she could inspect the nasty cut. "Estel, you should see to this," she called out, beckoning her husband forth as she knelt before the stranger.
"There... there was an orc," Elladan explained as Aragorn shouldered his way through the growing circle, his skilled hands gently probing the enflamed wound.
"But it wasn't an orc," Elrohir offered as omer joined their small circle, already having sent for clean cloths and warm water.
Turning away from his inspection, Aragorn arched a brow at his foster-brothers before shaking his head in irritation, his eyes seeking out the blond archer that had long been his companion. "Legolas, tell us plainly what has happened," he urged, noting the way the elf's eyes never strayed from the despondent young woman they had led into omer's halls. "Who is she?" he asked as he waved towards the stranger.
Sighing, Legolas felt the long night press upon him as he wearily waved towards the slayer. "Her name is Buffy," he stated, his eyes filling with sadness. "And she-"
"I'm a warrior."
Startled, everyone turned towards the petite blonde as her head slowly tilted down, her eyes falling to the hands that she had loosely clasped in her lap.
"At least... I was a warrior," Buffy amended, her words sounding so far away to her own ears - even further than the voices of Legolas or the twins, or those of the strange men dressed in fine robes and the beautiful women in their long dresses. She felt detached from the world around her - distanced from her own mind and body and only half aware of those that watched her closely, the world silent save for her soft words.
"Buffy, are-"
"I was a warrior for the good guys," Buffy cut in, forcing her leaden chin to lift as she vainly searched faces that seemed alien and distorted, desperately looking for a familiar face amongst these strange creatures as her blessed, numbing existence began to become muddied and polluted by half-remembered screams. "I'm the one who was Chosen to stand before the darkness... before the evil," she continued, her words beginning to fall faster with each uttered cadence as the screams echoed, the strange faces twisting into that of Vashnak.
"I was dead and my time was over," Buffy murmured, feeling the pain twisting in her chest as everything began to build within her - every suspicion, every worry, and every heartfelt terror that had been awakened within her ever since she first found herself in that sun-drenched wooded clearing in this strange world. "My time was over, I know it was over, but my friends brought me back. They brought me back to life. But they weren't supposed to and it ruined the Balance. There was too much Good and it was wrong. All wrong," she stammered, feeling the tears begin to burn the corners of her eyes and hating herself even more for this weakness. "The First wanted our blood, and the only way to restore the Balance was to undue what had been done... and so They sent me away to where I was needed... to where I was needed," she murmured, her words dying as everything became blindingly clear in one horrible flash.
Once more Buffy found herself in a blood-stained clearing that was lit by pre-dawn light, faced by the troupe of Rangers as she vainly tried to explain her purpose in being there, and once more she heard the teasing taunt of one intuitive ranger: Or perhaps our world has become too peaceful and the Valar have sent you to offset the scales in the other direction. Maybe you bring the great evil.
"Oh God," Buffy stammered, staggering weakly to her feet as she felt the meager contents of her stomach lurch with those taunting words. Her world was crashing down around her and everything went silent except the thundering of her own heart. "Oh God," she repeated, feeling the tears course down her cheeks in bitter streams of understanding. "They didn't send me here to make things better," she whispered, the words choked from her aching throat as she lifted her head, her green eyes finally seeing her surroundings for what they were as they unerringly found Legolas' familiar face amongst the blur of everything else. "You guys have been saying it all along, but I refused to listen... refused to see...
"I'm nine years too late to help you guys," Buffy stated, wanting to stop but knowing that she was unable. "They... they sent me here because things were too good," she stammered, knowing even as she spoke the words aloud that it was a conclusion that Legolas had somehow already reached. A conclusion that he already knew. "They sent me here to make things worse. They... they made me the Bad Guy."
For another moment, silence reigned as her stark words echoed amongst the high stone. There was no accusation in Legolas' eyes, but in a way, Buffy realized that there didn't need to be. All the accusation that she needed was in her own heart as she slowly looked down upon the blood that stained her hands. Her blood.
Your blood set me free.
Stomach heaving painfully, Buffy looked away from her stained fingers as she forcefully pushed aside a tall, blond-haired man and the beautiful, dark-haired she-elf that stood beside him. "I... I shouldn't be here," she stammered as she turned about in the massive room, her eyes desperately searching the shadows until they landed on the open doors at the far end of the room, flooding the floor before them with daylight. Gasping, she turned towards the open portal, her legs once more filled with strength as she half-stumbled, half-ran towards the light, leaving the stunned group in silence.
Shock-laden limbs heavy and lethargic, Legolas watched as her blond hair trailed behind her slender frame as though a banner, before even that disappeared into the bright wash of the light of the new day. Slowly, he turned to follow her when the hands of Elladan and Elrohir fell heavy upon his shoulders, silently bidding him to stop.
"Let her be for awhile," the elder twin advised, his eyes, too, locked on the place where Buffy had disappeared.
Sighing, Legolas slowly nodded his agreement as he reluctantly turned from the open door - and grimaced as he found Aragorn's wide, disbelieving eyes upon him.
"Will someone please explain to me exactly what in the name of Ilvatar is going on?"
Chest heaving, Buffy staggered from the dark hall and into the blinding sunshine as a fierce, cold wind tore at her hair, the unrelenting gale pulling at the edges of her leather jacket and causing it to flap loudly behind her. The sound of the wind was like a dull roar in her ears as her eyes painfully adjusted to the bright light, blinking away searing sun spots to reveal the downward arc of the village that seemed to be built into the hill that circled beneath them. There was a time when this modest village built within the impressive keep would have amused her, while the view of the wide plains with the towering, snow-capped mountains serving as a backdrop would have left her breathless. This, however, was not that time.
Perched on the very edge of the stone landing with a high drop spread out before her, she felt adrift from the world around her as the cold wind chapped her pale cheeks, causing her eyes to tear as the sun only served to remind her of the night that had been spent lost in darkness and thought. She was so tired... so very tired and worn, her head hurting nearly as much as her heart. She had spent the last few weeks blessedly free from the responsibilities of a destiny that had so burdened her spirit, and to have them come rushing back in a terrifying reversal in one night was simply too much for her to bear. She felt... fragile.
Frowning at this alien thought, Buffy turned away from the sweeping plains, her arms wrapping around her thin waist - and froze as she noticed the soldiers that stood at attention beside the open door, their eyes transfixed upon her. Frowning, Buffy wrapped her coat tighter around her small frame as she turned away from their curious gazes and hurried to the stone stairs that led down into the quiet bustle of the village.
She needed silence, peace, and a place to hide from the world and herself until she could understand this new twist to the soap opera that was her life. A peace that was elusive as only a few steps into the village served to remind her of the differences between her and these strange people. In this village of Men she felt naked amongst people that were dressed in tattered breeches, long dresses, and heavy cloaks, their eyes forever following her movements as she tried to lose herself amongst the sloped, twisted streets. Everyone's eyes were upon her and she hated the questions that shone there along with the mild disapproval that pulled at the faces of the women and the appreciation in those of the men. Yet at every turn, she only found more people - more people watching, judging, their voices echoing in a heavy, harsh language that she didn't understand. All too soon she felt the tears building as the sobs began to shake her thin shoulders. She wanted out of this strange world and away from these strange people. She wanted to go home.
As a wave of fierce homesickness swept over her as though ready to engulf a small, flailing ship, Buffy finally found solace in the form of a small, dark row between wooden buildings. It was no shadowed graveyard, yet it was a familiar darkness that had cradled and comforted her for seven years - seven years that had seen the rise and fall of a Slayer. A darkness that had forever been her stalwart companion when all else had failed.
Staggering amongst the shadows, her legs gave out beneath her as Buffy tumbled to her knees beside a strong wall, the tears coursing down her cheeks as she fell forward, her forehead pressed against the cold ground. She wanted to go home. She wanted to hear her friends' voices lifted in laughter, to feel Giles' hand upon her own and Spike's strong arms around her shoulders, to have Xander's comforting smile lifting her spirit and Willow's sparkling eyes warming her heart, and Dawn... Dawn was so much a part of herself that she wanted nothing more than to have her little sister beside her, making her whole.
Straightening slightly, the tears continually wetting her cheeks, Buffy reached into the pocket that was sewn beside her heart and wrapped trembling fingers along the worn corners of her treasured photograph. Over the course of the past few weeks, she had found herself coming back to the picture less and less, the need to see her friends and family at least once every few minutes falling until she pulled it from her pocket only once or twice every hour... and then only a few times every day. Now she could honestly say that she didn't remember how long it had been since she had last looked upon the faces of all those that she had lost, but in that moment, the healing wound that covered her aching heart felt as though it had been ripped open, revealing the raw, ugly hole that would forever lie beneath whatever false covering it found. The pain engulfed her and it was as though she was dying again, her insides twisting as the tears blurred their beloved faces.
"I don't belong here," she whispered, her tortured words a choked gasp in a voice that she didn't recognize - one that was shrill and desperate. "I'm a Champion - one of the good guys," she continued, the words turning into a plea, as though her friends could see her pain and somehow reassure her that this couldn't really be happening, that she hadn't really been betrayed in such a cold way by the Higher Beings that she had diligently served for the past seven years. She had willingly given seven fucking years to the Powers That Be, and they thought to thank her by using her to bring on a new darkness for a world that was finally experiencing some measure of peace?
This... this was worse than betrayal. It went far beyond that. It felt as though she had been raped. Raped by the Powers That Be as they callously used her as their weapon; as they used her in a manner that was never meant to be.
She felt violated.
"Giles, what do I do?" she whispered, a fervent plea for some kind of deliverance from this hell that she had landed in. Oh, and what a deceptive hell it had been. From her first moment in this world she had been surrounded by beautiful, ethereal creatures that were more noble than most of the humans that she had willingly laid down her life and the lives of those she held dearest for so many years. They were kind to her and they protected her, and she them. She had fought with them, laughed with them, and traveled with them; she had befriended them, and in the end, it had all been nothing more than a deceptive mask to hide the evil that was always brewing beneath the surface. They had been the cherry on top of the sundae - a sundae that was built upon deceit, lies, and treachery.
No, that wasn't true.
The elves had always been pure and whole and wonderful.
She was the disease that would slowly eat through them all.
And that was the real kicker.
She and her friends had died to stop evil, and now... now she was the evil. It didn't matter that she was an unwilling evil, for in her mind, it still came down to the same thing: that by being here, she was betraying everything that she had ever stood for. By being here, in some weird, perverse way she felt as though she had somehow let down the one who had always guided her along the path she thought she had been meant to take. The one that had died for this illusive path.
Breath catching in her throat, Buffy gently rubbed her thumb over Giles' smiling face. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her tears coursing down her cheeks. "I don't know what to do," she admitted as she dropped her head forward - and then froze as a warm, gentle hand came to rest upon her shaking shoulder.
Watery eyes falling upon the familiar tall, slender shadow that the sun created from the person behind her, Buffy found herself leaning into the warm touch as she once more cast her eyes to the photograph which she cradled. "I don't belong here," she murmured, knowing that somehow Legolas would understand her words. "I'm not needed here."
"I need you."
Green eyes growing wide, Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat as the melodious voice cut through her overwhelming grief, her senses tingling in warning. A warning that came too late. Turning quickly, Buffy lifted her eyes to find Vashnak already moving behind her, his body falling forward and pinning her against the building as he pressed a pungent cloth over her mouth and nose. Gagging at the foul smell, Buffy felt her eyes tear as she tried to lash out against her assailant, her wildly flailing limbs landing but a few blows before her mind began to grow hazy. Confused, she slowly lifted her blurring sight - and felt her last thoughts become chilled by the cold light in Vashnak's eyes as her treasured photograph fell from her numbed fingers.
With a patience that was unusual for his kind, Vashnak held the cloth against her mouth and nose for a few minutes longer, forcing her to breathe the strong fumes of the soaked rag. The plant was not native to these parts, a weed that was most commonly found only west of the Misty Mountains - yet its properties were well known amongst his kind. The girl would be out for the better part of the day, and a few more applications each night would ensure a docile passenger for the long trip that lay ahead.
Smiling, he gently lifted her small form into his arms and moved from the shadowed alley and into the brightly lit street beyond. The Edain watched him with wide, adoring eyes, mistakenly assuming him to be one of the Eldar that were barely more than tales to these simple people. Elves were long welcomed and considered friend in these lands, and just as the soldiers had bowed before his black stallion when entering the Keep, they too stepped back to allow him easy passage to the open gates and the wide plains beyond.
Without so much as a backward glance, the beautiful dark-haired being clutched his precious burden to him as his great horse clattered along the stone rode and onto the grassy hills, riding back into the wilds with the strange young woman who had entered their realm in much the same manner that she now left, borne before one of the Firstborn.
Soon, both were nothing more than a memory.
Head shaking in mute dismay, Aragorn leaned back upon the plush chair that had been pulled forth from the dark shadows of the Great Hall. "I do not understand how such a thing could be possible," he murmured, more to himself than his comrades as Arwen slid her hand into his own, her long fingers twining with his as his gray eyes continually turned from one dismayed elven face to another.
"Do you know what this means?" omer asked, his face, already worn by both the fierce wind and the inevitable passage of time, looking that much older as the fine lines deepened in shock and horror at the tale that Legolas had just spun, embellished by Thoron, former advisor to King Thranduil, when he felt his liege and lord had neglected or glossed over certain parts.
"How could I not?" Aragorn returned, his voice dry as he slowly shook his head. "Everything that we've fought for, this peace that we've won with the blood of friends and brothers..." he trailed off, his eyes dimming as he thought back to the many brave souls that had given so much for this chance that they had eagerly embraced. "It would all be for naught," he continued as he turned his eyes to his fellow king. "Her blood is capable of bringing everything that we've fought for to ruin."
Stern features twisted in a dark glower, Thoron curtly nodded his agreement. "We should have killed her the moment that we laid eyes upon her," he stated, his words clipped. "Her very arrival in our world was one borne out of darkness. She is evil-"
"Nay, that is not true and you know this," Mirdan countered just as strongly, his features tightening in anger. "Thoron, she explained this. You heard her," he added, his voice imploring the advisor to listen to reason. "It was not her fault that-"
"Not her fault?" Thoron interrupted, his thin brows arching in disbelief. "Were you blind to what we just witnessed? Her blood was the catalyst in this. She was sent here to destroy us all!" he cried, his voice rising in fever and pitch as he stared down the younger elf. Yet this time, it wasn't the dark-haired elf that responded to his accusations.
"That is not so," Legolas cut in, his voice cold as he leveled a fierce glare upon his father's advisor - upon the elf that was sworn to obey his commands. Yet even as Thoron evenly met his gaze, Legolas knew that his arguments would be lost on the stubborn elf, and instead he found himself turning to his oldest mortal friend, his eyes beseeching the man to listen to his words. "Aragorn, she is an innocent in all of this," he stated, his words rushed as the king sighed as though greatly wearied, Arwen's eyes never once leaving those of her husband even as he stared at the ground as though the answers to all of their questions could somehow be gleaned in the dark stone. "You saw her face! She knew naught of this - no more than any of us. She-"
"Peace, Legolas," Aragorn sighed, raising one hand in supplication as he finally lifted his head. "I never said that she intended for any of this to happen. Yet this does little to change the fact that it has." Aragorn turned from his friend, his eyes instinctively seeking out the twin silhouettes of his foster brothers. Both had been silent since Buffy's abrupt departure and their impassive faces were closed to him, offering little of their thoughts on what was being spoken. "Elladan, Elrohir - you both have traveled with her for many leagues. Tell me brothers, what make you of all of this?" he asked, his eyes imploring them to be frank.
For a long moment the silence thickened as the brothers turned to one another, their shadowed eyes carrying on a conversation that none, not even their sister, could follow. Eventually the conversation was ended as Elladan turned from his brother with a small shrug. "To be honest, Estel, I know not what to think," he admitted, his heart heavier than it had been in years.
"She is strange, of that there is no doubt," Elrohir added, his brow creasing as he thought back to the absent young woman. "Yet she has a heart as stout as any warrior and has saved our lives as many times, if not more than we have saved hers during our travels south."
"And this creature," omer cut in, his blue eyes turning from one elf to the other, "know you naught else of him?"
"Only that which Buffy herself has spoken," the younger elf continued. "She called him Vashnak, and according to her, it was once an orc."
"And after the changes that we have seen her blood bring about, I do not doubt her word on this," Elladan finished with a heavy sigh.
Shaking his head in frustration, omer rose from his seat and began pacing along the worn stone, his boots echoing loudly in the cavernous room. "But how could she have possibly known that the creature was an orc?" he asked, more to himself than anyone else as Lothriel stepped forward, her gentle hands subtly wrapping around his waist in a silent plea to stay still.
Smiling wryly, Elladan nodded knowingly at this question. "Aye, tis an odd day indeed when an elf comes to rely upon the senses of Men... and yet that is exactly what I have learned to do during our travels," he admitted, his twin nodding in confirmation. "I know naught why, yet Buffy is somehow able to sense things that others cannot. She can sense the evil in creatures."
"The eyes," Legolas broke in, quietly musing to himself.
"Legolas?" Aragorn prompted, his piercing gaze turned towards his friend.
"It was the eyes," Legolas repeated, his expression thoughtful as he seemed to gaze at something just beyond Aragorn's shoulder. "Buffy once told me that you can see everything in the eyes. She said that they give you away every time," he murmured, his voice growing soft as he slowly looked to the floor - and finally admitted that which had been forefront in his mind ever since Vashnak had been revealed for what he truly was. "The Valar had sent me a warning - several, in fact - but I had ignored them all," he whispered as Aragorn abandoned his chair to stand before his longtime friend.
"What warning?"
Legolas cast his eyes away from Aragorn's piercing gaze wtih a soft frown, words once more abandoning him in this simple task. He had kept the dream so close to his heart for so many months that to talk of it now, so openly and before so many people... it was as daunting a task as any other he had faced. "I... I have been plagued by the same dream for months now," he admitted, his words forced past a restricted throat. "A dream in which a stranger appeared before me and in which the heavens began to cry tears of blood," he continued, his voice heavy. "It was this dream which brought me to Mirkwood in time to witness Buffy's arrival. And yet... it was so unclear until now," he murmured as he slowly looked to his friend.
"I know now that the person that I followed was Buffy, but then the dream shifts and I am standing on the Pelennor Fields with Minas Tirith at my back. You are beside me, as are all of our friends and allies, hundreds of soldiers prepared for battle," Legolas continued, his eyes flashing to omer and the twins before returning to Aragorn's thoughtful gaze. "Before us stretches an army of darkness while the sun and the moon are suspended upon either horizon, locking the world in gray shadows. And between us stands naught but Buffy..." he murmured, his voice trailing away as he held his friend's shuttered gaze. And yet as he felt Thoron shift beside him, Legolas suddenly found himself withholding the most damning part of the dream as he lightly shrugged his shoulders, his eyes pointedly turning away. "It is only now that I truly understand what we faced."
"An army of darkness," Thoron breathed, ignorant of his lord's dark thoughts as his blood ran cold.
Eyes wide, Elrohir curtly shook his head. "What I would not give for a bit of Mithrandir's wisdom about now," he stated, a small, wry smile causing the corners of his lips to twitch.
Nodding in agreement, omer slowly inclined his head as he thought of the truth of those simple words. "While Gandalf's wisdom was oft filled with riddles and rhymes, it was always appreciated in this Hall... well, almost always," he amended with a sad smile, memories of his fallen uncle teasing the corners of his mind. He turned his eyes back upon the small group, wondering how a short visit from Aragorn and Arwen could have taken such an abrupt turn. "So what now?" he asked, his eyes irrevocably falling upon the ranger turned king, his words serving to pull the man from his thoughts.
Sighing slightly, Aragorn focused his scattered thoughts as he once more realized how strange it was, even after all of these years, to have friends and allies turn to him for direction. Then again, he had been a king for less than a decade and a Ranger for over sixty years, worn by troubles and pursuits, but not yet burdened by the heavy mantle of rule. "I suppose that for now, if Legolas agrees, we shall return to Minas Tirith with the girl," he stated, his eyes turning to the blond elf. While Legolas admitted that he had planned on bringing Buffy to Gondor all along, the king sensed that his old friend felt too bound to this problem to be left out now. "Faramir had always been close with Gandalf," he added when the archer merely turned to look to where Buffy had disappeared much time before this. "Perhaps he will have an insight that we have missed."
"Perhaps," Legolas allowed, shrugging slightly as he turned more fully towards the doors to the Great Hall, now sealed shut against the piercing wind. "Though right now I think what is most important is finding Buffy. We must remember that this is as much a shock to her as to anyone," he stated as he stepped from the pillar he had been leaning against - only to find Mirdan and the twins standing before him.
"And we shall help you," Elrohir decided for both him and his brother as Elladan simply nodded his agreement.
"As shall I," Mirdan added as he dipped his head towards his liege. "If my Lord will permit it," he added, almost as an afterthought.
Smiling slightly, Legolas was about to give his approval when he noticed Thoron's stony face from where the tall elf slowly moved to join their group. Honor would not allow the stern advisor to remain the sole elf who would not seek out their missing companion, and yet Legolas knew that after Thoron's rather vocal insinuations of Buffy's involvement in all that had passed, his presence was the very last thing that the slayer would need right now. "Nay, my friend," he stated before Thoron had a chance to offer his aid. "Nay, I think perhaps it would be best if you and Thoron remained here with the others so that you may answer any more questions our friends may have. After all," he added, his eyes twinkling slightly as he smiled at the twins, "Noldor though they are, they will have a Wood-Elf along, and between the three of us, I am sure that we will find our wayward companion in no time at all."
Frowning, Mirdan forced a smile at the weak jest before curtly nodding his acquiescence. "I am sure you are right, my Lord," he stated, his voice falling once more into the neutral tones of his kind. "After all, how far could she have gone?"
"How far could she have gone? How far could she have gone? How far indeed!" Elladan muttered, his voice cross as his dark eyes narrowed upon the twisted streets that were laid out before them. Already the three elves had been at their search for a good quarter of an hour with little results to show for their efforts. It's not that they didn't have leads to follow, for if anything, there didn't seem to be a single citizen of Edoras that hadn't seen Buffy since she had left the Golden Halls.
"The wee lass with the golden hair? Real pretty like?" an old man clarified, obviously torn between humility, awe, and pride at being address by one of the Firstborn, his awkward gait pitching him forward as his aged eyes glittered in the morning sun. "Yes, my Lord, I saw her pass by here in a right state earlier this morning. She went that way," he stated as he swept a bent arm further into the tangled nest of Edoras.
Breath hissing between clenched teeth, Legolas heard Elrohir offer a hasty thank you to the man as the trio turned and continued their elusive hunt for their missing companion, the wary and gawking Rohirrim parting before them. Feeling the weight of eyes upon him, Legolas unconsciously quickened his step, his long legs eating up the passage of rough-hewn stone and dirt-ladened track. After nine years of living in close proximity to Faramir's city of Emyn Arnen in the woods of Ithilien, and with countless visits to Minas Tirith sprinkled throughout the years of hard work amongst the withered garden of Gondor, to think that he would have become accustomed to the looks that his presence continued to garner. Dwarves and hobbits, Men could understand. But elves? It seemed as though their very nature, their beauty and grace, was something so foreign that even after countless sightings, his presence still caused the citizens to freeze before him - either that or to draw away in fear.
Frowning, Legolas paused as Elladan approached a bent old woman whose eyes seemed less troubled by their sight. Idly, he overheard their muted conversation as his sharp eyes looked past the weathered buildings and neat roads, always searching for a familiar blonde head - a search that would have been far more easy had they been in Minas Tirith where dark hair was more common. In Edoras, surrounded by the fair-haired Rohirrim, it felt as though he was searching for a single pine needle amongst a forest of the thick-boughed trees.
"Of course I remember the girl," the woman's voice rang out, strong and clear with the pride of the Rohirrim echoing in her rich tones. "The garments she wore was enough to make her quite unforgettable to me mind."
"So we have been told," Elladan sighed impatiently. "Though for now, my concern is not in what she was clothed, but rather where she went from here."
"Well that's easy enough," the woman replied, her crooked teeth flashing against the bright sun as she pointed a long finger towards a dark row that ran between two small shops. "She disappeared down there," she added as Legolas quickly moved into the dark alley, his eyes scouring the shadows until they landed upon the small photograph that lay as though forgotten amongst the usual debris.
Frown deepening, Legolas felt a wave of foreboding as he gracefully knelt and pinched the glossy object between the fingers of each hand. The picture was far more worn than the first time he had seen it, but the clear image of Buffy and her friends remained locked upon the shiny parchment, their smiles bright and carefree. While he had not seen the photograph since that first time several weeks ago, he knew how much she treasured the keepsake and often saw her hand come to rest over the pocket in which it was hidden. To find it abandoned in a dark alley...
"Do you know where she is now?" Elrohir asked, oblivious to Legolas' thoughts as the younger twin waited respectfully before the entrance to the small row, his eyes noting the dead-end before turning back to the wide street.
"Oh, long gone, I'm sure," the woman offered as she airily waved her hand before her.
"What do you mean?" Legolas demanded as he stepped from the row, the picture disappearing into an inner pocket as his eyes fell upon the older woman.
"Why the poor lass must have cried herself into a right state," the woman explained, ignorant of his mounting concern as she merely enjoyed being the center of such distinguished attention, "for she was fast asleep when she left with one of your kind earlier today."
"What?" Elladan demanded, his eyes growing wide.
"What did he look like?" Elrohir continued, even as Legolas already knew what the woman would say, his heart clenching painfully in his chest.
"Like any elf, I suppose," the woman stated with a small shrug. "To be honest, you all look about the same to me, if you'll pardon my saying. Beautiful he was, with hair like yours, but darker," she added as she gestured to the twins.
"What? But that... but that-"
"Vashnak took her," Legolas cut in, his voice hollow and devoid of emotion as he turned and looked down the winding street and to the high wooden gates that remained open to the beautiful day. From where he was standing amongst tall slanted buildings, he could see very little of the open plains that were spread beneath the towering keep - yet he didn't need to have a clear view to know that he would see naught of a dark, scurrying figure and the small passenger that he carried. "She is gone."