Equinoxium: Chapter 21
by Lisette

Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

With quick, practiced movements Legolas packed his travel bag, his hands moving methodically through his possessions even as his mind sorted through the list of everything that was needed. They would be traveling quick and light, and aside from weapons, food and water, little else was needed - which meant that all too soon his hands were left idle. The elven prince paused in the pre-dawn light, the flickering flames of the torches illuminating his usual beautiful chambers in the Citadel. The suite of rooms were large and richly decorated, yet the feature that always drew Legolas' unwavering gaze was the floor to ceiling windows that opened into the palace gardens. In a city of stone, such accommodations were necessary for a wood-elf to ever feel at ease - a fact that Aragorn knew without Legolas ever having to say so, thereby guaranteeing that this suite of rooms was always left ready and waiting for one of his frequent visits.

"The sun will be rising soon."

"It will," Legolas agreed with a small smile as he turned from the large windows to find Gimli leaning against his open doorway, the dwarf looking for all the world as though it was mid-afternoon, instead of the early morning hour. "Did Elladan and Elrohir send you to fetch me?" he asked, arching a fine brow at his friend as he turned back to the small, waterproof bag that Aragorn had provided the night before.

"No, though had I been, I imagine that my mission would have been more to hinder than hasten your coming. Actually, if you are not at the stables when the sun rises, I believe they shall have no troubles leaving without you," Gimli stated in his usual brisk manner as he slowly entered the room, his heavy steps echoing on the smooth stone floor.

"I would expect nothing less from the sons of Elrond," Legolas agreed as he closed the small pack, finally turning towards his friend to find the hilts of his twin knives held towards him, the dwarf's features uncharacteristically solemn. "Something troubles you," the Elf noted, his eyes easily reading his friend's chiseled features.

Yet instead of his customary banter, Gimli merely tilted his head to the side in a manner that was so Elvish that Legolas couldn't help but be reminded of how much their strange friendship had changed them both. "This task should not be left to the Elves."

"If not to the Elves, then to whom?" Legolas countered as he slid his knives into their sheaths by his quiver - a quiver that would be left by his horse when they finally arrived at their destination. Even if they were able to pass themselves off as Mornedhel, there was no way that his Lothlorien bow could be mistaken for one of orc creation, nor would the fine wood appreciate the swim to the island of Tol Brandir. Unfortunately this mission would have to rely upon the blade. "To the Dwarves?" the fair-haired Elf continued as he glanced at his neat rooms before slipping into the hall, Gimli falling into step beside him as Legolas unconsciously shortened his long stride to match that of his companion. "The axe of a Dwarf is not needed in this."

"Perhaps," Gimli allowed, his face impassive as they passed guards and servants who were only beginning to stir for the day's tasks. "And yet a Dwarf's axe certainly couldn't have hurt during your travels these past months. Captive in an orc encampment?" he asked, his beard twitching beneath what could have easily been a smile or a frown.

"A very brief stay," Legolas quickly assured with a small grimace, even as he vowed further action against whichever of the twins leaked that bit of news to his shorter companion - or perhaps both. "A very brief stay that I have no intentions of repeating in the near future. Or ever."

"I should hope not," Gimli agreed with a small snort as they exited the grand halls and stepped into the weak, pre-dawn light, their steps instinctively moving towards the Seventh Gate that would lead them down into the Sixth Level where the stables were located. "And yet... the twins were right about one thing," the Dwarf continued, his words becoming brisk as his eyes remained firmly fixed on the cobbled street before them. "You are too close to this situation. You lose what little Elven sense you have on matters that should be clear."

"Or perhaps I have the clearest picture of them all," Legolas countered softly as they passed the guarded gates and moved into the Sixth level - only to have his steps falter as a heavy hand fell upon his slender shoulder.

Frown now firmly etched upon his face, his narrow brow puckered with lines as his small eyes inspected his elven companion, Gimli slowly nodded his head in understanding. "You have seen something - something more than what you have said," he guessed, able to see past his friend's elvish stoicism as though it was no more than a transparent mask that wilted beneath his heavy gaze.

For a moment, Legolas paused before his friend as his eyes turned towards the Ephel Dath, the Mountains of Shadow that bordered the gray lands of Mordor - and the range over which the sun was only beginning to climb, bathing first Ithilien, and then Osgiliath, the Pelennor Fields, and finally Minas Tirith in her warm golden light. "I have," he admitted with a soft sigh, his eyes closing as the sun's welcome rays bathed his face in warmth and light. "The dream continues past the point which I have recounted, and each time it ends in my hand spilling her blood over the Pelennor Fields in order to set the sun free... but now the dream has changed and such actions may result in the doom of all."

For moments uncounted, silence fell between the two friends as the city slowly began to awaken in the levels below them. To creatures that were immortal, patience was a gift and blessing, and Legolas awaited the dwarf's response with an ease that was ingrained in every part of his being. Then again, if Elves were blessed with patience, such gifts were considered a poor pittance to Dwarves, and within minutes Gimli shifted and continued towards the nearby stables.

"What will you do?"

"I know not," Legolas admitted, his sharp eyes easily picking out Elladan and Elrohir, as well as Aragorn and Arwen where they gathered near the stable walls.

"Perhaps not now, but you will," Gimli returned, his deep baritone rumbling with the full confidence of a people that were practical in all ways. "When the time comes, you will know what you have to do."

Two days had passed, and as the sun fell beneath the high walls of the Western Shore, for the first time in nine years Legolas cast his sharp gaze from his position on the wooded banks of Parth Galen over the familiar waters of the Anduin where they emptied into the bowl of Nen Hithoel. Nine years had come and gone since he had last walked these shores, in a company that was comprised of Men, Hobbits, and a Dwarf that was only beginning to become the dear friend that now awaited his return in the stone city of Minas Tirith. Nine years since the band of Uruk-hai had taken their company unawares, capturing two, driving two to the opposite shore, and killing one in these same woods. Boromir of Gondor had been slain that day, dying a valiant death as he protected Merry and Pippin, and only hours later his body had been set to rest upon the Falls of Rauros - the sleek boat skimming past the towering island of Tol Brandir, with none the wiser of the secret lair that it contained.

Frowning softly, Legolas' eyes traversed the dark waters - waters that would be unbearably cold to a mortal in these bitter winter months - and followed their lapping waves to the pillar of rock that rose from the turbulent waters. Even as day turned into night, the moon's brilliance washing the skeletal trees with light and glinting off of the thin crust of snow, this tall tower remained dark and still - a silent sentinel to the Falls of Rauros that crashed loudly just beyond the tall peak.

"Maybe this was all a trick, after all," Elladan murmured as he stepped beside the fair-haired elf, his pack in one hand as he followed Legolas' sharp gaze to the lonely pillar of rock. "I see naught but stone and withered trees upon the spire of Tol Brandir. There are no lights, or even boats upon its shore."

"There must be another entrance somewhere along either shore," Elrohir ventured as he turned to eye the steep cliffs behind them. "Perhaps a tunnel that delves beneath the lake itself, connecting the island to the shores."

"Perhaps," Legolas murmured, his eyes briefly lifting to the top of the grand cliffs behind them where Drlum and the other horses patiently awaited their return. "Though such a search would take more time than we have. I suggest that we stick to our original plan."

Sighing, Elrohir morosely eyed the dark waters. "I was afraid you would say that," he murmured as he reluctantly dropped his pack beside him, his nimble fingers working the fastenings of his boots, cloak, tunic, under-tunic and leggings as he disrobed with quiet efficiency.

In his heart, Legolas couldn't help but silently agree with the younger twin's reluctance as he shoved his own garments and weapons into the waterproof bag that Aragorn had provided. Being an Elf, he barely felt the winter's cold bite on his pale shoulders or slender hips, his skin glowing with the ethereal light of Aman, yet that didn't mean that he was looking forward to taking the icy plunge anymore than his companions. Prolonged exposure in icy water was bound to take its toll, no matter his Elven strength or stamina.

"Well, come on then," Elladan sighed as he slung his pack over his head and one pale shoulder, his features grim as he ever so slowly inched into the eddying depths, feeling the icy water lap around his ankles, and then his calves, his knees, his thighs - and grimacing as it swept over his slender hips as the elder twin submerged himself in the dark waters that quickly engulfed his glowing body.

"Next time, I say we let the Men and Dwarf have their fun," Elrohir muttered as he followed his brother into the water, the prince falling into step behind him as the younger twin felt the tug of the strong current that wanted to carry him towards the trap of the swift falls. Ignoring the insistent pull, he used long, strong strokes to pull him free of the treacherous currents as he and his two companions swam straight towards the Western Shore, their breaths coming slow and even as they fell into a rhythm that carried them into the northern shadow of Tol Brandir, the island now standing between them and the sheer Falls of Rauros. Turning south, the trio then continued directly towards the large pinnacle, free now of the pulling currents as they swam effortlessly towards shore.

Almost effortlessly, for by the time the three Elves finally stepped onto the rocky, deserted shore, the Moon had already moved in its long arc towards the west and their breaths now came heavy, distorted amongst the shivers that wracked their luminescent forms. Silently, the trio rescued their dry garments from the sealed bags, dressing even as their eyes continuously scoured the craggy face that rocketed into the sky hundreds of feet above them. The sound of the falls was much louder here, and nothing could be heard outside of the roar of water as it plummeted over the high precipice.

Frowning, Legolas was about to admit that perhaps Elladan was right, and that they had been tricked into coming here, but whatever doubts he was feeling were quickly forgotten as his sharp sight caught a brief flicker of light, far upon the high cliffs of the tower of rock. Muscles tightening, Legolas turned to his companions, seeing that they had not missed the irrefutable sign of life where there should have been none. For whatever reason, it seemed as though the stranger had spoken true - which meant that somewhere in this tower of rock, Buffy was held captive - a captivity that he would see ended this night, one way or another.

Fair features becoming grim, Legolas threw his empty bag against the shadowed rocks as he moved resolutely towards the gentle incline that quickly escalated into a sheer climb. With practiced eyes, he gauged the sparse brush and withered trees, listening to their muted whispers as he began to discern the most minute crevices in the craggy face that would aid in their climb. In moments a path had been selected and without further ado, he scrambled forward as far as possible before reaching for the first handhold... and then began to climb.

The art of climbing was one that was perfected by all elflings at a very young age, whether they be Noldor or Sindarin, Galadhrim or Silvan. It was a skill set that was necessary for survival in the woods in which all Elves dwelt, and one that was aided by the trees that so loved the first children of Iluvatar. But here, upon a face of stone with naught but the occasional scrub or small tree to rejoice in his passing, Legolas was quickly learning that climbing a wall of stone was not quite the same thing.

This mountain of rock did not shift its walls in order to bring a handhold within reach. This mountain of rock did not sing its encouragements and promises to never let him fall. No, this mountain of rock was a cold mistress, and Legolas found himself focusing entirely on the slender cracks and crevices that allowed room for the tips of his fingers and the barest edges of his toes as he scaled the wall, only semi-aware of the twins working to either side of him along the sheer surface.

For minutes and hours unnumbered, Legolas lived for each new hand or foothold, the rest of the world falling away - until his fingers scratched against the wall above him, only to find that the rough planes of stone had been replaced by the smooth sheen of glass that was covered by several millennium's worth of grime and dirt. "Elladan, Elrohir - I have found a-"

"Aie!"

"Window," Elrohir supplied with a quiet chuckle as Legolas turned towards the twin's brother. "Aye, and so has Elladan, or so it seems," the younger twin added as he followed Legolas' gaze, the edges of Elladan's boots just barely visible from where they hung out of whatever window the twin had fallen into. "Although it seems as though his was open," he added with a sly smile as he began working his way sideways, crablike across the sheer face in the direction that his brother had disappeared.

"You are both just lucky that this room is empty, or else-"

"Someone would have surely heard your girlish scream," Elrohir finished for his brother with an impish grin as he followed Legolas into the room, his eyes sweeping over the small, empty chamber.

"I do not scream like an elleth," Elladan countered with a stern glare at his twin. "I was merely voicing my surprise at suddenly finding a hole when before there was naught but solid rock."

"You are right, my brother. Not even Arwen screams quite so- Legolas!" Elrohir hissed as the flickering light of many torches illuminated their small chamber, his eyes at once fixing on their fair-haired companion as the elven prince stood before the cracked doorway. "You heard the stranger!" he warned as he hurried to their friend's side, his pale hand roughly seizing the hood of the other elf's dark cloak and pulling it over his mostly dry golden locks. "You must stay covered or else that tedious climb would have been for naught. We may as well have had Elladan scream from the shore, begging to be taken prisoner!"

"Brother, if you do not-"

"Enough!" Legolas hissed, his blue eyes burning into startled twin pairs of gray. "You may argue the merits of Elladan's distress at another time. For now, there is much to be accomplished this night and our time grows short," he finished before opening the door before anymore consideration could be given. Yet as he stepped into the torch-lit hall, Legolas found himself nearly losing his expressionless mask as he entered a world that was wholly alien and entirely wrong. To his right and left, orcs and elves moved in small groups through the wide hall, intermingling without thought as the harsh gratings of the Black Speech was uttered by every tongue, distorting the melodious voices of his dark kin. And there were so many elves in these halls! All were fair of face and skin, with dark hair pooling around their slender shoulders, their faces impassive while their eyes were cold, dressed in anything from rags to rich robes that bore the fine stitching of Men and Elf alike. So many of them... too many.

How could so many orcs have been changed by Buffy's blood... and Buffy yet live?

Eyes creasing slightly in concern, Elladan gently touched Legolas' elbow, silently breaking him from his stasis as he nodded his head in one direction down the cavernous hallway. What went unspoken were the words that he could see reflected in Elladan's gray eyes - eyes that were a bit lighter than the darker eyes of the Mornedhel. Come. There is much to be accomplished this night and our time grows short.

Short indeed.

"You are sure she mentioned Buffy?"

"Well I never claimed to be fluent in the Black Speech. However, I am almost certain that sharlob means 'human woman'... well, either that or 'old hag.' The two are so-"

"Elrohir!"

"Alright, alright. Yes, I am certain now that she was talking about Buffy. Well... almost certain."

Silently shaking his head, Legolas looked to the ceiling as though he could somehow beg Elbereth for the patience to deal with the Elf beside him. Hours had passed since Elladan had unwittingly discovered the open window into the Tower of Tol Brandir; hours spent walking the torch-lit stone passageways that had been fashioned by the hands of Aragorn's ancestors several millenniums past; and hours in which all three Elves had quickly come to realize that the old stranger had indeed been telling the truth. Sauron's scattered orc remnants had gathered together to form an army - an army that was comprised of thousands of the disfigured creatures, and hundreds, if not more of the Dark Elves that Buffy's blood had created.

That such a gathering of dark creatures could congregate in one well-chosen location with none being the wiser was disquieting. That their numbers could have grown so great in so little time was dismaying. But mostly, that this secret lair was located within a three day's ride from the doors of Minas Tirith, the gates of Edoras and the trees of Ithilien... that news was simply damning. Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir had been sent as scouts to see the enemy's strength, and the news that they would return with would be that which nightmares were made of.

"No, I think that Elrohir is correct. Sharlob most definitely means either 'human woman' or 'old hag.'"

Sighing softly, Legolas turned away from the twins and eyed the elleth that they had been following. She was tall and dark, as were any of her kin, with pale skin and eyes that were cold and hard. She wore fine robes of a deep blue that swished with every long stride, but most importantly, a large ring of keys were attached to the sash at her side. A very, very large ring of keys.

It had been mere chance that they had overheard her conversation with two other dark-haired elves - a conversation in which Elrohir had sworn that Buffy had been mentioned. Since then she had continued along the flickering passageways, climbing ever higher in the tower as the other orcs and dark elves parted before her. Whoever she was, the mornedhil was obviously an elf of some importance, and yet the odds of stumbling upon someone that could lead them to Buffy's whereabouts were so monumental, that Legolas could only hope that fortune was indeed smiling down upon them. After the dismal past few months that were filled with nothing but failure, this small grace would be a blessing. Now the only problem lay in somehow getting her away from the others that roamed these halls in order to gain the answers that they were searching for.

Footsteps slowing in response to Elladan's stilted movements before him, Legolas shifted against a closed doorway to allow a stumbling orc to go past. Frowning, he watched as the Dark Elf that they had been following paused before one heavy door, no different than any other, and began searching through the keys on her ring - and therein saw the opportunity that they had been searching for.

Hands automatically reaching for the single dagger that was tucked into his belt, Legolas followed Elladan with long, confident strides towards the distracted she-Elf as she inserted a large key into the door's lock. To his right he caught a flicker of movement as Elrohir fell into step beside him, and then stepped past him until he was walking in unison with his brother as the unsuspecting she-Elf turned the door's knob and pushed the heavy door open. Features as cold and hard as the Mornedhel that he stepped past, Legolas watched as the door started to swing shut, only to have Elladan smoothly slide through the narrowing gap, Elrohir following quickly on his brother's heels until Legolas remained alone in the torch-lit hall. For the briefest of moments, he paused on this threshold, his blue eyes, hidden beneath his dark hood, quickly scouring the faces of those that walked past before he, too, stepped into the room beyond, his hands sliding against the heavy wood and pushing the door shut behind them.

With the soft snick of the closing door, the muffled conversations of those without fell away, leaving the room bathed in a thick silence. Sighing softly, Legolas turned from the wooden barrier to find the she-Elf pushed against a nearby wall, Elladan's sword tip pressed against the smooth whiteness of her throat as Elrohir crushed his hand against her lips - ensuring her silence.

"Lock the door," Elladan instructed as he pried the ring of keys from the elleth's hand, never turning his attention from the Dark Elf as he tossed them to his fair-haired companion.

"Ask her where we can find..." Legolas began to return as he slipped his hood from his head, freeing a wave of golden hair as he turned to lock the door, his eyes casually sweeping over the room that they had entered - and promptly forgetting the rest of his question. The chamber was little larger than the one in which they had entered through the open window hours ago, and yet while the other was empty, this room was not.

"Buffy," Legolas whispered, the keys slipping from his fingers as he stepped towards the bed that was set against the adjacent wall, his wide, horrified eyes falling upon the bed's sole occupant.

Twenty days he had spent in Buffy's company - twenty days since he first witnessed her sudden arrival in the woods of his birth until the morning that she disappeared. Twenty days, which were less significant than the blinking of an eye to one who was blessed with immortality, and yet twenty days which weighed more heavily upon his mind and heart than the fifty odd days since she had been taken. He had been without her company longer than he had been with, and yet the proud tilt of her chin, the sorrow that had hung on her like a heavy cloak only to be slowly released as the days passed by, and the graceful and skilled twists of her blade were all ingrained in his memory. Petite in stature, a glance at her would invoke thoughts of fragility and weakness, while a mere moment in her company would rectify that misconception as she demonstrated that she was a woman of great strength and skill. But now... now that image was shattered.

With slow, measured steps, Legolas crossed the distance to the large bed that all but engulfed Buffy's frame - a frame that was thin and emaciated, and only a shadow of her former self. Thick, heavy blankets of a muted gray covered all but the hints of her pale shoulders - shoulders that were much narrower and pointier than he remembered. Her skin, always such a lustrous golden color, was now thin and waxy, the pale lines of blue veins visible over the taut wrapping as dark bruises mottled practically all of that which was visible. Even the skin beneath her closed eyes was shadowed and marred, and her parted lips showed evidence of her long weeks in captivity - the skin dry and cracked, parted slightly as her breath whistled from a body that refused to quit. Her hair seemed the only part of her which had not changed as it lay thick and golden beneath her head - shining in the flickering light of the torches that lined the walls of the small chamber.

"Buffy," Legolas repeated, his soft voice naught more than a tentative whisper as he settled lightly on the bed beside the emaciated slayer, one pale hand reaching forward to gently cup her cheek in his palm, turning her face towards him. "Buffy, it is time to waken," he murmured as his thumb swept over her cool skin, the rest of the world falling away as her eye lashes began to flutter. "Come now. The darkness has had you long enough," he urged as the dark lashes finally lifted to reveal two green orbs that he remembered well - eyes that showed none of the failings of her body as they locked upon him with a familiar intensity.

"Legolas?" Buffy whispered, his name a quiet breath of air as she paused to run a pink tongue over her cracked lips, eyes sliding closed before locking on him in confusion. "Legolas, what... how did you get here?" she asked as she tried to shift in the bed - and found that she hadn't the energy to do more than form these small words. Two days had already come and gone since the human healer's death, and yet despite the man's brittle assurances, a two-day reprieve had done little to aid in her recovery. Then again, perhaps that had something to do with the daily brutalities that Sugha visited upon her when the EBID became bored, tired, angry, happy... or hell, if the sun happened to be shining. There didn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to the daily punishments, and unlike Vashnak, the fact that she didn't have the strength to fight back didn't seem to bother the orc-turned-elf in the slightest. "How-"

"A stranger gave word of your location," Legolas interrupted with a small, grim frown as he placed his fingers over her lips, silencing her questions as he glanced furtively towards the far wall where Elladan and Elrohir continued to stand guard over the Mornedhil that had unwittingly led them straight to Buffy's chambers.

"A stranger," Buffy returned as she followed Legolas' gaze to the twin sons of Elrond and their captive, her eyes widening only slightly as she took in Sugha's taut form pressed between the tall elves. But while a small part of her couldn't help but feel a fierce wave of satisfaction at seeing the burning anger in the EBID's eyes, or at the small drop of blood that colored the tip of the sword that was pressed against her neck, the larger part of her was already dismissing her tormentor as her gaze swung back to the gray eyes of the two whose faces had faded from her memory long ago. Elladan and Elrohir. Her companions... her friends? Yet if that was true, why wouldn't they meet her eyes? Why did their gray eyes flicker in her direction only to look past when they caught her eyes? She thought that perhaps they were her friends once. There certainly had been camaraderie between them - laughing, joking, and maybe even understanding as they talked of Lothlrien, as she rescued Elladan from the mouth of the warg, or as they laughed at her complaints at fording the different rivers. They had been all of that once... but not now. Not any longer, Buffy realized with a sudden wash of understanding.

"We left the next morning and traveled as swiftly as our horses would carry us," Legolas assured as Buffy's eyes slowly drifted back until they were once more locked with his own. Yet in those brief few moments where her gaze had wandered, something had changed in them - some understanding reached as his brow furrowed in confusion at the sadness that radiated from those simple green orbs. "We came as soon as we were able."

"Why?" Buffy returned, the word a tired, curt demand for an answer that she already knew - one that she had guessed just by looking at Elladan and Elrohir. "Why did you come?" she clarified, her eyes searching Legolas' for something - perhaps guilt at what she knew his task to be, but as his eyes flashed with hurt at her tired sigh, she found herself tiring of this game. Tiring of all games. It didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore. She had been in this room too long, lost in shadows for a time, only to find her way back for the end, no matter what that end would be. She would be the slayer that Giles had raised her to be, and she would accept her fate with better grace than when she was sixteen and fulfilling an ancient prophecy, and yet with more fire and strength than when she had abandoned everything two years ago to be free. Even if it was for just a few minutes more, Buffy was determined to be the slayer that Giles had always intended her to be.

"A few days ago I would have thought that you were nothing more than a vision come to torment me," Buffy admitted with a small, sad smile as she looked into eyes that were so very old - ancient. "Just another part of my madness. But I'm not mad any longer," she continued with what could have been a shrug if she had only the energy to do more than blink wearily at the elf that still cradled her cheek in his warm hand. "Tired, yes. Hurting, without a doubt. But quite, quite sane," she assured as her smile began to fracture. "Which is why we both know why you were really sent."

"Buffy-"

"The root of all evil on my world," Buffy interrupted, speaking over Legolas' quiet entreaty with silent determination, "once told me that if you're going to be a general, you need to be able to make difficult decisions regardless of cost. I think that in this case, Evil may have been right."

"I did not-"

"They sent you to kill me," Buffy interrupted once more, her breathless words carrying all of the strength that she still possessed, her eyes burning into his own. "They sent you to kill me so I couldn't hurt anyone else."

"Buffy, I-"

"And they were right," she continued, speaking over the elf that was becoming more agitated with each interruption. "If I had the strength to do it myself, I would have long before this... I tried to make it right," Buffy whispered, her eyes briefly losing their focus before she firmly pushed those dark thoughts away. "If I were in your position, I would do the same thing. I have done the same thing, many times to the people that I loved most. I shoved a sword through Anya's heart because she was hurting people, and I tried to kill my best friend to stop her from doing the same thing just a few months before that. I even sent the man I loved to Hell in order to make things right," Buffy whispered, forcing each word past a throat that was tightening with each admission. "I've done it all before, no matter how wrong it was, and for some reason, it seems that this time you drew the lucky straw, so let's just-"

"I volunteered," Legolas stated, his clear voice finally riding over Buffy's long enough to silence her rambled words. While he had never heard the unusual expression before, there was a saying that was similar enough for him to understand her meaning - yet as soon as the words left his mouth, he immediately began to berate himself that out of everything that Buffy had said, that would be the one thing that he corrected her on. For the smallest moment, a flicker of betrayal could be seen in her eyes before Buffy smiled weakly at him - a smile that was entirely lacking in anything but saddened acceptance.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Buffy asked as her gaze slid back to the twins, silent and still as they watched the exchange with impassioned faces. For a moment, she felt something bitter and hard rise in her throat, making her breath hiss between parted lips as she resolutely turned away from those blank faces. "A wise man once said that life's a bitch and then you die - two times already, in my case, and from what I hear, the third time's the charm. So let's just get this show on the road. You may not be getting any older, but I am. I don't-"

Eyes narrowing upon the small slayer, Legolas felt his patience begin to wane, even as he became hyper-aware of the hard blade of his dagger where it pressed against his thigh. Everything she spoke was truth, and yet... why did it feel so-

Startled, he quickly rose from his crouch as the small chamber fell away to be replaced by the vast fields that spread out from the base of Minas Tirith, his friends and allies standing beside him in a world that was shrouded in shadows. Aragorn and Gimli stood to either side of him, dressed for battle with their faces tense and set, with Faramir and omer to Aragorn's right and Elladan and Elrohir to Gimli's left. Behind them stood the combined forces of Gondor and Rohan, the elves of Ithilien, the dwarves from Aglarond, as well as the Dnedain from the North - and all stood with their backs to the White City while their faces looked forward.

Turning, he quickly cast his sharp sight across the vast fields and looked upon the dim makings of a dark army. It was an army borne out of shadows, one that was lined with the bent, twisted forms of Orcs and the tall, graceful lines of the Mornedhel, the Dark Elves that were arraigned in armor and weapons of battle.

Suddenly, the troops around him came alive as they began to shift uneasily, their hands tightening around their weapons as their voices carried softly to one another. Curious, he turned towards the shrouded army of darkness and felt his breath hitch in his throat as exactly halfway between their forces and the enemy stood Buffy's small, cloaked figure, her back toward him while her face was turned towards the darkness.

"Bring her down, Legolas," Aragorn whispered, breaking the terse silence as his old friend looked towards him with gray eyes that were tinged with sorrow. "You know you must."

And he did. It was the same message that had been driven into him for months, and so it was without hesitation that he automatically reached for his longbow, draped as always across his back - only to still his hands as something deep within his heart bade for him to pause.

"Kill her!" Aragorn hissed, prompting the elf once more as he quickly fitted the thin shaft of an arrow to the bow string with an ease borne from over five centuries of experience. Without thought he pulled the string taut and held it against his cheek, his eyes never straying from the cloaked figure.

And once more he paused - yet this time it was more from confusion than anything else as he thought he saw a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. But when he turned, he saw naught but Gimli and the twin sons of Elrond.

"Kill her Legolas, before all our hard work is lost!" Aragorn urged, his voice now becoming tinged with panic as his hard expression softened into the friend that Legolas had long known - had long traveled with in the wilds of this world.

Eyes turning back to his target, Legolas' steeled himself for the task that was set before him, waiting for his next exhalation when he would end the life of the companion that he had so briefly known... only to remember the darkness that had last encroached upon this moment - a darkness that had swept over this land with Buffy's death. And in that moment, with the bow string held taut against his cheek, once more he saw the flicker to his right, catching his eye and causing him to turn fully from his target... only to find that his target had moved.

Buffy no longer stood before him, balancing precariously between the darkness and the light, but beside him, sword in hand as she stood tall and strong between Elladan and Elrohir, prepared for battle.

And in that moment, he was finally in accordance with the message that his vision carried, for now, it had merged until it was one with that in his heart.