Equinoxium: Chapter 31
by Lisette
Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings. Also, props need to be given to Peter Jackson and company for creating such awe-inspiring speeches, as well as to the writers of BtVS for doing the best they could when they had to write so many in Season 7.
His father once told him that to mortals, time and its inevitable passage were both their greatest fear and their foulest enemy. While time was but a quiet companion to elf-kind, to mortals it was a force beyond their comprehension and something they would fight to their dying day, for time was a battle that all mortals would someday lose. Yet on this day, as the sun burned away the chill of winter and brushed against the top of Mount Mindolluin, gathering dark shadows in her wake, Legolas began to realize that in this, too, his father had been mistaken. Time could turn her fickle back on immortal and mortal alike, running too slowly when haste was needed and hastening when all that was desired was just a bit more time.
Startled from his troubled thoughts as a familiar form bumped against his own lean frame, Legolas turned from the darkening skies as his old friend settled against the stable wall beside him. "I see that you have lost the battle," the elf noted, forcing a wry smile as he took in Aragorn's pinched features and the coiled tautness to the man's shoulders.
"Do not mock me, mellon-nin," Aragorn ground out between clenched teeth as the king of Gondor glared at the small assembly of advisors that remained gathered in a tight knot about the seventh gate. "I fear that I have not the patience this night," he muttered as he scowled at the cluster of finely dressed men.
"They seek only to keep you from harm."
"They seek to keep me from battle," Aragorn corrected with a quick shake of his head. "It is as though they have forgotten that it was I who led our army against the forces of Sauron. They say that the blood of the kings of old runs through my veins - that I am the last of my line, and as I have no heir, I am too precious to waste on such a venture. Without me they say Gondor will fall and that it is a risk that our country can ill afford."
"And they are right in this," Legolas cut in as he turned towards his friend, his blue eyes capturing the king in his ageless gaze. "Aragorn, your fate is linked with that of Gondor and the battle ahead is too uncertain. Besides," he added with a small, knowing smile, "your men love you too much. Were you to battle at their side, they would focus more on you and your safety than on their opponent. Your presence on the field of battle would only distract them. Have faith in your people and allow Faramir to lead them in your stead, as his station demands."
Aragorn ran a tired hand through his long hair, mussing it even further as his eyes darted back to where the army of Gondor made their final preparations. "I see the logic in your words, I do," he distractedly reassured his friend, "but my heart rails against such logic that refuses to allow a king to battle for his people. Did not your father and grandfather both go to war in the Last Alliance?"
"Yes," Legolas agreed, his smile dimming as he, too, turned to survey the frantic preparations. He watched as the group of men parted to allow Gimli passage through the congested road, the dwarf dressed in his gleaming armor with his throwing axe in hand. "Yes, they did. And my grandfather died there," the elf continued, his voice growing soft as he watched the dwarf confer with Faramir before turning to where the twin sons of Elrond were waiting.
"But elves are different than men," the fair-haired elf continued with a small shrug as he forcibly shook free of the melancholy that had so briefly taken hold. "My people overcame our loss, but I fear Gondor would flounder and fall without you," he stated firmly as he turned to find his friend watching him with shadowed eyes. "Aragorn, you are the reason that Gondor exists and this country will not survive again without her king," he explained, referring to the many hundreds of years that the country had staggered on under the rule of the stewards.
Yet whatever response his friend might have given was forgotten as the gathered army fell beneath a stifled hush, all eyes turning towards the opening that led to the seventh gate. Features tightening, Legolas watched as the men slowly parted, giving a wide berth to the solitary form that wended its way through the milling soldiers.
"Now what?" Aragorn sighed as he pushed away from the wall, his cape billowing about him as the bitter winter wind snatched at the expensive fabric and tangled it around his tall form. Cursing, the king of Gondor struggled with the heavy material for a few moments before he finally cast the long cloak aside, his dark head lifting just as the figure finally stepped clear of the soldiers and paused before both man and elf.
"Buffy," Legolas murmured as he stepped to Aragorn's side, his wide eyes sweeping over the short blonde that stood confidently before them. Gone was the wasted creature that the proud slayer had become over months of abuse and maltreatment, and in her place stood a figure of power and strength. Shaking his head in disbelief, Legolas took note of Buffy's familiar tan leather clothing that hugged her small curves and dipped scandalously low over her pale breasts - no doubt the cause of many of the whispers that filled the sixth circle. And yet what held the elf's unwavering attention was the long, beautifully crafted sword that was strapped over her long leather duster and the gleaming dagger that was belted to her low slung pants.
Somehow Buffy had managed to restore herself to her former power and glory in the brief hour since they had parted, and from the predatory gleam in her eye, Legolas understood one thing all too clearly: the slayer was back and ready for retribution.
Keeping her chin held high, Buffy stilled a few feet from Legolas and Aragorn as she felt the gazes of the gathered soldiers burn into her from all sides. Filled with tension, she clenched one hand into a fist, feeling the familiar strength course through her veins as she resisted the urge to fidget beneath so many watchful eyes. There was too much riding on this moment, and the slayer knew that now, more than ever, appearances were everything.
"Alright Cinderella, this is your ball," she muttered to herself as she slowly relaxed her hand. "Let's do this," she added as she continued towards the elf and king, her long leather duster flapping in the frigid winter breeze. With long, even strides that echoed with each tap of her booted heel against the stone road, Buffy finished the short distance and stopped before the two friends, her eyes darting briefly to Legolas' shining blue gaze before determinately turning towards the King of Gondor.
"But... how is this possible?" Aragorn demanded, staring at her in frank astonishment.
"It's called magic," Buffy supplied as she forced an indifferent shrug, resisting the urge to touch the red stone that burned against her chest. She understood the consequences of her actions - that by wearing the stone when she was so weak, she was probably doing more damage to an already battered body - and yet this realization hadn't stopped her from tying the cord around her neck so that the stone could lie beneath her leather halter and between the pale flesh of her breasts. First came heat. Then came pain. Finally there came a power that she well remembered and which buried the pain, dulling the sharp edges until only the heat remained.
"But... how-" the king began again, his sharp eyes raking over her frame as though he could somehow find lingering evidence of this magic.
"Let's worry about the how some other time and just move onto the part where I'm all better and ready to take part in the ass-kicking," Buffy broke in with a tight smile, wishing she had some kind of theme music to help smooth over the edges of what was supposed to be a victorious moment. The strength was back and Buffy should have felt more like herself than ever before, but the three months spent as Vashnak's prisoner had marked her and the easy confidence was more mask than reality.
"But where are the men that I ordered to guard you?" Aragorn continued as he turned his pinched features back towards the arch that led to the seventh gate of his city.
"Guards?" Buffy asked, an innocent smile locked in place. "For me?"
"Yes, for you," the king growled as he scowled down upon the petite blonde. "They were posted outside your doorway to ensure that no other trespasses were made against you."
Schooling her features, Buffy nodded as she twined her hands before her. "Well that would be the problem," she admitted as the king arched his brow expectantly. "I went out the window," she continued after a pregnant pause.
The king's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Your room is on the third floor," he stated, his voice flat as Buffy hazarded a glance at Legolas, relieved to see the elf's lips twitch in guarded amusement.
"Yes, it is," Buffy agreed as she returned her attention to the tall man that towered over her. "And my windows overlook this amazing garden that happens to sit right next to the big wall that encircles your palace. So I figured, why bother zigzagging all over the place when you guys were just a hop, skip and a jump away?" she asked as she flashed him a brilliant smile that belied the anxiety that kept her muscles taut beneath the worn leather.
"A hop, skip and a jump?" Legolas parroted, a small hint of warmth coloring his neutral words.
"Well, more like a conveniently placed tree and some feather-monkey-like skills," she amended as she glanced briefly at the tall elf, praying that her forced levity would somehow mask from the intuitive creature the uncertainty that continued to plague her even now. It had been far too long since she had last played this game - a game in which she had once excelled - and Buffy knew that she was rusty. But the lessons that she had learned over the years were lessons that were impossible to forget - no matter how much time had passed since those relatively carefree days when she had been surrounded by her friends and family. Above all else came levity in the face of the the darkness that she faced - for without levity, life would fall upon her and crush her under its impossible weight.
"Besides, I heard the army was-a-gathering and I didn't want to miss the show," she added with a fond pat to the dagger that was sheathed to her side. "My friends left me with some new weapons that are just begging to get their game on."
"Get their game on?" Aragorn repeated, fine lines of confusion creasing his forehead before he visibly shook off her strange turn-phrases. "It matters not," he stated, his voice growing firm, "for you will not be fighting in this battle."
"And why not?" Buffy demanded as she unconsciously straightened beneath his outright dismissal. She had been expecting such a reaction, and truth be told, her entire jaunt through the garden and over the huge stone wall had been a way of putting off this very same confrontation as long as humanly possible. And yet that didn't stop the righteous anger from drawing her up even further. "This is my fight just as much as it is yours," she stated, resisting the urge to defiantly cross her arms over her chest in an appeal that would have been far too reminiscent of Dawn when she wasn't getting what she wanted. "Maybe more," she added with a dark scowl. "I was the one who bled for them for two months!"
"Which is precisely why you are not going," Aragorn stated, bristling beneath her continued arguments. "You heard me in the council. We cannot allow you to fall into their hands again."
"And I won't," Buffy interrupted with a stubborn shake of her head, her eyes boring into his own as the rest of the world fell away. "I would die first," she vowed with the full conviction of a warrior who had been fighting this fight for far too long.
"You cannot guarantee that," Aragorn countered with stiff finality as he turned from her, his gaze lifting to the soldiers that milled about in hushed silence. "Where is Faramir? I need someone to escort the Lady back to her chambers."
Floored by her abrupt dismissal, Buffy floundered for the briefest of moments before her anger surged back to the forefront. "You don't think I can take care of myself?" she demanded as she reached over one shoulder and pulled her sword free, the scratch of metal against leather alerting Aragorn of the threat he had so easily overlooked.
Whirling to face her, the king tore his own blade free of its sheath as the man reacted instinctively to her actions, even as Legolas' eyes burned into her slight frame. Ignoring her elven friend, the slayer effortlessly lifted her beautiful blade as her eyes met Aragorn's, steely determination warring against surprised disbelief. Pausing long enough to show that she wouldn't back down from this, Buffy stepped forward, bringing the sword to bear, and allowed instinct to take over.
What followed next was an intricate dance in which metal clashed with metal, sparks flying as her conscious mind slipped back and allowed her feet to do the work. With the grace of the Eldar she sidestepped his parries and thwarted his thrusts, admiring his evident skill with the blade even as she countered his experience with the sure-footedness and swiftness of the slayer. It didn't matter that her hand hadn't held the pommel of a sword in over two months, for it still remembered the comforting weight just as her body could never forget the rush that came with battle.
Around her she was peripherally aware of the cry of alarm that was raised among the Gondorian soldiers as the men drew their weapons, only to fall back with the realization that both she and their king moved far too swiftly to allow aid. Any misstep could spell the death of the king that they treasured. Which was exactly the sort of indecision that Buffy had been counting on.
Eyes narrowing, the small blonde lifted her sword to block a downward sweep that was driven more by Aragorn's instinctual need to bring down his attacker than by any ill will that he may have harbored towards her. He was good - probably the best that she had ever fought - but Buffy was better if for the simple fact that she had supernatural slayerness on her side. Well, that and the understanding that this little demonstration was her only ticket onto the battle field.
Pushing forward, Buffy forced Aragorn to step back as their blades once more crashed against one another, the scream of tortured steel causing the man to wince as she put her renewed strength to the test. Inch by inch the king was forced to concede ground to her blade until, with one final push, Buffy knocked his sword aside, upsetting his balance enough that the taller man tumbled back onto the hard pavement, her sword lodged against his neck.
"Or was Vashnak right?" she asked calmly as Aragorn panted before her, his mortal limits straining against the same boundaries that she had just surged past. "Have I really just traded one captor for another?" she demanded, her eyes burning into his as she slowly drew back her weapon and returned it to its sheath. Reaching forward, she then extended one small, pale hand towards the downed king as the silence stretched in the sixth circle, with only the faintest echoes of voices extending from the unwitting citizens above and below.
For a moment, Aragorn merely eyed her extended hand before he encased her small fingers within his own. Releasing a breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding, Buffy quickly pulled the tall man to his feet before stepping back.
Aragorn released her hand, but not her gaze as he straightened and looked at her with his deep gray eyes. For several long moments he simply stared at her, as if attempting to probe the recesses of her soul, and Buffy's breath caught anew under the power of the King's gaze. She raised her chin, meeting him squarely, and then he released her, nodding as he withdrew. "No, you will find no captor in this city," he stated. "As I have already told you, this world is your home now, and as you are of the race of Men, you will always have a place here in Minas Tirith. A king of Gondor shall not fall back on his word, and nor shall he imprison those who are undeserving of the chains that bind them." He paused, regarding her once again as he slid his weapon into its sheath. "There is much I wish to learn about you, Buffy. Should we both survive this night, we will talk."
Eyes slipping shut, Buffy felt one of many small weights lift from her overburdened shoulders as a slow smile lifted her lips. While Gondor wasn't exactly the Land of the Free, it seemed that this new place was willing to extend her the same liberties that she had known all her life. Features breaking into a broad smile, Buffy impulsively reached forward and crushed Aragorn against her in a tight hug. "I'll take that as a go get 'em, partner," she whispered as she stepped back with an impish grin.
Frowning stiffly, Aragorn casually readjusted his rumpled clothing as he inclined his head slightly towards her. "As you will," he relented before turning and making his way through the gathered soldiers - all of whom suddenly found something to occupy their attention.
"So you will join us in battle."
"So it seems," Buffy agreed as she turned to acknowledge the elf who stood quietly beside her.
"A fitting choice," Legolas stated as his eyes met her own in a way that left her feeling as though all of her secrets were no longer her own. It was as though with that simple glance the fair-haired elf was able to look past the many shields that she had learned to erect over the years and see past the false image that she portrayed and the strength that she now possessed in order to see the hurt and the fear that still burned within her heart. "Or perhaps a forgone conclusion," he mused, his soft words belying the hurt that shone in his blue eyes.
With a sigh Buffy realized that he thought she had planned this move and had purposely left him in the dark. Lifting a hand, she fingered the leather cords that were tied so securely around her neck. "No, just a recent development," she murmured, her eyes drifting down to the stone that was hidden beneath her leather halter. But her look hadn't gone unnoticed, and as Legolas' pale fingers reached toward her and danced lightly over where the stone was concealed, she found her eyes lifting to meet his troubled gaze.
"There is danger in this magic," he stated, causing Buffy to wonder whether the elf was picking up on her unspoken words or on some other sense that went beyond simple explanations. Could he sense the magic at work and the toll that it would ultimately demand?
"There's danger everywhere," Buffy corrected as she captured his hand in her own strong grip, squeezing it gently before releasing it with a small smile. "And I promise that when things slow down, we'll talk details - details about this and about... about what I did," she continued, forcing the words past the lump in her throat as she purposely avoided meeting his gaze. "But for now, you'll just have to go with me here."
"Go with you where?" Legolas returned, obviously allowing the matter to drop for now as his brow arched in confusion.
Shoulders slumping in defeat, Buffy was about to break into yet another explanation of her strange phrases when she caught the glimmer in his blue eyes. Lips twisting in a scowl she smacked the tall elf on the arm. "Faker," she accused before turning away from her friend to survey the frantic activity that once more consumed the Gondorian army.
And this was indeed an army.
Quietly she watched as tall, grim-faced men prepared horses, tested weapons, and assembled into different groups and units. It was strange, for just a few months ago Buffy had called herself the general of her army of Potential Slayers. Until this moment, she had no idea how ridiculous that idea truly seemed. Back in Sunnydale she had been leading nothing more than a group of twenty or thirty young girls that had, at best, a few years in combat training - and that was against the First Evil and its minions. Here in Gondor, Aragorn's army consisted of hundreds of thousands of men that were hardened by previous battle experience and prepared for the war that they had no choice but to fight - a war that would decide this world's fate.
"There may still be time to find some armor for you," Legolas stated, interrupting her thoughts, but she waved airily at his suggestion.
"Somehow I doubt they have it in my color," she muttered distractedly, watching as Gimli pushed through the crowd of men in glistening chain mail that clanked with every heavy step, the twin sons of Elrond at his side. For a moment she caught Elladan's eye, the elder twin holding her gaze before a slow, gentle smile lifted his lips, and while it wasn't the heart-to-heart that she had imagined, Buffy couldn't help but be warmed by this small gesture. Perhaps all friendships hadn't been lost after all when the truth of her blood had been revealed. "Besides," she continued with a ghost of a smile, "slayers don't wear armor. We do battle in whatever suits us most. In my case, that usually includes something trendy. Back home, even if I were fighting an entire army of uber-vamps, I still would've worn one of my cutest outfits and a pair of my favorite stiletto heels, carrying only one weapon to see me through the fight," she admitted with a wistful sigh, allowing a brief moment to savor the ache that any thought of home always brought.
"Perhaps battle is different in your world," Legolas conceded with a small frown, "but in our world armor is meant less for appearances and more for saving your life. Or perhaps you take not this battle as seriously as-"
"Oh no, I'm definitely down with the seriousness of the situation," Buffy interrupted as she turned back to the blond elf, her expression falling into a hardened mask that quickly fractured beneath an impish smile. "I mean, not only am I wearing my 'come get me' leathers, but I'm carrying not one, but three weapons to battle," she pointed out as she waved to her sword, her dagger, and then slid Mr. Pointy out from where it had been tucked into the back waistband of her leather pants.
"And what, pray tell, is that?" Legolas asked as he nodded towards the sharpened piece of wood that shone with its own gloss, a dubious expression on his fair features.
"This is Mr. Pointy - my favorite stake and a gift from Kendra, my successor," she explained as she dropped the weapon into the elf's outstretched hand.
Frowning, the archer tentatively held the sharpened weapon before returning it to its master. "And what do you plan to do with it?"
"Well, stake the bad guys, of course," Buffy stated as she returned the weapon to the small of her back - enjoying the familiar feel of the wood pressed so intimately against her skin.
"But to use such a weapon would require a close proximity to your enemy," Legolas pointed out as he waved to the bow that hung over one shoulder. "Archery, however, allows greater distance and maneuverability in a fight."
"True - but I like it close," Buffy returned with a feral grin. "Besides, I've got moves that you can't even begin to imagine," she continued, the words leaving her mouth a second before her brain had a chance to fully explore the full ramifications of her boasts. "And suddenly realizing that I'm channeling just a little too much Faith at the moment," she muttered as Legolas looked upon her in amusement.
"My Lady?"
Turning at the hesitant tap upon her shoulder, Buffy found a young boy and two very large horses standing behind her. "Uh... yeah?" she asked, her eyes warily lifting to the horse that snorted and pulled at the lead that was clutched in the boy's small hand even as the kid passed the other off to Legolas.
"I have brought you a horse, my Lady," the boy explained as he extended the remaining lead towards her.
"Uh..."
"The Lady shall be riding with me."
"Yeah, what he said," Buffy quickly agreed as she turned to find Legolas already mounted upon a familiar dark gray horse. "Drlum to the rescue," she whispered in relief as she slid her hand in Legolas' and allowed him to pull her onto the horse behind him.
It was a perch that she remembered well as Buffy looped her hands around Legolas' slender waist, her legs shifting until she found that comfortable place that she had long occupied on their journey south, so many months before this. "Thanks," Buffy muttered gratefully as the confused boy shrugged and led the large horse away.
"Think nothing of it," Legolas returned with a small smile as he gently patted the horse's silken hair. "I am merely doing Drlum a favor. Were it not for you, his load would have been far more cumbersome," he explained as he nodded towards the stable.
Turning in the direction indicated, Buffy watched as Elladan struggled to push Gimli, laden in heavy chain mail, onto his tall horse, much to the other twin's evident amusement. "I see," she laughed, the sound obviously gaining Elrohir's attention as he urged his horse towards them.
"Buffy, Legolas," the dark-haired elf greeted with a quick nod. "Elladan asked that I relay the message that should his horse become injured due to his... laborious load, there shall be dire consequences."
Grinning broadly at the younger twin, Legolas turned back as Gimli let loose a particularly vulgar string of dwarven curses as the stout warrior was nearly unseated by the large horse. "Elrohir, are you saying then that your brother's horse is somehow unfit to bear a burden that my own has carried on many the occasion?"
"I am saying no such thing," Elrohir countered with a sniff of disdain. "I merely counter that-"
"He's just trying to cover for his own horse," Buffy cut in with a teasing smile. "I'm guessing that Elladan lost the coin toss and Elrohir doesn't want to look bad 'cause he's the only one without a battle buddy."
"Battle buddy?" Elrohir queried as Elladan and Gimli finally made their way over to the trio.
Yet whatever response she may have given was forgotten as Aragorn, now standing upon the ramparts of the seventh gate, looked down upon his gathered army. "Sons of Gondor," he began, his deep voice ringing out over the sixth circle as his men looked upon him with fear-darkened and somber eyes. "Nine long years have we reveled in the peace that was bought with the blood of our brothers and fathers. Nine long years in which the dark stains of Mordor have lightened in our memories until they were naught but shadows that danced in the corners of the brightest rooms. Nine years have we pushed the darkness from our minds... and this night the fell shadows return to threaten that which we all hold dear."
Whistling softly, Buffy gently nudged Legolas as she leaned closer to the elf's suede-covered back. "He's good," she whispered, watching as the brisk winter wind ruffled Aragorn's dark curls, catching his long robes and twisting them around his tall frame. "Did he take a class for this? You know, Motivational Speech-Giving 101?" she quipped as Legolas turned so that his pale face was profiled in the weakened light.
"He is a King of Men," the elf returned, as though that simple fact was explanation enough.
"Ah - so it's in the genes," Buffy nodded sagely as she tried to focus back on the speech, only to have her attention catch on Faramir as he moved his horse towards the front of the gathered army. Frowning, she looked back and forth between the steward's glistening armor and Aragorn, registering the fact that the king wore none, and she once more elbowed her riding companion. "Hey - why isn't Aragorn wearing the spiffy armor?" she hissed, ignoring Elladan's muttering about annoyingly loud humans.
"Because he goes not into battle this night," Legolas explained patiently as he ran a hand through Drlum's dark mane.
"He goes not... huh?" Buffy fired back, forgetting to whisper as a few more angry looks were thrown in her direction. "He's not going to fight?"
Lifting a finger to his lips to indicate the need for quiet, the elf slowly nodded his head. "It would not be wise for both the King and the Steward of Gondor to participate in this battle, for should something happen to them both, the country would be without a ruler. Thus, the King shall remain while the Steward leads the men to war in his stead."
Buffy lifted her eyes to Aragorn's serious countenance as the man continued to drone on about this and that. "Oh yeah, I bet Aragorn's just loving this," she whispered, catching the man's eyes for the briefest of moments before he turned his dark orbs to the men that adored him.
"Yes, well I imagine that it is times like these that cause Aragorn to long for the days when he was no more than a mere ranger," Legolas conceded with a dry smile before he lifted his finger to his lips in that universal sign for quiet before pointedly directing her attention back to the man of the hour.
"Nine years past, on the blood-stained fields of Pelennor, Sauron learned of the might and courage of men when we stood by our friends and held tight to the bonds of fellowship. Nine years past, in an hour of wolves and shattered shields, the age of men pulsed with a new strength as we fought for all that we hold dear on this good Earth: our families, our homes, and our peace. We-"
Buffy found her attention drifting as she began tapping an odd rhythm on Drlum's flank. She had been given an hour to prepare for battle, and during that time she had made use of Lorne's gift to help pass the time. Thus, it was no wonder why she now had Justin Timberlake's newest song bopping in her head. Frowning, she couldn't decide which was worse: Ludacris or Justin Timberlake. Either seemed an ill choice, especially when preparing for battle.
Turning back, she saw that Aragorn was still speechifying and she couldn't help her groan of utter boredom. She certainly hoped that all of her speeches to the potentials that last year hadn't been this long. Though she did have to give the man credit: he certainly did know how to bolster the troops. How did hers go again?
"The odds are against us. Time is against us. And some of us will die in this battle. Decide now that it's not going to be you."
Oh yeah - she was a real motivator. But slayers weren't made to give speeches. If anything, her whole last year in Sunnydale was probably a real blip on the slayer radar. She had already broken so many rules by keeping her friends in the know about her slayer activities, and especially by coming to depend on their help in tricky situations. It was because of them that she hadn't ended up dead... well, more than she already had. But leading an army of potential slayers? From everything she had heard, that move was definitely a first in the history of slayers, and probably something that was never meant to be. As a slayer, she was her own army. There was only ever meant to be one, and thus it was no small leap of the imagination to understand that slayers were meant to stand alone.
"Sometimes you have to stand alone to make sure you still can."
Startled, Buffy turned to find Legolas' serious blue eyes locked upon her own, making her realize that she had said that last part out loud.
"Then again, to be alone means never having someone there to help you when you have fallen," he continued, his smile soft as the men around them began cheering and chanting Elessar, Aragorn's kingly name, thereby marking the end of their king's speech.
"I'll remember that," Buffy vowed as trumpets sounded, announcing the march of the army of Gondor.
Immediately Legolas maneuvered his horse next to those of the twins, and the three elves moved to the forefront until they were positioned alongside Faramir's white steed. Arms circled loosely around Legolas' waist, Buffy watched as the citizens of Gondor waved and cheered for their brave knights and soldiers from open windows, doorways, and beautifully wrought stone balconies. All along the road that wound through the many circles of Minas Tirith and to the main gates to the city, the people of Gondor's capital city crowded along sidewalks and storefronts, their voices raised in cheer and fair wishes to the warriors that were prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice to see them safe. Among them the slayer saw many faces marked with tears - those who were sending a loved one to battle this night, as well as those who had already lost someone to wars that had been won at the price of their blood. She also saw faces that were streaked with dirt - these were the faces of the refugees whose homes had been destroyed by the Mornedhel the night before.
These were the people for whom she now fought, Buffy realized as she caught and held the eyes of a young child who was trapped within his mother's desperate embrace. These were the people that would pay the price of her failure - and this time, these people knew about the battle being waged and instead of turning from it in fear, they turned towards the battle line, determined to show their support whether it be to their victory or their defeat.
Smiling grimly, Buffy turned from the cheering citizens and towards the opening gate that revealed the vast Pelennor Fields - and felt her blood turn to ice as her sharp sight took note of what few others could see from such a distance. Vashnak had come with the army that her blood had created, and it was an army that was a massive line of darkness in the grayish hue of twilight... a black wave that even now began to roll towards them as the army of Gondor pushed through the bottleneck of the main gate to spread into a line that glittered with the etchings of the White Tree of Gondor. Narrowing her eyes, she watched as a single black horse broke free of the approaching line to ride forward before stopping halfway between the two massed armies.
"Vashnak," she whispered as the heat spread from the stone that rested around her neck to encompass her entire body. Soon it was as though her very blood was boiling beneath the meager trappings of her pale skin, as though it somehow understood that this was the vile creature who was responsible for the weakness that was overcome by the strong magic that seared from the small stone.
Scowling, she watched as Faramir broke from the line of approaching soldiers to ride out to meet the dark-elf and deliver the news that their ultimatum was to be refused. She wished that she could be that person, that she could be the one riding out there, not only to refuse their terms but to cut the bastard's head from his shoulders before he even had a chance to cry out.
No, that wasn't true.
Maybe she would let him cry out first, if only to treasure his screams. He had haunted her nightmares for so many months now, hurting her and pushing her down when she was too weak to fight. But she wasn't weak anymore. Far from it.
With a grim smile, Buffy realized that it was finally time for Vashnak to see what it really meant to take on the Slayer.