Equinoxium: Chapter 20
by Lisette

Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

With his next exhalation, a moment that stretched for an eternity, he released his hold and watched as his arrow flew across the vast fields - and then felt the earth plummet from beneath him as the creature finally turned. With small, delicate hands the cloaked hood was pushed aside, allowing a fanning of golden blonde hair to fall free to frame a familiar oval face, hiding the round arch of small ears, and glistening around twin eyes of green that met his across the distance.

"No," he whispered, the word a choked plea as his arrow flew true and pierced tan leather and flesh, causing her to stumble in pain as Buffy's voice lifted in agony, her sightless gaze locked with his own as she slumped lifelessly to the ground.

Dead.

Gasping in dismay, his bow fell from numb fingers as a lake of crimson spread from the fallen form to wash over his feet in a small wave, soaking through his leggings and drenching his skin with the warm, sticky fluid. Shaking his head, he took a tentative step forward, his heart hammering in his chest as for an ageless moment, he realized the horror of what he had done - a moment that was shattered by the cheers of his allies, the dismayed shrieks of his enemies, and the bright, blasting light of the sun as it shunned the moon and rocketed into the sky above him, bathing their world with blessed light and fully illuminating the lake that spread before him... the lake of blood.

Captivated by this gruesome sight, his eyes traced over the eddying crimson waves - waves that shone so brightly beneath the warm sun. Waves that carried the warmth of a body that would forever be cold and still. Waves that signified the shattering of an innocent life in order to sway the precarious balance once more towards the light.... at least, that was the way it had always been before.

Now, as the cheers of his allies became heavy with dismay, he found his eyes lifting to the dark line that opposed them - and felt his breath catch in his throat as their darkness began to spread, seeping out over the vast Pelennor Fields in a wave of shadows that shrouded everything that it touched. For a moment, this dark line hovered over Buffy's broken form before it covered her petite frame and surged past, gathering speed as it swept towards-

"Then they're not looking hard enough!"

Jerking as he was released from the familiar vision that had taken a new and disturbing twist, Legolas felt his breath catch in his throat as the world came back into focus with a jarring rush as the raised voices of the Councilors, Advisors, and Lords of high standing assaulted his sensitive ears. For a disorienting moment, he felt lost and adrift amongst the familiar strangers, his beleaguered mind vaguely trying to process the darkness that had been so close to hungrily devouring him and his companions, even as he felt his pale cheeks darken at the realization that the vision had taken him in the midst of one of the long sessions that had become synonymous with recent life in Gondor's capital. Flush darkening, Legolas cast his sharp eyes to those gathered, hoping that no one had noticed his sightless, open-eyed gaze as he had been forced to again play a part in the vision that had waxed and waned in intensity in recent days.

With narrowed eyes he looked first to Aragorn, seated at the head of the long table and resplendent in robes of black and silver, his head cradled in his hand as his gray eyes swiftly traveled from one speaker to another, ever sharply aware of the heated debates. Immediately to his left sat Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, a man now of four and forty years with thick, curly brown hair, his intelligent gaze locked upon the speakers. To Aragorn's right sat Elrohir and Elladan, the twin sons of Elrond sitting straight and proud, ever the picture of rapt attention upon their impassive faces. And while Legolas had no fear of the other Men noticing his slip, there remained only one other creature that could have recognized his sightless gaze for what it was.

"With us once again, Master Elf?"

"For the moment, mellon-nin," Legolas returned dryly as he turned to the friend that was seated beside him, wryly wondering how it always seemed that the dwarf could catch him in his weakest moments. "How long?" he asked, his eyes casually sweeping over the grand chamber's other occupants, knowing that no further elaboration would be needed for their guarded words.

"A few moments only," Gimli assured with an indifferent shrug that did little to hide the worry that shone in his dark eyes, their conversation lost beneath the angry shouts and loud voices of those gathered in the king's halls. "But long enough all the same," he grunted as he carefully inspected his elven companion, noting the barest traces of shadow that marred the fair skin beneath Legolas' troubled blue eyes. "Though you have missed naught of importance," the dwarf added, pointedly turning his eyes away as he looked across the long table that was surrounded by chairs that held an assortment of Men dressed in their finery.

"Of that I had no fear," Legolas sighed, his lips shifting into the smallest of frowns. Fifty-two days had passed since Buffy's abduction, thirty-five since their arrival in Minas Tirith, and all that had been accomplished was a worthy gathering of Men to debate the same things time and time again. That there was a new, great threat upon the horizon had been decided upon within the first few days. What was to be done about this new threat, on the other hand, was an issue that could never seem to find resolve as the gathering of Men continuously argued the same points and talked themselves in circles while Aragorn and Faramir tried their best to mediate and find resolution. The only concrete decision had been one that had stung Legolas' pride, even as he quietly admitted to the necessity. If he and his Elvish companions had been unable to see Vashnak for what he truly was, how could they possibly expect those of the race of Men to be able to make this distinction?

It was, therefore, within hours of arriving in Minas Tirith that a new edict had been passed, whereas the magnificently wrought stone gates to Minas Tirith would be sealed to all Elves, save those who bore the seal of the colony of Ithilien; an edict that in one day managed to undo all of the progress that he, Aragorn, and Faramir had made in bringing the two races closer together. Once more Aragorn's stone streets were filled with Men that looked upon him and his kindred with suspicious eyes. Rumor of Vashnak and his ridiculously easy entrance into Edoras had spread far and wide, and the ignorant people couldn't help but regard all Elves with the same fear and uncertainty that they once reserved for the Haradrim and the Southrons, or the dim-witted beasts of Sauron. Even the Men that gathered in the King's own chambers each day, Men of high stature and great learning, still harbored suspicions that shone in their eyes whenever they looked upon him or the sons of Elrond. It was a suspicion that Legolas was beginning to fear would take long to erase. Perhaps longer than any Elf was willing to give to this land that they no longer loved as they once did.

"We have waited and deliberated long enough, for by now he may have created an army!" one man bellowed, his low voice ringing above the others as he angrily stood from his chair, a meaty fist pounding against the heavy wood of the polished table. "I say we send Gondor's army into Mordor, for surely that is where this beast is hiding!" he urged as many of his companions voiced their agreements, even as others loudly voiced their doubts.

Sighing loudly, Faramir pressed both hands against his aching head as he waved the man back towards his seat. "Lord Hathryn, as I have said many times these past days, Mordor is an empty land. The Rangers of Ithilien report that the orcs have all but abandoned Sauron's shadowed lands and flock to the North and West."

"And the Rangers of the North say they abandon their caves and dwellings and travel to the South and East," Aragorn added, his tone implying that he had given this argument numerous times in past days. Numerous, numerous times. "Thus, at this time it would be pointless to send the army to a location that we have no reason to believe houses the enemy. For now we have done all that we can, as the forces of Men have been mustered in all the Free Lands - each guarding against an attack that none can predict in nature."

Quickly bowing his head before his king, Lord Hathryn reluctantly took his seat, even as the quiet murmurs of dissent continued. "But if not to Mordor, my King, where then do the fell beasts travel?" he asked, knowing as he voiced the question that it was one in which his Lord and King had no answer. A question in which no Man, Elf, or Dwarf held answer. And yet it was a question that the man found himself repeating as he cast his gaze to his peers, all the while avoiding the sharp gaze of the Lord of Ithilien and the Queen's kin.

Seeing this, Legolas felt his eyes narrow in exasperation, feeling that his earlier point had been proven with this small omission. If not even the King's councilors could find faith in his kind, what hope did he have in-

"To Tol Brandir."

For a moment, silence reigned as everyone followed the soft voice to the tall, bent man that stepped slowly from the shadows. He wore ragged robes of dirty brown, his beard long and full while his face was pressed with deep lines and crevices. For a moment, Legolas thought that he was looking upon the aged form of Mithrandir, Gandalf somehow miraculously returned to them in their time of need, so great was the resemblance. However, as the old man stepped fully from the shadows and as the sun's bright rays fell upon him from the room's high windows, there the resemblance ended as this man's eyes carried none of the stern wisdom of the ancient Wizard, but rather the saddened gaze of one who has seen much, and knows that he will see much more before the end has come.

This man was a stranger to Legolas, and to Aragorn as well as the king instinctively pushed back from his chair, every other Man, Elf and Dwarf in the room doing the same as his hand fumbled for a sword that was not there. He was ensconced within a chamber located on a high floor in the White Tower of Ecthelion, within the seventh gate of his heavily guarded city. There should have been no need to ever draw his sword within these protected walls, and as such, his trusted blade was safely stowed in his chambers, far, far from reach. Eyes narrowing, Aragorn turned towards the closed doors, prepared to call for his guard which always waited without.

"There is no need," the man stated before Aragorn could give voice, his words soft and gentle as he smiled at the wary king.

Frowning, Aragorn's eyes narrowed upon the old stranger. "Who are you?" he demanded, his clear voice echoing in a room that was silent for the first time in many days. "How did you gain entrance to these rooms?" he asked as he looked from the high windows to the sealed doors that would not be opened until Aragorn himself had given permission to do so.

"My name matters not," the old man stated, waving the question away as his eyes slid past Aragorn to take in the dark-haired elves that stood protectively beside him, "and my kind has never needed use of doors to gain entrance when we seek it."

"You are Istari," Elladan hazarded, his gray eyes widening slightly as he inspected the stranger that wore his bent frame much like Gandalf had, using it as a costume to mask the power that the Elf sensed running beneath the aged form.

"I am a friend who brings counsel to those in need," the man allowed with a small, tired shrug - a loose smile pulling at his thin lips.

Frowning, Legolas shifted impatiently beside Gimli, his blue eyes narrowing upon this stranger. "You say the enemy can be found at Tol Brandir," he stated, his clear voice ringing off of the high ceiling, "and yet there is nothing - no dwelling where you speak."

"Nay, there is," Faramir cut in, his expression turning thoughtful as his eyes focused on something just beyond the stranger's shoulder.

"Faramir?" Aragorn questioned, prompting his friend and close advisor from his quiet reverie.

Starting slightly, Faramir quickly glanced to his king as he tried to recall something that Gandalf had once mentioned in passing, many a year before. "In ages past," he began, his low voice filling the quiet room, "it was said that Isildur and Anrion built the Seat of Seeing on Amon Hen on the Western Shore of Nen Hithoel, and the Seat of Hearing on Amon Lhaw on the Eastern Shore."

"Aye," Aragorn agreed, his tone becoming subdued. "It was nearly upon the Seat of Seeing that we first battled the Uruk-hai. The Fellowship of the Ring broke that day when Boromir of Gondor was slain, Merry and Pippin taken, and when Frodo and Sam voyaged to the Eastern Shore to brave the sharp rocks of the Emyn Muin. And yet..." he hedged, his voice trailing away as he looked to his friend in confusion. "And yet, like Legolas, I have seen no place which could house the remnants of Sauron's orcs, let alone the creature Vashnak."

"I have seen no different," Faramir admitted, "but Gandalf once mentioned another watch tower that had been hollowed from the very stone of Tol Brandir itself."

"A very grand and ingeniously crafted tower that is all but invisible to even the keenest eye," the old man agreed, a queer smile twisting his lips. "You see, Tol Brandir stands as an island between either shore and at the mouth of the Falls of Rauros. Its sides spring sheer out of the running water, and high up above the tall cliffs are steep slopes upon which few trees climb, mounting one head above another; and above them again are gray faces of inaccessible rock, crowned by a great spire of stone. Many birds circle about its face, but no sign of other living things can be seen. It is a tower that is hewed from stone, hidden within this island of rock from the very peaks to down within the dank earth below. A tower that Sauron remembered even when the line of kings was broken and the world of Men forgot."

"And what of the notoriously long memory of the Elves?" Gimli questioned, suspicion for this old stranger shining in his eyes as he turned to his quiet companion.

Yet before Legolas could respond, Elladan broke in, a small smile pulling at his lips. "My friend, I fear that such times came even before that of the children of Elrond - and therefore quite assuredly before the time of the youngest son of Thranduil," he added with a small, pointed nod in Legolas' direction. "Although the word of a Maia will always be good enough for me... or have you forgotten the wisdom of Gandalf so soon?"

"Dwarves forget nothing, Master Elf," Gimli returned as he scowled at the innocently-smiling Elf. "I remember instead the crooked tongue of Saruman, who was also Istari."

Ignoring this exchange, Faramir turned from the quiet bantering and met Aragorn's cautious eyes. "This location would explain the orc movement," he murmured, his words intended solely for the ears of his king, "for Tol Brandir certainly lies Northwest of Mordor and Southeast of your kin."

Aragorn slowly nodded his agreement. "I believe you are right, my friend, though had we known of this sooner we would not have lost so much time to idle musings," he stated as he turned his narrowed gray eyes upon the old stranger. "If it is help you claim to bring," he began, his voice once more echoing above the quiet murmurings of those gathered, "why do you bring your counsel now, when so much hope has been lost to time? Lord Hathryn is right - by now an army may have been created and we-"

"Correction," the stranger interrupted with an enigmatic smile. "An army has already been created. And yet," he continued, his eyes turning so that he could catch the entire room within his wizened gaze, "while the Slayer still draws breath, this army only grows."

The result of the man's words was instantaneous as the gathered Men quickly erupted into fierce debate even as Legolas seized upon the stranger's words with a tenacity that quelled the quiet whispers and doubts that had grown in his heart with each passing day. "Then she yet lives?" he demanded, his melodious voice somehow rising above the others, calling out to the stranger for confirmation of this tenuous hope.

The stranger met Legolas' keen gaze for the first time, his eyes betraying so much sorrow that the elf at once felt his heart constrict painfully in his chest. "She does," the man admitted, never once wilting beneath the full strength of the elven stare. "She is strong... and her strength makes them stronger."

Hissing between clenched teeth, Lord Hathryn again pounded his heavy fist upon the polished wood. "This madness must be stopped, now, before it goes any further!" he shouted as the room once more threatened to erupt into loud debate.

"And how would you have us stop it?" another cried out, the man's face becoming purple as thick veins throbbed in either temple. "March an army upon a tower that is surrounded by water, sheer cliffs, and falls? You heard Lord Faramir! It was built to be a watchtower, and with the keen sight of the Elves now with them, they would shoot us down before we could leave the shores. Before we could even reach the shores!"

"Yes," the stranger agreed, his quiet affirmation cutting through the various protests like a sharpened blade through flesh. "Yes, such would be true for an army of Men, but I wonder... would not the fleet steps of the Firstborn traverse this first obstacle, while their very dark-haired appearance spare them from a similar fate?"

For a long moment, all eyes turned to the twin sons of Elrond that remained still beneath the many pondering gazes, even as Faramir shifted absently in his seat, his fingers steepling beneath his chin. "If we are unable to discern these hybrids from Elves, mayhap the same would hold for these dark creatures," he mused as he thoughtfully inspected the twins' pale features and dark hair. "Mayhap they would not be able to discern true Elves from themselves."

Tilting his head slightly, Elladan turned to his twin, his eyes asking a silent question before turning from his brother with a small shrug, his face impassive. "Elrohir and I could approach under the cover of darkness in ways in which no eyes, be they Man or Elf, could follow," he admitted. "We have seen Tol Brandir, and while daunting, we are confident that we could swim the distance without falling victim to the swift current of Nen Hithoel or being swept over the Falls of Rauros."

"Perhaps," Aragorn allowed, his eyes narrowed upon the dark-haired elf, "but be that as it may, to what end? Brother, I intend no slight against you, either of you," he clarified as he included Elrohir in his gaze, "yet two Elves can do nothing against an army of orc or these creatures. Not even when it is you two," he added with a small, grim frown.

"Estel is right," Elrohir admitted with a solemn nod to the king. "Two elves can do nothing against such odds, and yet two elves are more than capable of scouting the enemies' base, learning their numbers... and ensuring that no more of these creatures can be spawned in this manner," he finished, his words falling softly into a room gone deathly still as his gray-eyed gaze turned towards their fair-haired kin, his eyes saying what his lips did not.

Legolas met Elrohir's unflinching gray eyes, feeling his heart grow cold as he looked upon a face that was suddenly strange and foreign to him. "You would kill her then," he stated, his voice flat.

"Is that not the issue that we have been skirting all these many days?" Elladan answered for his brother. "Legolas," he sighed, his gray eyes softening upon their friend, "she was our companion as much as yours. Think you that she would really want any of this? An ending filled with pain and suffering and hatred?" he demanded, his eyes pleading for understanding that someone had needed to say what they had all been thinking - what they all understood needed to be done. It wasn't pleasant and in many ways, it wasn't right. Yet all the same, there were many things in this world that weren't right. Had it been just to burden Frodo Baggins with a ring that would cost him the small pittance of a finger, and a much larger part of his heart and spirit? The kind-hearted hobbit had his innocence stolen from him, spoiling him so completely that in the end, he had no choice but to try and find solace in the Undying Lands. The world had gained peace and freedom from Sauron's evil... and the cost had been the innocence and happiness of one small hobbit. What was just in that? "Better it be to gain that final release by the hand of a friend than an enemy."

Frowning, Legolas looked away from Elladan's piercing gaze as he turned to the polished wood before him. The elder son of Elrond was right in that this was the very issue that everyone had been avoiding for so many days, and yet it was an issue that had been plaguing Legolas' dreams for many months before this council had ever been conceived. It was nearly half a year ago when the first dream had come to him - a dream that foretold the coming of this darkness, and a dream which showed that the ending to this madness lay in the death of one girl.

Or was it?

Unbidden his most recent dream came back to him, vivid and full of sound and color as Buffy's death caused the sun to shun the moon, filling their world with light - only to have the darkness once more encroach upon the light, filling their world with shadows. Frowning, Legolas felt his confusion mount. It made no sense, for his dreams had always urged for him to end Buffy's life in order to restore the balance. Why would they seem to indicate something different, now of all times?

Shaking his head, Legolas quickly realized that he would find no answers in the finely grained wood and instead lifted his eyes to his companions. "Then it shall be done," he stated, his voice breaking the heavy silence as he nodded his head in acquiescence to the twin sons of Elrond. "Though it shall be a company of three Elves, not two, that see to this task," he stated, his voice firm as the Men in the room shifted at his words.

"But fair hair is not seen amongst these creatures," the stranger argued, the dismay evident upon his craggy features as Legolas shifted his gaze for the slightest moment before turning to stare resolutely at the twins, dismissing the man without a second thought.

"Then I shall wear a cloak," the fair-haired Elf ground out between thin lips, his shoulders stiff and unyielding. "Besides, it shall be dark and-"

"Be that as it may," Elrohir cut in, his eyes quickly turning to his brother for support, "I do not think it wise for you to join us on this journey, my friend."

"You are too close to the situation to be able to see things with a clear eye," Elladan added, trying to find a crack in Legolas' firm resolve - and scowling when he found none.

"I am too close?" Legolas queried, his voice cold and hard. "Or perhaps you are too far. You say that it would be better to gain death by the hand of a friend than an enemy, and yet with the words you both have spoken this day, how can you claim her as friend?" the fair-haired Elf demanded, feeling the tension pull his muscles taut, even as Gimli lay a cautioning hand upon his arm. "I will go if for no other reason than to see that she will know the end that you have promised."

Stern features becoming even more dark and grim, Aragorn felt the tension ripple around the large chamber as the gathered Men watched the heated debate with unmasked awe and far too much interest. Far, far too much interest for his liking. Scowling, Aragorn rapped his knuckles upon the hard wood of the table, drawing the unneeded and very much unwanted attention away from the three Elves and back towards their king. He was not blind to the suspicion that Vashnak had cast upon the Firstborn, and it was a suspicion that would not be helped by a brawl between three of the highest ranking Elves left in Middle-earth. "This Council is adjourned for the afternoon," Aragorn stated, his deep voice ringing in the high chamber, his eyes daring the men to try and argue his ruling. "Everyone is dismissed - save for you two," he stated, nodding pointedly at his foster-brothers, "you two," he continued as he indicated Legolas and Gimli, "and you two," he finished, waving both to Faramir and the old stranger that had begun creeping towards the door.

Amidst pointed grumbling, the room was cleared within minutes of all save for his closest friends and the stranger that had managed to turn the entire Council upside down with two simple words - and the man who had managed to turn friend against friend. Eyes narrowing upon the old man, Aragorn waved everyone towards their chairs - and felt his ire grow when only Faramir and Gimli joined him in taking a seat at the table. Sighing loudly, Aragorn watched as the three Elves continued to glare at one another, experience dictating that to an immortal, such a contest of wills could last all day.

Faramir, seeing likewise, once more dismissed the Elves as he turned his narrow gray eyes to the old stranger that seemed content to try and hide amongst the slender shadows that bracketed one corner of the large chamber. "Why should we trust the word of a stranger that will not even give his name?" he asked, his curious gaze sweeping over a form that belied the power in the old man's tired eyes. "How do we know that you do not send us into a trap?"

"For what reason would I have to trick you?" the man returned with a simple shrug. "Though in the end it matters not, for I care little if you listen to my advice or not. My task was merely to give you the information that you sought. What you do with that information is left to you," he finished before stepping further into the shadows until his form was lost in darkness. No, Faramir realized with a start as he rose from his chair so quickly that it fell onto its back upon the stone floor behind him, his gray eyes locked on the supple shadows - the stranger wasn't lost in the shadows... he simply wasn't there.

"By Durin's beard," Gimli breathed, his eyes easily piercing the shadows in vain for the stranger that had simply ceased to be. The stranger that had exited the sealed room as simply and mysteriously as he had entered.

And yet while the Men and Dwarf were transfixed by the stranger's exit, the three Elves remained oblivious to their friends' wonder as gray eyes clashed with blue. "I would spare you of this, my friend," Elladan murmured, the smooth strains of Sindarin slipping unconsciously from his lips as he tried to make their fair-haired friend see wisdom.

"And I would spare Buffy from a death that she would not understand," Legolas returned, his expression unwavering. "You ask a great thing of her - to sacrifice her life for a world that is not her own. Do you wish to be the one to tell her why she must lay down her life upon your blade?"

"Do you?" Elrohir returned, his fair features unmoved by Legolas' words.

For another moment, silence reigned as Legolas demanded his heart the same question. Could he really kill her if it meant casting off the darkness that once more threatened his world? If his friends asked it of him, could he really pull back his bow string, as in his dream, and let his arrow fly true to pierce her breast and forever stop the beating of her heart? Could he cast off the bonds of this friendship and ignore his heart in order to do as demanded as the Lord of Ithilien, and do what was best for his people and everyone else that still lived upon these shores?

"You need not-"

"If there is truly no other way," Legolas cut in, his eyes capturing each of the twins within his shadowed gaze, "then yes, I would take that task upon myself and no other."

Frowning, Elladan was about to pursue the argument further when Gimli loudly cleared his throat, reminding the Elves that three others remained in the large chamber.

"I am afraid that you will not win this one, my friends," the dwarf stated solemnly as his dark eyes swept over the Elf standing taut beside him. "Stubbornness is a trait that runs strong in the House of Oropher, and a trait that I have been calling a plague upon for close to a decade now. Arguing with him when he is like this is more pointless than trying to argue with a blunt axe or a heavy stone."

"Besides which," Aragorn added with a dark frown at the four other beings, "who ever said that this task was going to be left to the Elves? Fleet footed you may be, but are we forgetting who is king in this realm?"

Fierce scowl melting into a brilliant smile, Elladan dismissed his former solemnity as easily as the sun shunned the dark clouds, jovially clapping Aragorn on the back. "Estel, I thought that you would have learned by now that it matters not what crown you wear, for you shall always be our brother first and king second."

"Besides," Legolas added, unable to throw off his solemn mask so easily as he felt his shoulders begin to sag beneath the weight of all that he carried, "these creatures are the responsibility of the Elves before that of Men, for though we have avoided saying it until now, we all know it to be true: the blood of the Firstborn runs red through their veins. They are Mornedhel, Dark-Elves, and whether we like it or not, they are our kin."

"Perhaps," Gimli allowed with a small nod towards the Elven prince, "but Elves are not the only ones who can lay claim against these creatures. Do you truly think that these Dark-Elves, as you have aptly named them, will be content to limit their battles to those Elves that remain in Middle-earth?"

"Gimli, I-"

"Nay," the Dwarf cut in, proving that Elves were not the only creatures that could be credited with a fierce stubbornness. "They are a threat to all free creatures in Middle-earth, be they Elf, Dwarf, Man or Hobbit. All should have a fair claim to loosing their heads from their deceptively fair bodies. And my axe, for one, shall not be denied."

For a long moment, Legolas fought a losing battle against the smile that threatened his grim demeanor, finally admitting defeat as he gazed upon the stern set to his friend's features. "Be that as it may," he murmured with a wide bow towards his friend, "I hope, Master Dwarf, that you will allow that the greater threat, if threats do come by way of trickery, does lie against Man and Elf. After all, your fellow Dwarves barely allow me through the mouth of your Glittering Caves. After word reaches them of Orcs that wear the fair faces of my kindred, think you that they would have any trouble withholding their entrances against any Mornedhil that dared try enter?"

Nodding solemnly, his small eyes twinkling above his thick, wiry red beard, Gimli made a point of considering Legolas' words. "In that, Master Elf, you may finally have a point."

Aragorn interrupted the Elf and Dwarf's customary interplay as he settled heavily upon his chair, his gray eyes locked upon the innocent shadows that had consumed the old stranger. "I don't like it," he stated, his words cutting through the quiet bickering as he turned to his friends. "I do not trust this stranger, nor his wisdom."

"Yet do we really have a choice?" Faramir returned with a small shrug. "If the Mornedhel are truly hidden in the watchtower of Tol Brandir, we can hardly pass up the opportunity to discern their numbers or the make of their army. And though I have never enjoyed the idea of sending others to do the oft-dangerous work that must be done, the stranger was right in one thing: only the Eldar have any chance of reaching the shores of Tol Brandir undetected."

Frowning, Aragorn found himself nodding in agreement of the Steward's words. "Well said," he murmured, though he hated admitting to the truth in his friend's arguments. These were his brothers and closest friend that he was sending into the Enemy's possible encampment - into a possible trap, with no aid to be given. His heart quelled at such thoughts, and yet in the nine years that he had been king, Aragorn had been forced to learn a difficult lesson. Many times, the wants of his heart had to be ignored over the wants of his kingdom. This time was no different.

Aragorn turned his dark eyes upon the three Elves that were now, rather reluctantly, standing together, awaiting his decision - even as they all knew that even without his consent, they were free to do as they wished. Aragorn was the King of Men, and though their hearts bound them as brothers and many were the times in which the three Elves had acceded to his decisions in battle, he had no power over any of them or their kindred. "Go find what answers you may, and take what actions you find necessary," he stated, his eyes slipping to Legolas' solemn features. "The supplies and aid of all of Minas Tirith are at your disposal."

Bowing formally at the generous offer, Elladan stepped forward as the eldest amongst the Elvish trio. "If we leave at sunrise and ride hard, we can reach Parth Galen and the waters of the Nen Hithoel by sunset of the day after tomorrow. We will find what answers and take what actions we may that night," he continued, his eyes sliding to his silent, fair-haired companion, "and should be returned four days hence."

"And all of Gondor will await your word," Aragorn sighed as Faramir stood solemnly beside him.

"As will the Dwarves of Aglarond," Gimli added, reminding them of his presence and the role he filled as lord of his people as he shot a glare at the taller beings.

"As you will it," Elladan returned with a cheeky grin at the dwarf.

Ignoring this small exchange, Legolas turned to Aragorn with a sudden, pained grimace. "My friend, will you see to something else for me in my absence?"

"Anything," Aragorn returned without thought, his eyes narrowing in concern upon the fair-haired elf.

"I would not be so quick to make that promise, for you have not yet heard my request," Legolas returned with a soft sigh. "Thoron should be returning from the colony in Ithilien sometime in the next few days, and before he left, he was rather... insistent that I remain here in his absence. Will you see that he awaits my return for me here?

"And doesn't go charging after you, you mean?" Gimli returned as Man and Elf alike tried to hide their amused snickers.

Smiling openly, Aragorn clapped the scowling Elf on the shoulder as Faramir pointedly nudged the innocent-looking Dwarf. "I will see that he does, my friend. Well, rather I will see that Arwen ensures his cooperation," the king amended with a small grimace of his own. "We all know that aside from your father, she is the only one that he will listen to," he added as his features turned solemn. "Just take care, mellon-nin, for I should not want to face your father's advisor should anything happen to any of you."

"Nor would I," Legolas quickly agreed. "Nor would I."

With the soft clang of key against lock, the heavy door's catch was released as the wood was pushed open, revealing the bedchamber that was bathed in shadows and flickering light. Frozen upon this threshold, the Man felt his breath catch in his throat as his eyes hungrily sought out the barest hints of daylight that lined the heavy curtains across the way - a daylight that he was beginning to fear he would never see again. At least not in this lifetime.

"Did I tell you to stop?"

Breath hissing between clenched teeth, the Man tore his eyes away from the brief snatch of light as he stumbled into the room, his aching body trembling from abuse and fatigue as he rolled with the rough handling that had dragged him from the very bowels of this hellhole into these lofty heights. "I don't understand," the man stammered as he staggered against a wall that seemed to have been hewn straight from the rock that choked the light from the dimly lit room. "What has our village done to deserve the wrath of the Firstborn?" he whispered, feeling his fear, anger, and desperation claw at him as flashes of burning homes, screaming children, and so much blood flashed in his mind's eye.

"You exist," the dark-haired, fair-bodied Elf returned in a voice that was so achingly beautiful - and all the more wrong for the deadened quality that hardened the musical tones. With an annoyed sigh, the Elf gripped the man's elbow and turned him until he faced the large bed and its sole occupant - and with that sight, the Man felt his every hope escape him in one agonizing rush.

"Valar help us," he whispered, his hands beginning to tremble as his eyes swept over the small woman-child that lay unmoving upon the pale sheets. In that moment, everything else was stripped away, leaving him with nothing but the girl that lay before him as he moved on wooden legs until he stood at what seemed to be her deathbed, his eyes taking in her pale features, the dark bruises that marked the skin beneath each eye, her glistening, golden fanning of hair, and the pale, blue-tinged lips that were cracked and parted. Trembling hands reaching forward, he pressed the heel of one hand against a forehead that was chilly to the touch, and then held his shaking fingers over her lips to feel the soft rush of air as she took quick, shallow breaths.

"What ails her?"

Snatching back his hand as though he had been burned by the simple question, the man lifted his eyes to the dark-haired he-Elf that had brought him to this chamber. "I... I'm just a simple healer," the man stammered as his quick eyes turned from this impassive Elf to the she-Elf that stood beside him, her cold eyes locked upon the still girl. "I cannot... I cannot determine such a thing until... well, until I know what has been done to her. Until I know what injuries she has sustained. I-"

"If it was something as simple as that, do you really think we would have needed the skills of a Man?" the Elf demanded with a derisive sneer.

"No, of course not," the healer quickly demurred, more out of a last-ditch hope of self-preservation than out of true understanding. That the Elves had raided their town in search of his skills went without saying. That the blood of his family and neighbors would forever stain his soul as a result went without questioning. The part that did bother the man was the question of why. He had never been blessed with the opportunity to see one of the firstborn before this day, and yet there was no mistaking the creature for its true nature. But now... now he couldn't help but wish that he had never been given such an opportunity. Yet even with no experience with the firstborn, their skill in the art of healing was known far and wide. Even a human malady should have been no chore for an Elvish healer, and yet they had come for him.

Worrying his lip with the blunt edge of his teeth, the man cast his gaze upon the bed once more - and felt frozen by the piercing green eyes that were locked with his own. Now that he looked upon her, he could see that she was more woman than girl, and yet in the eyes he saw a wisdom that went beyond her young years; a wisdom and a fierce fire that burned him with her simple gaze.

"You are human. She is human. Heal her," the she-Elf added with an imperious wave in the blonde's direction.

The green-eyed gaze was distracted by the she-Elf's voice, her eyes becoming unfocused as though it took the young woman a moment to understand the Elf's words, and yet when she did, the result was instantaneous as her gaze widened slightly, her eyes becoming pleading in their silent intensity. "No," the girl choked, the word a soft, breathless plea.

In that moment, the Man understood well enough what the green eyes were asking of him. The girl didn't want to be healed. She wanted to die, and even if he didn't yet know what ailed her, she certainly did - and yet it was her eyes that betrayed her as they unconsciously slid away from his face and flickered towards something on the bed beside her. Turning, he followed her gaze - and then stepped forward, his trembling hand wrapping around the bandaged wrist that she had been vainly trying to hide beneath the sheer folds of the dressing gown she wore. Gently, he cradled the wounded appendage in his calloused hands, his fingers gently rubbing the clean bandages as his eyes traced the blood that was splattered upon the sheets - blood that was fresh and old - some a vivid red while others a dry burgundy. And in that moment, he understood.

"She has lost too much blood," the healer stated, the words falling from his lips before he even realized what he was saying. And at the rushed breath that was released from the girl's lips, he realized the treachery of that small slip with everything in his being.

"Will she die?" the dark-haired Elf demanded, his words falling sharp like knives against the man's already battered nerves. "Will she die?" he repeated, his voice becoming savage as the man hesitated.

"Perhaps," the healer murmured as he gently lowered the girl's wrist to the bed, avoiding her accusing gaze as he moved to draw a blanket over her slender frame. "Perhaps not. If she is strong, then with lots of rest, and plenty of food and drink to nourish her, she may yet recover."

Yet as the man turned away from her heavy form, Buffy found that she couldn't hate this stranger for giving Vashnak and Sugha the information needed to keep her from succumbing to her body's own failings. She could only envy him as with those uttered words, he had sealed his fate as surely as he had sealed her own. Silently, she watched as Sugha moved behind the gentle healer and brought her knife to his throat, slicing through skin, muscles, and arteries with one quick stroke that ended his life in a heartbeat - and thereby releasing him from the torment of captivity.

Yes.

She envied the healer and his escape from this Hell... even as she silently wondered how many days, weeks, or years his small token of wisdom had added to her own sentence.

Author's Notes (cont.):For all of you LoTR canon nuts, don't go hitting the books looking for this impressive fortress that is carved within the pinnacle of Tol Brandir. I made it up - and trust me when I say that a lot of research went into finding the very best location for Vashnak's lair. It just so happened that putting it right out in the open was far too tempting. Don't you think Mordor is a bit overdone? Also, kudos to Tolkien (as always), for I borrowed Frodo's description of Tol Brandir, which can be found on pages 386-7 in my copy of the trilogy (FOTR).