Equinoxium: Chapter 22
by Lisette

Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

Buffy's mind was mired in concern and confusion, her green eyes locked upon Legolas' vacant blue gaze. She had been mid-plea when she sensed that something was amiss, and her eyes lifted to see the glazed look in the eyes of her friend and companion of a time long ago. Frowning, Buffy felt her arguments falter, her feeble attempts at nonchalance when speaking of her own death falling away as her weary mind took in this new puzzle. She had seen this vacant expression many times before, but then it had always been when the fair-haired elf had been sleeping, and while it hadn't been uncommon to see Legolas drift off when he was sitting up, or sometimes even walking, to have him do so now, in the midst of talking about her imminent death was disturbing. Not that she had long to puzzle over his ill-timed nap.

"Sugha," Vashnak's unmistakable voice called out as the unlocked door was suddenly thrust open, "the shara healer said that we must wait at least-" he broke off as the torch light from the hall beyond spread into the room, illuminating the strange tableau set before him. Pausing on the threshold with Dergu and Guol crowded behind him, Vashnak looked to where Sugha was pinned against the stone wall by familiar twin elves, her gaze furious. Eyes narrowing, he then turned towards the large bed, his gaze sweeping briefly over Buffy's horrified features before they became locked upon Legolas' unmoving form.

Everyone fell silent in surprise and disbelief, and it was in this moment that Legolas finally returned to himself from the vision that had once more caught him unawares. Immediately his eyes took in Vashnak's dark gaze as the moment stretched for an eternity - an eternity that was ended as Vashnak's companions stepped forward, their swords sliding free of their sheaths with the swish of metal against thick leather, even as Elrohir released the elleth to his brother's care, his own sword appearing in hand as he came to stand between his twin and the unwelcome visitors.

In that moment, Legolas realized his costly mistake as his eyes darted frantically around the room. First his gaze lighted on the forgotten keys, abandoned on the stone floor before the open, unlocked door. From there his wide blue eyes turned to the two enemy swords raised against Elrohir's single blade, before sliding to the elder twin as Elladan shifted his grip on the treacherous she-elf so that she was held against his chest, his blade resting against her throat. Finally he turned his gaze back to Vashnak, who was watching him with cold, furious eyes - eyes that shifted until they were narrowed possessively upon Buffy, who lay unmoving beside him. Following the dark-elf's gaze, Legolas tried to read the emotions that clouded Buffy's green eyes - a range of emotions that shifted from anger to loathing, hatred, despair, acceptance, and... fear. Fear that twisted his heart as she resolutely closed her eyes, hiding her swirling emotions from his searching gaze.

"Step away from her," Vashnak ordered, his clear voice cutting through Legolas' tumbled thoughts as the fair-haired elf turned from Buffy to look upon the one who was responsible for her abduction, her suffering, and so many weeks of worried speculation. "Step away from her!" the dark-elf repeated, barking the command as his own sword was leveled in their direction.

"Legolas-" Elladan began, his voice carrying a hint of warning - and yet it was a warning that was not needed, for he knew as well as the older twin that by heeding Vashnak's demand, Legolas was as good as handing over their own lives. They could not bargain with the dark-elleth's life, for despite appearances, these were not true elves. They were orcs that wore the faces of his kin. And orcs, as they all knew, would not think twice before spilling the elleth's blood in order to reach them, no matter her rank or high-standing. These creatures would be no different.

Thus, with no other option open to him, Legolas did the only thing he could as his left hand fell from Buffy's cheek and wrapped around her bare, angular shoulder in a crushing grip, alternately dragging and lifting her towards him as the blankets fell away from her torso until the top of her back was pressed against his chest... while his dagger materialized in his right hand, the edge of the blade pressed tight against her pale throat. "Leave this room now or I shall spill the blood you crave in one crimson torrent," Legolas whispered as his arm tightened around Buffy's slender frame - a frame that felt so fragile in his arms, as though if he squeezed much harder, she would shatter into nothing.

"You would kill her?"

"I would end her torment and prevent you from using her any longer," Legolas corrected as he pressed the blade until its sharp edge bit into Buffy's soft skin, breaking the thin covering and allowing a trickle of blood to line the surface before trailing down until it stained the edge of the pale garment that she wore.

It was a gamble, and they all knew it. Yet the only course of action was to decide who among them bluffed and who would call that bluff... and what the ultimate price would be. For Vashnak, every option seemed ill and he stood frozen in indecision as Guol and Dergu shifted impatiently beside him. If he wagered that the Elves' mission had been to save their friend, then the one with golden-hair spoke false. Vashnak could call his brethren down upon the three and their prize would remain safe... and yet there was something in the fair being's blue eyes that said different. There was something in those eyes that said that this Elf would kill their prize if his hand was forced, which left only one question. If Vashnak and his companions retreated, would her life still be valued or would she be discarded as may have been the wont of their mission?

Hissing silently, Vashnak hesitated a moment more, his eyes probing Legolas' as he desperately searched for some sign that the elf would really kill his hostage, if only to set her free. A sign that he never found, leaving Vashnak no choice as he was forced to rely upon the only course of action that offered at least a glimmer of hope that in the end, they could reclaim what was theirs. Vashnak slowly lowered his sword, indicating for his companions to do the same as he began backing towards the open door. "You will never keep her," he murmured as Elrohir cautiously stepped forward, lifting the abandoned keys from the stone floor. "And if you harm her, I promise that you will not live to see the light of day," he continued as he stepped into the hall, his eyes never straying from Legolas as the younger twin began edging the door closed. "She is mine," he stated as the door finally clicked shut, echoing with a harsh finality.

Quickly lowering his sword long enough to begin sorting through the many keys, Elrohir desperately searched for the one that would finally lock the heavy door. Sighing quietly, Legolas felt his own hammering heartbeat begin to slow as he looked down upon the golden head that was cradled against his chest, only to realize that Buffy still lay tense and unyielding against him, not daring to move against the blade that was still pressed against her throat. Cursing softly, the fair-haired elf lowered the knife and gently eased Buffy back onto the bed beside him, his eyes guiltily taking in the knick that trickled small drops of blood down her pale skin. Reaching forward to brush away the crimson stains, Legolas briefly lifted his eyes to Buffy's - and felt his hand as well as his heart freeze as he found a fearful acceptance in Buffy's green eyes, her gaze still locked upon the knife that lay on the bed beside her.

"Come Legolas, we must hurry!" Elrohir urged as he finally found the right key, the old tumbler falling into place with a clunk that was hardly reassuring.

Yet Legolas was oblivious to his friends' growing anxiety as he, too, looked upon the knife that was stained with Buffy's blood, disgust rising within him as he seized the hilt and wiped the blade clean upon the bed's sheets before shoving the weapon back into the sheath on his belt. "You have nothing to fear," he murmured as he reached forward to lay his hand upon her cheek, forcing her to meet his eyes as he tried to ignore the way that she flinched at his touch.

His gaze drifted down to where the heavy blankets had fallen away, noting for the first time that she was no longer wearing her strange leather clothing, but rather a very thin, gauzy dressing gown that must have done little to ward away the room's chill. "You are cold," he observed as he noted the tremors that shook her painfully thin frame, his hand reaching down to draw the covers up, only to freeze as as his eyes locked upon her right arm that now lay uncovered. Instantly he felt anger well within him as his eyes took in the bloodied bandage that wrapped her slender wrist - a wrist that at once seemed to depict everything that had gone so terribly wrong these past months. It portrayed an image of suffering, pain, weakness and fragility; long periods of waiting, fear, loneliness and abandonment; everything that the strong young woman he had known should never have been forced to endure.

Turning away from the sight, Legolas hastily drew the blanket over her slender frame, hiding the grisly wound as his eyes turned to hers - only to find that her fear had been replaced by a shame so great that it burned him with her glittering green gaze. It was as though by seeing her damaged wrist, he had somehow seen something dark and wretched about herself; something horrible that filled her with self-loathing. And yet whatever was the cause, they hadn't the time to discuss it as Elladan once more called for him to hurry.

Forcing a grim smile for the small blonde, Legolas leaned down and lifted Buffy's swaddled form into his arms, much to her and the twins' evident surprise and confusion, he noted, as he turned to meet their startled gaze. "Elrohir, check in there to see if you can find her clothing or her sword," he instructed with a quick nod towards a chest that sat against a far wall, urgency claiming him once more.

For a moment, the younger twin hesitated, his eyes turning questioningly to his brother before he slowly moved to do as directed. Yet Elladan couldn't hold his brother's silence as his arm tightened around his captive's taut frame, his grey eyes searching the blue of his friend. "Legolas, what are you doing?" he asked, his gaze shifting to where Buffy's golden head, just barely visible from amidst the pooling of blankets, rested against the archer's chest.

"What does it look like I am doing?" Legolas returned as Elrohir lifted Buffy's folded garments from the trunk, his head quickly shaking to show that there was no sign of the sword of Rohan that she had carried for so long.

"She is a threat to us all," Elladan persisted as the bundle in Legolas' arms shifted at his words, proving that though weakened, Buffy still followed this heated exchange. In that moment, the elder twin felt a flash of shame as he briefly caught one piercing green eye - and yet that shame was overwhelmed by the love he held for all of those who could be threatened by the brave young woman he had come to know and respect over the course of their travels south. Frowning, he watched as her eyes became shadowed... and yet he found no accusation in her gaze. Instead, he found naught but agreement. She understood what he said, even if Legolas did not, and yet they both knew that there was nothing either of them could do. Buffy could barely keep her eyes open, let alone have the strength to stand against Legolas' stubbornness, and despite the misgivings that warred within his heart, Elladan knew that he could never act against his friend. Unfortunately, it was a truth that Legolas knew as well. "You know what she carries!" he hissed as his hand tightened around the dark-elleth that stood before him.

"She is not the threat," Legolas returned as his blue eyes shifted to the locked door before dismissing it out of hand. There would be no escape by that portal. "She's Balance," he continued as Elrohir, coming to the same conclusion, moved on silent feet towards the drapes that stretched from floor to ceiling against one wall, Buffy's clothing clutched in one hand while the other became tangled in the heavy fabric, pulling the drapery aside to reveal two tall, grime coated glass doors that were swathed by the darkness outside. "I understand that now. She has to play her part," Legolas stated as the younger twin fumbled with the small handles, twisting them uselessly before using the hilt of his sword to shatter one of the massive sheets of glass, allowing a torrent of cool, fresh air to sweep in the room, carrying with it the roar of the Falls of Rauros.

Thin lips twisting in a dark scowl, Elladan forced his captive to step forward with him, his dark hair billowing past his shoulders as his eyes narrowed upon his obstinate friend. "Perhaps," he allowed, calling loudly to be heard over the sound of the falls as his brother knocked away a few more shards of glass before disappearing behind the madly flapping curtains, "but none of us will be able to play any part at this rate! Even if she could somehow make the climb down to the shore, which we all know she cannot, there is still no way that she could survive the swim back. The water is too cold for even the healthiest of mortal bodies, and she, my friend, is far from healthy. She would die of exposure before we even reached the shore!"

"You will not even make it that far, with or without her," his captive stated, the clear, light tones of her voice cutting through the roar of the crashing water as she shifted in Elladan's grasp. "Every orc and dark elf within this keep will be waiting to shoot you down. You will-"

Frowning down upon the dark head that was pressed against him, Elladan shifted his knife until it bit more deeply into the pale skin of her neck, effectively silencing her cold words as his heart warred with his mind. Even though he knew that the creature was evil, she still looked the fair part of any elf maiden of Imladris. It went against everything in his being to threaten one of his kin, an act that had not been seen in this world since the time of the kin-slaying, ages before his birth. "And what will we do with her?" he asked, grimly indicating the seemingly docile creature.

Eyes narrowing upon the dark-haired creature, Legolas gently shifted Buffy in his arms. "She is Mornedhel," he reminded, as though reading his friend's mind as he looked into the dark-elf's eyes - eyes that were devoid of the light of his kindred. "Her fair face is but a mask to hide what lies underneath, for she is an orc, through and through. Do with her what you would do with any orc captive."

"Personally, I'm all about slitting her wrist and letting her see how it feels to bleed to death," Buffy quietly suggested, her voice muffled by the heavy blanket as the edges of her green eyes peeked out to look at one of the EBIDs that had been responsible for much of her torment. And yet despite the harsh words, Buffy's voice lacked any of her usual bite, and her body was too wearied to really work up even a glimmer of emotion over the prospect of seeing the bitch die in the most slow and cruel of ways. She was just too tired to care anymore. About any of it, from her life to her death. All that mattered was that she was safe and warm for the first time in God only knew how long. It didn't even matter when Sugha began to snarl at her, spewing what had to be the worst curses the EBID could imagine in her screeching black tongue - curses that were abruptly cut off when Elladan drew his knife in a swift arc over Sugha's neck, ending her life in a flood of red blood. "Or that works just as well," Buffy murmured, blinking tiredly as the elder twin released the dead weight with a murmur of disgust as he moved to wipe the blood from his gleaming blade.

Shrugging dispassionately, Legolas turned from the bloodied corpse and looked to the dark night that flickered into sight behind the madly blowing curtains. Though he hated to admit it, the dark-elf was right in that they had no where to go - especially no where in which Buffy could follow. Even if she had been whole and healthy, Elladan spoke true for her mortal body could never endure the freezing waters of the Anduin as they flowed through the lake of Nen Hithoel and then over the Falls of Rauros. She would die within minutes, and yet... what other choice did they have?

"Elladan, Legolas! You must come and see!"

Startled, Legolas instinctively clutched Buffy closer to his chest as he turned to the dark, stone balcony, his smooth brow furrowing in confusion as Elrohir stepped through the tangle of cloth and beckoned them to the open doorway.

"What is it, brother?" Elladan demanded as he stepped past Legolas - only to pause in the doorway, thereby blocking Legolas' view of whatever Elrohir had discovered.

"Our way home," the younger twin returned as Legolas finally edged around Elladan - and found himself similarly frozen as he looked upon the large eagle that was perched on the thin balustrade.

"Lord Gwahir," Legolas murmured, his keen blue eyes sweeping over the mighty Lord of the Eagles, and then looking past the massive bird to the two other grand eagles that circled above the crashing waters of the Anduin as they flowed over the Falls of Rauros below. "I don't understand," he admitted as his blue eyes turned searchingly towards his friends.

"It seems that upon arriving in Minas Tirith and finding his ward missing, Master Thoron of Mirkwood beseeched the aid of the eagles in finding his wayward prince," Elrohir supplied with a smug grin as he gestured grandly to the waiting creature.

"Yes," Gwahir agreed, his head tilting to the side as he inspected the three elves shrewdly before jutting his grand beak towards Legolas' small bundle - catching Buffy's wide green eyes peering through the blanket flaps. "Though he spoke of three missing Elflings, the sons of Elrond, and Thranduil's youngest, and mentioned not a Daughter of Man," the great eagle stated as he tilted his head to the other side.

Stiffening reflexively at being referred to as a child, and realizing that this was most likely Thoron's doing, Legolas ignored the urge to correct the grand eagle and instead swallowed his pride as he held Buffy tighter against him. "She is very light, my Lord, and would be but a small burden if you would consent to carry us both," he entreated as the great eagle seemed to consider Buffy once more. "Please, Lord Gwahir," he whispered as he clutched Buffy against him. "I will not leave her behind."

For a moment more, silence reigned as Gwahir flapped his wings to either side, his feathers ruffling in the cold, stinging breeze. Slowly, he turned his head to look to his companions who glided silently over the crashing falls before turning back to the waiting elves, his dark, beady eyes locking upon the fair-haired elf that so closely resembled his father. "Thranduil was long a friend of the eagles," he stated as he tucked one wing against his side. "For the sake of his friendship, though he is departed forever from these shores, I will bear this weight."

"Thank you, my Lord," Legolas murmured as he bowed his head before the mighty eagle. "Hannon-le."

Upon Gwahir's sleek back, the journey that had taken Legolas and the sons of Elrond two full days was completed within hours. They had stopped upon the ridges of the Western shore long enough to send Drlum and the other two horses back to Minas Tirith before they were once more permitted upon the backs of the great eagles, the ground swiftly falling away beneath them. Not surprisingly, Buffy had been awake for very little of the magnificent ride before her weariness proved to be too great. Upon a bed of soft, warm feathers, her weakened body finally betrayed her as her eyes fell shut and as her quick, shallow breathing deepened in sleep. Legolas had gently tucked the stolen blanket over her tousled, golden head - protecting her mortal body from the freezing wind as he lay half atop her small frame, using his own slight weight to anchor her upon Gwahir's back.

Having been sighted by the sharp eyes of the Tower's Guard, it was with the mid-morning sun shining down upon them that the great eagles finally alighted upon the open courtyard of Minas Tirith, within the proud city's seventh gate to a welcoming committee of many Men, a Dwarf, and an Elf that was openly glowering as Legolas lightly slid from Gwahir's tall back. Briefly turning from his friends, Legolas nodded to the grand eagle. "I thank you, my Lord. "Your assistance could not have come at a more desperately needed hour," he murmured as he gently reached up and pulled Buffy into his arms, careful not to jostle or waken her.

"You are welcome, young Thranduilion," Gwahir returned with a small incline of his elegant head. "And may Manw's grace go with you both," he added as he looked down upon Buffy's sleeping form before stretching his great wings and lifting into the bright morning sky, his two companions joining him seconds later.

Sighing softly, Legolas glanced at Elladan and Elrohir before turning toward the White Tower, feeling his friends' eyes upon him and his burden as he slowly moved across the withered winter grasses, brown beneath his booted feet. Slowly the friends formed a small circle as Aragorn reached forward and pulled back a corner of the blanket, revealing Buffy's pale, still features.

"Is she dead?" owyn asked, her short words belying her concern for the stranger as the White Lady impatiently brushed at an errant strand of blonde hair that had blown loose of her elaborate twist, her pale cheeks stained pink from the brisk wind.

"Nay, she lives," Aragorn returned as he pressed a warm hand against her cool cheek, his face impassive even as he eyed the young woman with both mistrust and wonder. He had met her for all of a few minutes many weeks ago, when she was delirious no less, and yet... the girl that was swaddled within the heavy blanket in Legolas' arms looked little like the distraught young woman from before. Then she had been petite and admittedly small, but now? Now her stature was further diminished, her skin pale and bruised by abuse and neglect. This pitiful creature couldn't look less like the warrior that his brothers and Legolas had described. She looked sickly and fragile.

She looked like death.

"She is not dead," he repeated softly as he looked over the young woman with the critical eye of a healer.

"Why not?" Thoron countered from beside the queen, his furious eyes darting back and forth between his prince and the creature that was responsible for bringing evil once more into his world.

"Thoron," Arwen rebuked as she gently clasped the elder elf's arm, silently bidding him to hold his tongue as a fierce gust of winter wind buffeted their small group.

Ignoring his father's advisor, Legolas instead turned his eyes beseechingly to his friends. "She is hurt," he murmured as he turned from Aragorn, finding caution in Faramir's serious countenance and concern in Gimli's as the dwarf quietly inspected Buffy's pale face. "She is very, very weak and needs help. She needs the healing touch of a king," he added as he turned his entreaty to his longtime friend, trying to catch Aragorn's gaze with his own as the king lifted an arm that had fallen free of the tight bindings of the blanket - an arm that was pale and slender - and heavily bandaged with stained wrappings.

Face becoming grim, Aragorn unbound the poorly bandaged wrist to reveal a long, straight wound that ran along the pale underside of her wrist, the edges jagged and inflamed as it seeped crimson drops as though tears on her pale skin. "She has lost a lot of blood," he murmured as he gently cradled the wounded appendage in his calloused hands, his gray eyes lifting to pierce Legolas' with his quiet questions.

"Yes, we noticed that as well," Elladan responded dryly as Elrohir shifted beside him.

"The orcs are now an army," the younger twin added, his expression as dark as his brother's.

"A very large army that is bolstered by hundreds of the Mornedhel," Elladan finished, his grim gaze returning to Buffy's features, smoothed and serene in her slumber.

Sighing, Aragorn tucked Buffy's hand into the blanket, adjusting the wrappings to hide her bared skin from the fierce wind. "She is a threat to us all," he murmured, unwittingly repeating Elladan's same words as another fierce gust pulled at the long strands of his black hair, spattered with strands of gray.

"She's not the threat," Legolas stubbornly countered as he clutched Buffy more firmly against his chest, as though he could somehow protect her from the worried and baseless accusations of those he loved most. "Not anymore."

"Her blood is still capable of transforming orc into elf, is it not?" Faramir returned, his brow arching ever so slightly at the fair-haired elf.

"But she is no longer with the orcs. She is with us now," Legolas protested, his blue eyes piercing Faramir's gray, burning in their intensity until the other man was forced to look away.

"For now, yes, she is," Aragorn agreed with a small shake of his head. "But that does not mean that she will be forever."

"Yes, it can and it does," Legolas corrected, his voice growing cold and hard.

"Lad, not even you can assure that," Gimli sighed, finally voicing his own thoughts as he weathered the betrayal that flashed in his friend's eyes. "No one has that kind of power."

Sighing in frustration, Legolas turned away from the worried eyes of his friends, his sharp gaze looking past the White Tree of Gondor and over the embrasure that stretched out over the city of Minas Tirith and the Pelennor Fields beyond. Though he was loathe to admit it, Gimli was right in that he couldn't say with any certainly what the future would bring. If he was Lord Elrond or the Lady Galadriel, perhaps, but he was neither. He possessed no gift of foresight and he never had... at least, not in the truest sense.

Legolas slowly turned back to his friends, his eyes meeting those of each of his closest companions in turn. "If you must trust in something, then trust in this," he murmured as he held Buffy closer to his body, taking comfort in her slight weight. "Just as there was purpose in her coming here, so there is purpose in her remaining in our world. She will fight with us. My... my dreams have shown me this," he admitted, his eyes seeking out any sign of disbelief or incredulity in his friends. And yet... he found none, not even in the eyes of Thoron. Oh, there was plenty in the way of grim acceptance to go around, but on his word alone his friends would believe his promise - although what good the sleeping girl in his arms could do against what her blood had created, that was still to be determined.

Aragorn's grim features finally fractured into a small, tired smile. "Very well, my friend. Let us take your charge to the Houses of Healing, and then Ioreth and I shall have a better look at her injuries."

Returning his friend's smile, Legolas gratefully dipped his head in thanks. "Hannon-le, mellon-nin," he murmured, the bitter wind catching his words and tossing them carelessly about the open courtyard. "Hannon-le a thousand times over," he stated as the group fractured, owyn, Gimli and Thoron falling into step beside him and Aragorn as the twins turned back to the Citadel with the others.

"And while King Elessar and the Healers are busy with her," Thoron added, his voice frosty as he moved effortlessly beside Legolas, "you and I, my Lord, shall have a few words. Several, in fact."

Sighing grimly, Legolas ignored Gimli and Aragorn's smirks as the Lady owyn hid her mirth behind one pale hand. "Of that, my friend, I was never in doubt."