Equinoxium: Chapter 23
by Lisette

Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

Like the slow burning of darkness into light, Buffy felt the shrouds of sleep slowly slip from her weary mind, leaving her thoughts cloaked in a clinging haze as she drifted in that place that lies just between the sleeping and waking world. In this quiet place she found that her mind was blissfully empty, still tethered to her shadowed dreams even as her body wakened to the world. She felt the soft press of a mattress beneath her - a feeling that was wholly familiar, and yet... she was warm. This warmth was alien to her, for reasons that she couldn't quite remember, and yet she reveled in it as she felt sunlight fall upon her face.

Sunlight.

For some reason, she thought that it had been a long time since she had last seen the sun. A long, long time. Although why this should be, she couldn't quite say. She was from California, after all. Sunnydale, no less. Yet like the soft mattress, such worries didn't matter in this place. All that mattered was that she was comfortable and warm, bathed in soothing light that dispelled the lingering shadows.

Shadows.

Eyes flying open, Buffy's hazy mind was catapulted awake by the simple reminder of all that had passed. And yet even as her eyes watered at the sight of so much bright, beautiful sunny light when before there had always been the smoky, shifting light of torches, she found her heavy body tensing at the unfamiliar room around her. During the course of her imprisonment, she had become accustomed to the small, empty chamber that was roughly hewn from stone, and had found herself almost comforted by the familiar monotony. But now? Now she felt glimmers of fear and uncertainty as her wide eyes fell upon an unfamiliar white-washed ceiling that led towards walls of smooth, beautifully crafted stone that shone with that same white sheen. Yet these walls were not monastic in their design as their perfect lines were interrupted by shelf after bulging wooden shelf filled with bowls and canisters and wooden boxes of assorted leaves and powders that combined into a wonderful smell that was at once soothing and far different from the rank smells that she had become accustomed to in her shuttered prison. For a time, she had come to believe that there was nothing beyond the same boring sights, horrid smells, and ringing sounds that had remained unchanged in all of the time that she had been prisoner. But here? Everything was different here, and despite the welcome sunlight and the wonderful smells, Buffy felt that small, familiar spike of fear pierce through her weakened muscles. Something in her chest tightened, and with a gasp she tried to push her heavy body from the soft mattress - only to still a moment later as a gentle hand pressed against her shoulder.

"Hodo, Buffy, lie still. You are safe and amongst friends."

Breath sighing between parted lips, Buffy fell back against the pillow as she turned her head to the side, squinting against the light from a large window that was unshuttered against the shining sun. "Legolas?" she murmured as the elf shifted in his chair, the lithe figure moving back until his lean frame blocked the bright sunlight and bringing his smiling face into relief. "Legolas, where am I?" the slayer questioned as she once more looked at the strange room.

"In the Houses of Healing in the city of Minas Tirith of Gondor," another voice replied, this one much deeper. Turning, Buffy looked past the fair-haired Elf to the well-dressed man that stood in the open doorway. He was tall with dark hair that was peppered with gray, his expression serious, and Buffy struggled to remember where she had seen him before. As though reading her mind, the man stepped further into the room, his care-worn face softening into a gentle smile. "I do not believe that we have had the opportunity for a proper introduction. I am Elessar, King of Gondor, and you now rest within the protection of my city. But my friends call me Aragorn, and I hope you will do the same," he added with a small nod.

Glancing quickly at Legolas' reassuring smile, Buffy turned back to the tall man - a man that, to her great dismay, she was beginning to remember where they had last met, flashes of his concerned face flickering amidst the tangled emotions that threatened to swallow her that morning in Edoras. An encounter that probably hadn't shown her in her best light. "Buffy Summers," she returned with a small, rueful smile. At least he had the good graces to look at her as if she wasn't stark raving mad, as that day most likely suggested. "But you can just call me Buffy," she added as she went to lift her hand in order to shake his, only to be promptly reminded of the fact that at the moment, such simple measures were far, far beyond her body's meager capabilities.

Sharp eyes catching this fact, Aragorn's features darkened as he quietly cleared his throat, catching her attention once more. "It has only been a few hours since you arrived and I am afraid that you are still very weak. I expect that it will take some time before you regain your former strength - although Elladan and Elrohir assure me that you heal far quicker than most of the race of Men."

At the mention of the dark-haired elves, Buffy felt her heart grow heavy as she turned questioningly to Legolas, remembering all too well the warnings that the sons of Elrond had rightfully given about the very real danger that she posed to them all. "Where... where are the twins? And Mirdan?" she asked as she held Legolas' piercing gaze, catching the smallest flicker of... something, before the archer looked away.

"Elladan and Elrohir are needed elsewhere in the city," he murmured, watching as Buffy's eyes dimmed at what they both knew to be a falsehood. Then again, it wasn't as though he could come right out and admit that both twins had refused to help see to her injuries. Aragorn had dismissed his brothers without further inquiry, but Legolas hadn't missed the swirling emotions that had briefly shone in their gray eyes. Features creasing, he looked to Aragorn before forcing a bright smile. "But worry not. Though Mirdan has been in Ithilien for many weeks now, I am sure that he will travel to Minas Tirith once he learns that you are returned to us," Legolas added, forcing his voice to be light as he smiled at the petite slayer. "We have all been very worried about you."

Snorting at his words, Buffy rolled her eyes in response as she tried to shift her leaden body on the soft mattress. "Yeah, I'm sure that Thoron was just devastated to hear that I was missing," she retorted, causing Legolas to smile ruefully in return. And yet, the elf was spared from devising some sort of response as another person poked a head into the room.

"Aragorn, Faramir is looking for you and Legolas," the woman stated, her eyes turning from Man to Elf - and then freezing upon Buffy, obviously startled to see that she was already awake.

"owyn, please come inside," Legolas urged as he beckoned his friend forward. "I would like for you to meet Buffy. Buffy, this is Lady owyn."

"Hey," Buffy murmured to the woman's quiet greetings, feeling her smile dampen somewhat when she noticed the unease that glittered in the older woman's eyes.

"owyn, would you mind waiting with Buffy while we see to Faramir?" Legolas asked as he squeezed Buffy's hand before standing.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Buffy quickly assured as owyn looked longingly towards the door. "I'm perfectly capable of-"

"Nonsense," Aragorn assured with a bright, disarming smile. "I'm sure that our White Lady would not mind taking a moment to keep you company."

"No, of course not," owyn returned with a brittle smile that neither Legolas or Aragorn seemed to notice. Nodding their thanks, the two males slipped from the room - which left Buffy and the White Lady in a thickening silence.

Buffy discreetly eyed the older woman. She was tall and slender and looked to be in her early to mid-thirties with pale, flawless skin that shone in the afternoon light. Her blonde hair was a little lighter than Buffy's, the smooth, flaxen strands pulled back in a complex braid that twisted behind her head where it was secured by a dark blue jewel that matched the color of her long, incredibly embroidered dress. She was beautiful in the manner of a porcelain doll, and in a way that made Buffy feel even more detached from her normal strong, confident self as she looked down upon her unhealthy white, bruised arms and the plain shift she was wearing.

Buffy turned her eyes from her own discouraging appearance and froze as she noted that which she had missed on her initial appraisal. This woman was pregnant. Very, very pregnant. "When are you due?" Buffy asked, hitting on the first question that came to mind as she looked down at the woman's bulging middle - a growth that was deftly hidden by the dark tones of her dress.

"In a few weeks," owyn returned, her voice as stiff as her posture.

"Your first?" Buffy continued, forcing the conversation if for no other reason than to keep the silence at bay. It was a conversation that bore the awkwardness of two strangers striving to find a common ground, and yet it was more than that, Buffy realized as she met the woman's ice blue eyes that shone with unease. In addition to such standard awkwardness, this conversation also carried the added weight of fear - fear of herself and what her blood carried.

"My fifth," the older woman returned woodenly.

"Oh."

"Do... do you have any children?" owyn returned, evidently deciding that Buffy was right in that any conversation, no matter how stilted or forced, was truly better than silence.

Encouraged by this small effort on the pale lady's part, Buffy allowed a small smile to lift her lips - up until her mind processed her innocent question. "Me?" Buffy laughed, choking on the word as her eyes grew wide, boggling at the thought. "Oh no, definite no with the kids," she assured with a smile that suddenly seemed less pained or forced. "I had been taking care of my little sister, Dawn, for the last couple of years, and trust me when I say that was hard enough," Buffy admitted with a small shake of her head.

Curious despite herself, owyn slowly settled in Legolas' abandoned chair, easing her aching back and swollen ankles. "Where was your mother?" she asked as she unconsciously began rubbing the aching muscles in her lower back.

"Dead," Buffy explained, the word clipped as she forced a small, tight smile that did little to belie the abruptness of her answer. "I mean, she died - over two years ago," she corrected with a half-hearted attempt at a shrug.

"I am sorry for your loss," owyn returned, able to relate all too well to the grief that had briefly shone in the young woman's eyes. "I, too, lost my mother long ago. She succumbed to sickness after the death of my father."

"My mom had a brain tumor," Buffy offered, only to roll her eyes at the lady's look of confusion. "Cancer?" she tried again to owyn's further detriment. Sighing, Buffy curtly shook her head upon the soft pillow. "She got very sick and there was nothing the doctors, or rather, nothing that the healers could do," she explained as simply as possible.

"Then surely you were not left alone to care for your sister. Did not your husband help you to see to her?"

"Oh no, no husband," Buffy quickly denied with equal vehemence as to the question about children, her mind briefly flitting to her rather short list of dismal failures when it came to relationships. Everyone she loved always ended up leaving her in the end, or so it seemed, and yet that was a topic worthy of a whole different conversation.

"Then you are not married," owyn surmised, only to have her pale cheeks darken with a blush. "Forgive me," she murmured with a gentle nod of her head. "I do not mean to pry, and really I have no right to speak so for I myself did not marry until I was four and twenty summers... and yet that is quite uncommon for those of the race of Men."

Smiling wryly at the older woman's words, Buffy nodded her agreement. "From what little I've seen of your world, it does seem that I'm quite the oddball around here," she admitted.

"So it's true then what they say?" the White Lady murmured, leaning ever so slightly forward as her intelligent blue eyes locked with Buffy's green. "You truly are from a different world?"

"Is that what they're saying?" Buffy returned, not sure whether to be annoyed or amused that she hadn't even had the chance to play secret identity gal before the cat was out of the bag.

"And you are a warrior - a chosen warrior on your world?" owyn persisted as she gazed thoughtfully upon Buffy's slender, bruised arms where they rested upon the soft white blankets.

Following owyn's curious gaze, Buffy suddenly had the urge to laugh as she looked upon arms that had to be hers, seeing as how they were attached to her shoulders, and yet felt alien to her body. These arms were pale and weak, while her arms had always been strong and glowing with youthful vitality. She had been a prisoner for so long, and the transformation from her previous strength to this weakness must have been gradual... and yet why did it feel as though it had happened overnight? Why did the sight of her arms lying so heavy and immobile beside her seem so strange and startling? "Not that you'd know it by looking at me now," Buffy snorted as she gave one long limb a testing twitch, another small smile pulling at her lips.

Yet it was a smile that owyn shared with the young woman as she settled back into the comfortable chair, her blue eyes softening. "I, too, am a warrior. A shield-maiden of Rohan, the country where my brother is king."

"Nice place, not a lot of trees," Buffy offered, giving up on her useless arms and causing owyn's smile to grow.

"Yet this is another peculiarity that we share, for it is uncommon in our world for a maiden to bear arms."

"So I've gathered," Buffy sighed, rolling her eyes as she thought back to Halbarad's incredulity at her ability to defend herself against the orcs, and the later shock and scandalized horror of the maids at the inn where they stayed in Rhosgobel. In that town of Men, Buffy had felt the part of a foreigner in distant lands - only worse, for it seemed that her very nature was taboo in this country. And yet as Buffy looked upon the proud tilt to owyn's pale chin and the determined shine in the older woman's clear gaze, the slayer couldn't help but feel as though that difference was lessened somehow in this woman. There was something that she recognized in the White Lady - and she had a pretty good idea of what it was. "So what makes you different? Why have you broken with tradition?"

For a moment, Buffy thought that the White Lady wouldn't answer as she turned her face to the bright sunshine, allowing it to warm her pale features. "My father lived and died by his sword," the older woman finally murmured, her voice sad and distant, "and long ago I swore to do the same. I would rather my death be delivered by the stroke of a blade then allow my body to slowly fade into night. I will not go so quietly," she finished as the door opened behind her.

Gaze softening, Buffy watched as owyn slowly raised herself from the straight-backed chair, one hand pressed against her bulging middle as she greeted Aragorn and Legolas' return with a serene smile and a soft word. Despite her wide girth, she then moved towards the doorway with an easy grace, her steps light and even with her shoulders thrown back and her head held high. That, Buffy quickly decided, was a woman with confidence.

"It was nice meeting you, Lady Buffy," owyn called as she reached the door, her smile never dimming and her earlier hesitancy all but forgotten.

"Just Buffy," the slayer corrected with a small smile.

"Buffy," owyn returned, inclining her head lightly before nodding to her friends. "Aragorn, Legolas," she murmured before turning and disappearing into the hallway beyond.

In the wake of her quiet departure, Legolas remained frozen in the open doorway, his brow furrowed as he slowly turned to where Buffy lay tucked beneath her warm blankets, her golden hair pillowed beneath her head. "It seems as though you have already won over the Lady of Ithilien," he stated as he crossed back and settled into his abandoned chair. "A very admirable feat," he added, his eyes catching Aragorn's own curious gaze.

"She's nice," Buffy returned as she yawned widely.

"Many have considered her cold," Aragorn replied, his gaze calculating.

"Not cold," Buffy argued as she shifted wearily upon her mattress, silently hating the fact that a simple conversation could tire her out so quickly. "She's obviously just used to holding people at arm's length. Besides," she added with a small, tired grin, "it seems like we have something in common."

"Indeed?"

"Yeah, apparently we're part of the ridiculously small club of girls who know how to use a sword in this world."

"Ah yes," Aragorn returned as he settled on the window's narrow ledge. "owyn is quite proficient with a sword. Did she mention that she was the one responsible for slaying the Lord of the Nazgl?" he queried as he leaned back against the cool glass. "No living man could destroy him."

Laughing softly, Buffy rolled her eyes at the familiar words. When she had faced the Judge, the rule had been that no weapon forged by Man could harm him. Technicalities, all of them. While a rocket-launcher forged by a machine had worked for her, sending a woman in to do the deed seemed to be what was needed in this case. "Never send a man to do a woman's work," Buffy warned with a small smile. "Especially an angry woman with a sword," she added, causing both Aragorn and Legolas to fill the room with their laughter.

"That better not be the voice of the King I hear coming from my patient's doorway. Especially when this King should know better than to disturb my patient when sleep is what she requires," a woman's old, matronly voice called out in fair warning before a head of gray hair peeked around the open portal.

"Ioreth!" Aragorn greeted as he quickly straightened from his impromptu seat. "Legolas and I were just-"

"Leaving, I'm sure," Ioreth returned as she scowled at the Man and Elf before lighting a stern smile upon Buffy, who was trying her best to smother a laugh at the suitably cowed expression upon Aragorn's face. "And you, my dear, had best be asleep when next I stop by," she stated before turning and disappearing from the room - only to peek her head back through a short moment later, her eyes pointedly traveling from man to elf.

Smile growing, Aragorn nodded towards Buffy. "I will be back to check on you later," he promised before slipping past the older woman.

"As will I," Legolas added as he gently squeezed Buffy's hand - only to find his pale digits captured within Buffy's weak grip.

"Legolas?" she murmured, her eyes catching his own. "Thank you."

"Whatever for?" the elf returned, slightly bewildered by the sudden seriousness that gleamed in her green-eyed gaze.

For a brief moment, Buffy paused at this question, trying and failing to put her feelings into words. For not killing her when he should have? When she would have killed him had their positions been reversed? For helping her from the moment that she awoke in this crazy world? For keeping her company when the orcs had entertained themselves for hours with their cruelties? For finding her and setting her free? Or perhaps for believing in her when the others didn't... for giving her the opportunity to live, if just a little bit longer, instead of ending her life in the hellish darkness of that room. "For... for everything," Buffy murmured with an awkward smile as she quickly drew back her hand.

"You are welcome," Legolas returned, the words falling smoothly from his lips as he nodded once to Buffy before slipping from the room.

Alone with her thoughts, something that she had grown quite used to over... well, however long that she had been a captive, Buffy turned from the partially opened door and tilted her face to the sun, her eyes slipping shut as she basked in the warmth and pure light. She had never expected to leave the confines of that room - had never allowed herself to hope that there would ever be anything more for her than those four solid walls. She had been prepared to die there, for the betterment of everyone, including herself... but now? Now she was safe, and she was free, and though she had no immediate desire to take the nearest sharp object and slit her throat and end a suffering that now, thankfully, wasn't so close to strangling her, she also knew that she could never go back. She would never go back. Ever. She would die before she became a prisoner again.

A slayer wasn't meant to be a captive. A slayer wasn't meant to be a prisoner. A slayer wasn't meant to feed an army.

A slayer was meant to be an army - and this slayer wasn't going to lay down again.

The sun was bright and warm upon the barren branches, and yet the rays did little to ease the oppressive weight of the winter's chill as it frosted the breath of the three horses that wound through the tall boles. The three mounts were tall and beautiful, with thick coats of auburn and tails that were long and gleaming in the afternoon light - beautiful, much like the three riders that they bore. The rider of the lead horse gently trailed his pale hand over his mount's velvety coat, his mind only half aware of the familiar trees while the other half was firmly entrenched in a City of Stone located just a day's ride southwest of the forest.

Word of Buffy's return had arrived by messenger only the day before, and it had taken Mirdan only a few hours more to scrounge up an 'important message' that needed to be delivered to the colony's lord in Minas Tirith, thereby giving him the excuse he needed to see for his own eyes that the young woman was indeed well. Not that he truly needed an excuse, for he was bound by no chain to Ithilien and could come and go as easily as any of his kin. Rather, his loyalty to the colony and the work that they were doing in restoring the beautiful forest was what bound him, as did any of the elves that had chosen to dwell beside the youngest son of Thranduil. Yet this time there was something outside of the tree's quiet song that moved him to make haste in returning to Gondor's capital.

The letter that his lord had written, while specifically stating that Buffy had been reclaimed and would recover, was vague enough for the dark-haired elf to worry about how she fared. No matter what they had discovered her blood to carry, all that mattered was that the young woman who had ridden by their side for numerous weeks, the one who had fought bravely beside him and who had stood beside his prince when he was unable, had been taken by orcs for several months and was finally returned to them. He had never before befriended a mortal, and though undeniably strange, he also found her refreshing and entertaining. It also didn't hurt matters that Thoron had returned to Minas Tirith many weeks before this, and if the dark-haired elf had learned anything during the weeks the small company had traveled together, it was that any time spent with Buffy and Thoron was entertaining indeed. Not since Brierend had he seen a body more capable of baiting the elder elf - and since it had been over five hundred years since the crown prince's death, that was saying quite a bit. Thus, he would return to the city of stone and endure the restricting space if for no other reason than to assure himself that Buffy truly was well and to take in any entertainment between her and King Thranduil's former advisor while he had the chance.

Bright smile dancing about his lips, Mirdan gently patted Rodwen's head as he turned to his two companions, both wearing identical cloaks of dark green that clearly bore the insignia of the colony of Ithilien - the only way that they could gain entrance to Gondor's capital. "Tathren," he began, his eyes darting to the willowy, golden-haired elleth many centuries his senior that originally hailed from the woods of Lothlorien, "think you that Thoron might be persuaded to return with us-"

"Mirdan!" Forod, their third companion cried out, his gray eyes sharp and frantic as his knees clamped against his startled horse's side. "The trees-" he continued, his warning silenced by the single arrow that suddenly struck high in his chest, piercing through cloth and skin until it became lodged in an immortal heart - forever stilling that which was never meant to stop beating.

Frozen in shock, Mirdan could only watch in horror as the dark-haired elf's lifeless body slid from his mount's tall back, crumpling into a still heap on the frozen ground below. He thought that he heard Tathren call out to their fallen friend as Mirdan fumbled for his sword, his movements slow and clumsy as he jostled the scroll he carried so as to grip the smooth leather hilt of his weapon. As he finally wrenched it free of the scabbard, he heard Tathren's call change to one of dismay and confusion. Fair features growing grim, Mirdan lifted his head, his dark hair falling around his slender shoulders as he looked to the path before him - and found naught but their own kindred spread in a dark line before them.

No. Not their kindred, Mirdan realized as he recognized one fair face out of the many elves that stood motionless on the silent forest's floor - a forest that had grown still after having witnessed the cruel death of one of their beloved caretakers seemingly by the hand of another. "Tathren, they are Mornedhil," Mirdan stated as his eyes narrowed upon the impassive face of the dark-elf that had first been changed by Buffy's blood. He had only seen the creature once before, this Vashnak, and yet his was a face that he would never forget - a face that had been lit by the flickering light of the dark-elf's campfire as he held a knife to Buffy's throat.

"But Mirdan, there are so many," Tathren breathed as her horse nervously shook his head, tossing his dark mane as his soft neigh echoed in the silent woods.

"Mirdan," Vashnak murmured, his eyes moving from the blonde-elleth to her dark-haired companion. For a moment, his pale brow creased as he inspected the elf that held his sword before him - an elf that seemed vaguely familiar. Then realization dawned as his eyes brightened, fixing themselves onto the stony features of the one who had traveled with the slayer. "Ah yes... now I remember you."