Equinoxium: Chapter 29
by Lisette
Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.
"So you're sure that this dress thing is wholly necessary?" Buffy asked again as she looked down upon the pale blue gown that she had been helped into by the two girls that now stood quietly to one side. Critically, her eyes took in the fine, hand-woven seams that gathered the soft material against her bust and waist before falling in loose folds around her ankles. Tight inner sleeves of a darker blue hugged her arms and ended mid-way up her palm, while a heavy outer sleeve fell in loose folds in a fashion that screamed all kinds of hippy fun.
"Quite," owyn responded with infinite patience as she finished tying the delicate knots that would hold the small golden braids of the slayer's long hair. "After all, you cannot attend the Council in your night clothes," the woman admonished as she stepped away to admire her work, one hand pressed absently against the swollen bulge that marked her pregnant state.
"I know," Buffy sighed as she glared down at the long, beautiful dress. owyn had insisted that her measurements be taken the very day that she had awoken in the Houses of Healing, and in the ensuing days this dress, as well as several others, had been specially altered for her petite frame. And it wasn't as though Buffy wasn't grateful. After having spent more than a week in one shapeless dressing gown after another, the dresses were better than anything that could have been made by Dior, and they made her feel like a part of the royalty that always seemed to be surrounding her these days. It was a dress straight from every girl's secret fantasy - and perhaps therein lay the problem. The girlish part of Buffy, the one who had once been obsessed with clothing and the latest fashions, was long gone - destroyed, overruled, and stamped out by the Slayer that had taken residence when she had only been fifteen years old.
"This seam should perhaps be a bit tighter," the pale woman murmured as she fingered the soft cloth, a frown playing at her lips.
Nodding distractedly at the shield maiden's words, Buffy chewed her inner lip as she negated her previous assessment. It wasn't the fact that she was the slayer that caused her to be so immune to the beauty of the blue dress, but rather it was the same reason that she had so vehemently protested against wearing a dress back in Rhosgobel. It seemed that in this world, a woman had to fight for whatever respect she could garner from the opposite sex. Middle-earth was obviously a man's world, and though never a die-hard feminist, Buffy was finding that this place was just begging for a wake up call. Even the Dnedain, a group of the most brave and valiant men she had ever met, had been more inclined to look upon her as something to be protected than as an equal. They seemed more apt to trust her opinion in domestic matters than in the art of warfare - or even on how to best care for herself. It was irritating, demeaning, and somehow Buffy doubted that wearing a dress was going to help matters when she met the high ranking officials of Gondor.
"What troubles you?"
Surprised, Buffy turned to find owyn regarding her with ice-blue eyes that were softened with concern. Eyes that, after what had happened the night before with Finduilas and Faramir, should have rightfully looked upon her with nothing but disdain. "Why don't you hate me?" Buffy asked as she lifted her chin to meet the taller woman's gaze.
"Hate you? Why ever would I hate you?" owyn returned, obviously puzzled by the question as she reached out and gently brushed at the folds of the slayer's dress. "Not only have you saved the life of a friend that is most dear to me and my family, but my husband also spoke of the aid that you tried to give to him and my daughter. What trespass would I find in that?"
Buffy looked away with a small frown. "But Faramir-"
"My husband is a quiet man," owyn broke in, her fond smile lessening the severity of her pale features. Turning, the older woman moved gracefully until she stood framed in the large window that looked out into a bright, sunlit winter morning. "He speaks little, for his mind is always occupied with thoughts of family and state. Yet last night he was thrust into a nightmare. Our daughter was threatened; his country was threatened; and as such, he reacted and spoke without thought. Perhaps that makes him less in your-"
"No, it doesn't," Buffy interrupted firmly. "I know that your husband is a good man, and I get why he said and acted as he did. I even understand why Aragorn would rather have me dead than in their hands. But what I don't understand is why... well, why you-"
"Because you are my friend," owyn returned with a gentle smile as she stepped forward and lifted Buffy's hands in her own, causing the slayer to look from their pale fingers to the woman's beautiful features. "We are sisters, you and I, and I would not see you punished for that which you have no choice but to be. You are a shield-maiden, as am I. And neither of us could be anything else, no matter the desires of those who love us most."
Buffy slowly shook her head as she squeezed the other woman's hands, a smile lighting her features. "And there's the biggest difference between us," she murmured, "for it was my loved ones who always counted on me to be their shield-maiden while I wanted to be anything but what I was destined to be," the slayer admitted as she released the woman's warm fingers and bent down to retrieve the midnight blue cloak that was draped over her bed. With fumbling, awkward movements she cast the warm material over her thin shoulders and began wrestling with the finely made clasp.
"Is that so?" owyn queried as she waved one of the girls forward to help secure the long cloak.
"Didn't I just say it was so?" Buffy returned as she reluctantly admitted that no matter the sleep that she had gotten, the fact remained that she had suffered a heart attack only a little over twelve hours ago. When she added that to the perpetual weakness from months of blood loss and abuse at the hands of her captors, and coupled with the excitement of the day before, it really shouldn't have been a surprise that she felt even worse than she did yesterday. Sighing, Buffy curtly shook her head. These days, each step forward seemed to be followed by at least three steps back.
"Yes of course," the White Lady demurred, her features serene. "My apologies," she continued, her thin lips quirking as if there was something on the tip of her tongue - some word of wisdom left unspoken.
Buffy was about to push her friend to say whatever it was that she had been thinking when a hard rap sounded on the wooden frame of the open door. Turning, the pale slayer watched as six heavily armed men, dressed in the black uniforms of the King's guards, shuffled into the large room.
"Ah yes, our escort is here," the pregnant woman noted as she slipped into her own winter cloak, her long fingers easily working the metal clasp.
"Escort?" Buffy parroted as she skeptically took in the guards' unsheathed weapons and hardened faces. "This looks more like Middle-earth's equivalent to the SWAT team than an escort," she pointed out as one man offered her his free arm with a small, polite nod. Sighing, Buffy reluctantly took the proffered help as owyn fell into step beside her, and as the remaining guards slipped into a protective ring about them both. Apparently this time no one was taking any chances of another attempted abduction.
Rolling her eyes at the 'muscle', Buffy's mind wandered as she was guided down maze-like corridors and into the familiar foyer of the Houses of Healing. It was hard to believe that it was only the night before that Vashnak had come for her, cruel taunts of Legolas' death dripping from his lips as he forced owyn's husband and eldest daughter from the warm halls of this sanctuary and into the bitter winter night. That world had been dark, hard and cruel - a blinding defeat of all that she knew. Yet today, Buffy realized, was something wholly different as she was greeted to visions of vivid blue skies, a cool winter's sun that kissed her pale cheeks with her frosty rays, and ample white clouds that were so close that they veiled the mountaintop that rose behind the grand city. Today she knew that Legolas was well and didn't seem to hate her for her treachery. Her friends were here to remind her of the strength that she had thought lost forever. And best of all, today she no longer stood alone.
You were meant to stand alone, and in the end, you will be alone.
Buffy pushed the troubling reminder of last night's dream far, far away and instead turned to her quiet companion. "What did you mean?" she asked as they turned away from the Houses of Healing towards a brightly lit tunnel that was cut into the jagged rock face before them.
"I beg your pardon?" owyn returned with a puzzled smile.
"What did you mean back in the room," Buffy clarified as the group passed through the final gateway that guarded the tunnel's entrance. "You know, when you said that we couldn't be anything other than what we are, and I returned with the whole me not wanting it, and then you followed with a very pointed 'is that so'?" she prompted as her eyes darted about the beautifully-hewn tunnel that turned sharply back towards the mountain, the smooth floor easing into a gentle incline. "You were going to say something else and then changed your mind," Buffy prodded as the silence continued.
"I was," owyn admitted, her eyes firmly fixed on the passageway that was drenched in sunlight from where it emerged into the seventh and most heavily protected circle of the city.
"So... what were you going to say?" Buffy continued impatiently.
With an enigmatic smile, owyn tilted her head conspiratorially towards Buffy. "I was merely going to say that I never realized it was possible to be anything other than what you have always been, and that which you will always be," the White Lady stated as they stepped free of the torch-lit tunnel and into the blinding sunlight beyond.
Wincing at the sudden rush of bright light, Buffy brushed her free hand against her watering eyes - and then froze as she found herself facing the white stone fountain from her dream. Eyes growing wide, Buffy watched as the cool water splashed over smooth stone, coloring the rock a dull white that contrasted sharply with the full, lush tree that grew beside the fountain. "I know this," she whispered, her eyes reverently tracing the full, thick branches that were laden with long, dark green leaves that defied the harsh breath of winter, their silver underbellies glistening in the bright light. "What's this tree?" she murmured as she slipped free of her escort's hold, crossing quickly to the majestic tree as she placed one hand against the smooth white bark.
"This is the White Tree, the symbol of Gondor," owyn explained, her eyes narrowed curiously upon the younger woman. "Isildur, a forefather of the King long past, planted a sapling in this spot over three thousand years ago in memory of his brother who had been slain in battle. It is said that the sapling was descended from a tree that came from the Undying Lands and was a gift from the Elves who have long lived in Valinor."
"Three thousand years ago?"
"Over three thousand years ago," owyn corrected as she eyed the beautiful tree. "Many years after the line of Kings ended, the tree withered and died and thus it remained for one hundred and forty-seven years."
"And then what happened?" Buffy asked as she slowly backed away, her heart tightening as she vividly remembered the tree as she had seen it in her dream: something withered and decaying... something dead.
Shrugging lightly, oblivious to her companion's unease, owyn rested her hand upon her pregnant middle. "Nearly three months after Aragorn's coronation, he and Gandalf climbed Mount Mindolluin," she explained as she waved to the white-peaked mountain that the city was buttressed against. "On the peaks of the mountain they found a sapling of the White Tree, most likely grown from a fruit that had been planted long ago and had lain dormant for many years. The Withered Tree, as the old tree had been called, was taken down and laid to rest in the Silent Street, where the Kings and Stewards are buried, and the sapling was planted in its place. And as you can see, the tree has flourished in the years since," she added with a small, proud smile. "There are many who see it as a sign of rebirth and renewal for the Kingdom of Gondor."
Feeling her shoulders slump at this statement, Buffy resignedly shook her head. "Now if that isn't loaded with all kinds of hidden messages, I don't know what is," she grumbled, suddenly wishing that she had left the slayer dreams back in her own world. Sighing, she turned away from the tree, her eyes glancing at the impressive White Tower that rocketed into the clear sky beyond the fountain, and looked back towards where she knew she would find the embrasure that jutted out from this small plateau to overlook the city of Minas Tirith. Sure enough, the walk stretched behind her into a jagged ledge that pointed towards the dark mountains that lined the horizon opposite of the White City, with the Pelennor Fields and the city of Osgiliath standing in between. Yet her eyes didn't linger on the white city that straddled the river Anduin, bright fire pouring dark smoke from the tall buildings, but instead fell upon a familiar tall and slender figure that she would always recognize.
"Spike," she murmured, her keen eyes tracing his lean shoulders and the way that the sun reflected off of his platinum locks, all the while marveling at how different the vampire looked in the natural light. Angel had mentioned the time that he had spent in Pylea, the alternate dimension in which he and the others had found Fred, and the place where the sun didn't cause the vampire to combust into ashes. The night before he had hazarded that Middle-earth's sun would be similarly non-lethal, and yet it was one thing to think it and something completely different to witness firsthand.
"I'll be right back," she murmured, waving distractedly to owyn and the Gondorian SWAT team as she began making her slow way down the impossibly long embrasure. She heard the guards protest against allowing her to venture anywhere alone, but apparently a cool rebuke from the White Lady, pointing out the impossibility of Buffy being in danger of anything save for a suicidal jump, was enough to silence the group of men.
The walk seemed to take forever, and Buffy realized that the last few steps were more staggered than anything else, but this was a case where her patented stubbornness paid off. Weakly she finally reached the walk's end and all but collapsed upon a beautifully carved stone bench that sat immediately behind Spike's silent figure, one hand pressed against her hammering heart as she tried to get her ragged breathing under control.
Slayer endurance be damned, she thought with a wry grimace.
"Do you know how long it's been since I've stood in the sun?"
Flustered and more than a little breathless, Buffy waved an impatient hand at the vampire's back. "Yeah, I know this one. Give me a minute," she assured as Spike turned to her, first surprise at her clothing, and then concern at her pale, waxy features causing his brilliant blue eyes to crease along the fine corners. "Um... two - no, wait... three years," she returned as he settled lightly beside her, one hand quickly ensnaring her own as he distractedly shook his head at her answer.
"What are you on about?" he asked as his eyes quickly swept over her face before he turned agitatedly back towards where the Citadel pierced the beautiful sky above, as if expectomg the old bat of a healer, Ioreth, to burst out of some hidden crevice to scold him for tiring her patient.
"I'm fine," Buffy assured as she slipped her hand from his tight hold to gently swat his shoulder. "And it's been three years since you last basked in the sunshine," she repeated with a soft sigh as the tightness in her chest began to ease. Yet at Spike's continued confusion, Buffy flashed him a bright smile. "You remember - the ring of Amara? You tried to kill me?" she prompted as Spike returned her smile with that boyish charm she remembered so well.
"Oh yeah. Almost forgot about that one," he returned, his smile sobering somewhat as a darkness passed over his chiseled features.
Buffy quickly turned from her friend and looked over the stunning panoramic view as she forced a levity to her voice. "Yeah, but that one probably doesn't count," she assured. "You didn't have your soul then," she added as she felt his fingers close around her chin, gently forcing her to meet his solemn gaze.
"No, I didn't," he agreed, and in those eyes Buffy saw the love that had prompted a demon to fight for the return of the soul that had merged so seamlessly with the vampire that it was hard to see where the demon ended and where the man began.
"Spike, I-"
"No, you listen to me," he cut in, refusing to allow her to look away. "I've been alive a bit longer than you, and dead a lot longer than that," he stated, his serious expression haunting his pale features. "I've seen things you couldn't imagine and done things I'd prefer you didn't. Don't exactly have a reputation for being a thinker," he admitted with a small, inelegant shrug. "I follow my blood, which doesn't exactly rush in the direction of my brain," he added, that smile returning for the briefest of moments as Buffy smiled in return.
Yes, she knew quite well that he didn't always think with his head. But that was one of the traits that she had always loved so much about him. If Angel had one fault, it was that he thought too much. He brooded about the past, the present, and the possible future. But Spike... Spike was his grand-sire's opposite. If Angel thought too much, then Spike thought too little. He acted without thinking - he acted based upon the urgings of his heart, and as a result he had landed himself in numerous difficult situations throughout the years - and he had also saved her time and time again because of that same willingness to follow his heart.
"I make a lot of mistakes," he continued, his expression growing somber. "But Buffy, I've been alive for a hundred plus years, and there's only one thing I've ever been sure of, and that's you."
Sighing softly, Buffy pulled out of Spike's grip and turned her head away, wishing now more than ever that her hair was free to slip around her shoulders and screen her from the vampire's imploring gaze.
"Hey, I'm not asking you for anything," Spike gently chided as he brushed a cool hand against her cheek. "Hell, I can't ask for anything, what with us not even being in the same world anymore," he amended with a ghost of his usual smile as Buffy once more met his bright blue eyes that glittered in the sun's rays. "I just... I just wanted you to know that when I say I love you, it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, and how you try. Buffy, I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you, and I understand with perfect clarity what you are," he explained, his voice growing deeper as she found herself holding her breath, waiting for his final deliberation.
She didn't know why Spike's final say in this mattered so much to her. He had been her friend and lover - a confidante when the rest of the world had been too much - and that had all been when he had no soul to ground him. He had been a demon who had been capable of love - a love that had driven him to claim the one thing that would change him forever. And Spike had been changed. With a small frown playing at the corners of her lips, Buffy gently lifted a hand as she traced it over the cool, soft skin of his pale cheek.
"You're a hell of a woman. You're the one, Buffy," he murmured, and with those words she felt as though the rest of the world could melt away, for this was the difference between the demon-Spike and the ensouled-Spike that sat before her. Spike's demon had loved her, of that there was no doubt, but that Spike had only been able to love her with all of his heart. This Spike... this Spike loved her heart and soul, and for that, Buffy knew that she would always be grateful. To be loved so well and deeply by both Angel and Spike had been the greatest gifts that she had ever been given, and their love, as well as that of all of her friends, would continue to be the strength that she drew upon. It didn't matter that she no longer fought for the world that they lived in, for Spike was right. She was the one. She was the Chosen One and it was high time she started acting like it.
"I know, and thank you," Buffy returned as she leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss against that special spot between his lips and cheek. "I wouldn't have made it those last few months if it hadn't been for you," she admitted as she pulled back to see that tears now rimmed his beautiful gaze.
"No, you would've been fine, even without me," he returned, his voice gruffer than normal as he quickly stood and adjusted his long leather duster. "But thanks for saying it," he added as he extended a hand towards her. "Now come along, pet - we have a ruddy council to attend."
"The Mornedhel have sent a letter, my lord."
"Since when have orcs been able to write?"
"They are not orcs and you must desist in believing them to be so simple or else we will all be-"
"So this transformation not only enhances their bodies but their minds as well? What is next? Perhaps we should-"
"Do not be ridiculous! Such ponderings are-"
"Ridiculous? I merely-"
"I say that we should-"
"That will be quite enough! There will be order here or else this council shall be adjourned!"
As silence descended upon the large chamber, Buffy arched a fine brow at her companions before shrugging her small shoulders. She and Spike had only arrived a few minutes before, but already she found herself wishing that she had just remained upon that quiet stone bench with all of Middle-earth spread before her. Instead she found herself in a huge room that was located up an obscene amount of stairs in Aragorn's phallic-like tower, surrounded by old men who seemed to get off on trying to talk over one another. Well, a lot of men, four elves, two vampires, and a dwarf.
Shifting in her chair, Buffy ignored Giles' hissed urgings to just sit still as her gaze traveled around the long table. Aragorn sat at its head, with the twins and Gimli sitting to one side, and Faramir, Legolas, and Thoron to the other. From there the rest of the table seemed to be divided amongst multiple factions that all held differing opinions on just about everything, some far more vocal than others. She and her friends, in contrast, had been silent thus far. Not that she had any real hope of that holding out.
"Suddenly wondering how Congress ever gets anything done," Xander whispered from across the table, earning the carpenter scolding words from Giles and glares from the men seated around him.
"Oy, would someone just read the damn letter already?" Spike loudly called out, causing the glares to swing in his direction as Buffy collapsed against the hard back of her chair. This was going to be a long meeting.
"There will be order here," Aragorn called out again, his voice ringing above the muttered words of his lords and councilors, causing silence to fall. "Faramir, if you would," he continued as he waved to his steward.
Nodding in reply, Faramir lifted a creased bit of paper, his brow furrowing as he struggled to make out the writing. "It reads, You have until sunset to return to us that which you have taken. If given freely, we shall leave your lands unmolested. If not, we will burn Osgiliath to the ground before making our presence known throughout all of your kingdom. The steward's dwellings in Emyn Arnen to the south, the colony of Elves to the north, and the villages of Men to the west - Cair Andros, Nardol and Eilenach - will be among the first to fall if our demands are not met, for while you can hide in your city of stone, protecting those you hold dear, those that love you and call you Lord and King will not be so fortunate. Will you abandon them to our swords? Release the girl and we will leave you and your people in peace."
A thick silence fell as Faramir finished speaking, and the eyes of those gathered turned accusingly towards Buffy.
Until Spike diverted the unwanted attention with one derisive snort.
"What?" he asked as the scowls turned towards him, thereby sparing her from further scrutiny. "And you believe them?" he continued as the men began to mutter down the long table. "I mean, I hate to break it to you, mates, but if these blokes are as bad as you all say, then I hardly think they'll just nancy off to wherever they came from. They're evil. What more did you need to know?" he asked as the mutterings grew louder.
Sighing audibly, Faramir shook his head. "I hate to admit it," he began, only to pause and narrow his eyes upon the bleached-blond vampire. "I really hate to admit it," he amended with a dark scowl, "but he has a point. Whatever face they now wear, they are still orc, through and through. Even if they leave today, they would surely return another day, even stronger than before, which makes the answer to their demands quite obvious."
"Yet is it?" one beefy man cut in before hastily bowing his head respectfully towards Faramir. "Pardon my interruption, my lord," he added, his large chin quivering in his haste, "but is our answer so clear?" He briefly leveled a dark glare at Buffy before spreading his hands entreatingly to his steward and king. "If the elves are correct, the numbers of these dark creatures are far greater than our own. Without the men of Rohan and Dol Amroth to bolster our forces, we will not stand a chance. Perhaps if we just give them what they want we may be able to delay their strike long enough for the others to reach our borders."
"And then what?" another man demanded as Buffy shifted indignantly in her chair, wishing that her glare alone could burn the fat man to the ground. She wasn't just a bit of meat to be passed around. "Lord Hathryn, if they have the girl their numbers will only grow stronger!" the other man continued. "We cannot release her to them!"
"And so instead we will provoke a battle that we cannot possibly win?" Hathryn countered as Buffy felt her temper begin to fray. "We should just give them the girl-" he insisted as the entire room erupted as everyone interjected their heated opinion.
Scowl deepening, Buffy watched as those that were strangers to her vehemently argued the merits of handing her over to the Dark-Elves, while those that she called friend threatened death to any who tried. Even Giles had been swept up in the moment as he attempted to talk over the older man that he sat beside, the watcher's face flushed an angry red. "Oh, this is freaking ridiculous," she grumbled as she watched Aragorn and Faramir struggle to be heard over the angry male voices, trying in vain to bring order to a group that was quickly fracturing beneath the words of too many strong-willed men. Men that continued to argue about Buffy as if she weren't even there.
"The girl must-"
"The girl has a name!" Buffy snapped, her furious words cutting through the melee of deeper voices. Once more the slayer felt the oppressive weight of so many unfriendly eyes upon her, but this time she was far too angry to care. "Listen up, because I'm only going to say this once," she continued, her voice ringing in the high-ceilinged room. "This person that you're all arguing about? That's me. I was the one who just went through two months of hell and it was my blood that they took. Or did you all just think that I sat there and said here, please slit my wrist and have at it?" she demanded as she glared at the assembled men.
"Didn't you?" Hathryn returned with a disdainful sniff. "We all know that you-"
"Listen," Buffy cut in, her voice once more rising above her friends' angry protests. "The fact of the matter is that I don't care what you think you know. All that matters is that I'm not your enemy here. If you want to see your enemy, why don't you and everyone else just step outside and take a look at the creatures that are chanting for your blood," she stated as she waved angrily towards the tightly sealed door behind her. "They're the ones that you should be fighting here. I'm on your side-"
"Are you?" the fat man returned, his small eyes raking over her slight form, bound as it was in the owyn's beautiful blue gown, before turning from her with a dismissive snort.
Furious now, Buffy planted both hands on the table before her and forced her trembling limbs to support her weight. She felt Giles' quelling hand upon her shoulder, but she was beyond the point of listening to her watcher's cool reasoning. This was her life that they were so casually talking about - a life that Spike and all of her friends had only recently encouraged her to win back. Not to mention that she was the slayer in this world. Once again she was the one person that was born to fight the kind of darkness that her blood had altered. She was one of the good guys, and if this pompous jerk didn't believe that then...
It was his loss.
Floundering at this realization, Buffy felt all of her anger melt away as she slowly sunk into her hard-backed chair. Since when had she ever felt the need to explain herself or her motives to someone else's lackey? For in the end, that was all that this man was. That was all that any of these people were, she realized as she looked around to the expectant faces of Aragorn's many councilors. There were only a handful of people in this room whose opinion mattered to her, and four of them had shown their love and devotion to her many times over in the past seven years. And the rest?
With a small sigh, Buffy looked down the long table to where Legolas sat with his friends and allies. The elf hadn't spoken since his quiet greeting when she had entered the chamber at Spike's side. Yet as she caught his ageless gaze, Buffy realized that she didn't need to have him jumping to her every defense to show where his opinions lay. Legolas was an elf whose actions spoke far more than the gentle words he offered, and by stepping between Aragorn's sword and her breast the night before, he had proven without a doubt where he believed her loyalties to lie. And in the end, that was all that mattered.
Smiling softly at the fair-haired elf, Buffy calmly folded her hands before her as she met Lord Hathryn's beady-eyed gaze. "I don't have to defend myself to you," she stated, her voice tinged with the right amount of disdain as she returned her attention to Aragorn in a clear dismissal that in her eyes, the issue was over.
"Then I will," Xander snapped from beside her as he stood from his seat so quickly that the chair toppled back and smacked against the white stone floor. Startled, Buffy turned to her normally calm and even-tempered friend as he glared at the portly lord. "I've been through more battles with Buffy than you can ever imagine-"
"Oh, here we go," Angel groaned as Spike began to snicker behind one upraised hand.
Flustered, Xander paused long enough to glare at the two vampires before clearing his throat. "As I was saying, she's stopped everything that's ever come up against her. She's even laid down her life - literally - to protect the people around her," he continued as he turned to include the assembly in his heated gaze. "This girl has died two times, has given up everything that she knows, and she's still standing. But you doubt her motives and you take the little bus to battle," he warned as Buffy felt her cheeks begin to burn. "I've seen her heart," he added before pausing once more, his expression faltering. "And this time not literally," he clarified with a small wince, "and I'm telling you that right now she cares more about your lives than you will ever know. You gotta trust her. She's earned it."
As another weighted silence fell upon the room, Buffy's eyes remained locked upon her unusually solemn friend as a small smile curved the corner of her lips. Catching his gaze for the briefest of moments, she nodded her thanks as he awkwardly shrugged his shoulders before righting his seat. Turning, Buffy noted with satisfaction that for the first time, it seemed as though Lord Hathryn had nothing to say.
"This council does not doubt the lady's intentions," Aragorn assured as he leveled a fierce glare at the outspoken lord. "The elves have already vouched for her," he added, pointedly ignoring the disgruntled murmurs of a few of the council members and the distrustful looks that were aimed at his elven companions, "and that is more than sufficient for this Council. What must be decided now is where we will go from here," he finished, his words causing a somber air to fall upon the room.
"Messengers were sent to Halbarad's rangers in the north and to Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth at first light," Faramir explained, his voice grim. "However, aid will come quickest from Rohan. The watch towers were lit during the night, which means it will be at least four days until King omer's reinforcements will arrive, and longer for the others."
"We do not have four days," Elladan murmured as he tilted his head toward his foster brother.
"No, we do not," Aragorn agreed as he steepled his fingers before him. "They have given us until tonight to make our decision, and so it is tonight that we will first stand against them."
"But my lord," Hathryn tentatively interjected. "My lord, we haven't the numbers. We will be slaughtered-"
"I know that either option seems ill," Aragorn cut in, his voice hard, "but we cannot allow the lady to fall back into their hands-"
"Bloody hell you won't," Spike grumbled, his eyes narrowed upon the king.
"We have no choice but to hold them for at least four days until the reinforcements arrive," the king smoothly continued.
"But four days-"
"I think we can hold that lot of wankers for four days," Spike cut in with a cocky grin as he slouched back in his chair.
"So you're staying then," Gimli noted, his gruff voice carrying in the large chamber.
"If that's what Buffy wants," Angel replied before any of the others could, his eyes seeking her out. "We fight for whatever she's fighting for," he continued as Buffy tried to share in his smile. Yet even as the others nodded their agreement, Buffy found her trust in that promise lacking.
"Though I don't know why she'd want to help the bleeding ponces that tried to kill her-"
"The point being that you have our help," Giles interjected, smoothly talking over the remainder of Spike's retort.
"No, they don't."
Eyes slipping shut, Buffy dipped her head towards her chest as the room fell silent beneath the weight of this new voice that confirmed her silent fears with three small words. She had never heard the deep baritone before, but it didn't matter because those simple words immediately reminded her of her dream's warning that she had been trying so hard to forget:
You were meant to stand alone, and in the end, you will be alone for he won't be there for you.
Her dream had warned her that 'he' wouldn't be there for her, and seeing as how she was surrounded by more he's than not, she was pretty sure that the dream had been talking about the four friends that had jumped worlds to come to her aid. They had saved her more than just physically when they came here. They had reminded her of her reasons to fight. But now there was a battle to come, and Buffy knew without saying that her friends weren't intended to stand beside her in this fight - her dream had shown her this much. They weren't intended to stand beside her ever again.
The slayer resignedly lifted her head and used her senses to guide her eyes to the old man that slowly shuffled from the shadows that had embraced him. From the reactions of the others, and the fact that Legolas and company weren't immediately reaching for the nearest weapon, it was obvious that this man was known to him and his friends, but to Buffy he was a stranger; broad shoulders bent with age, a Dumbledore-esque beard that was impossibly long and hung in a tangled mess over brown, tattered robes, and saddened gray eyes that looked out from a face that was lined and creased with the irrepressible passage of time. But while her eyes showed her this picture of an old man that shuffled from the shadows and into the natural light that filtered in from the windows high above, her senses spoke to her of power while they tingled with a warning that was all too familiar.
"Demon," she whispered, her eyes narrowing as the stranger shuffled past Legolas and the others, ignoring their questions as his eyes remained locked upon her friends.
"You again," Aragorn noted, his unease shining in his gray eyes. But the old man had no interest in the King of Gondor and instead looked past the people of Middle-earth to pierce her friends with his narrowed gaze.
"You four need to leave this world now and go back to where you belong," the stranger grumbled as his eyes swung towards her for the briefest of moments. Yet it was that solitary moment that was the stranger's undoing.
"Whistler."