Miscellaneous
Clarifications: Buffy actually did not take on all of the Orcs alone, unless you count her second skirmish in "The Dark Forest". The motivation behind that scene was to prove she can fight what she does not understand without knowing why she was fighting them for. There was a quote from the show that pretty much summed it up: give me something to kill. Well, she has enough to kill now.
Pairings: There are basic book pairings. Buffy will find herself with another as well, but that is yet to be revealed.
Events: This fiction is also one that will follow the end of the trilogy (from 'Riders of Rohan' onward) through the end of the 'Return of the King', but will hopefully go in a different direction from there. At most, there will be 20 chapters from the original story, and hopefully another 5 to follow, unless one of us gets ambitious enough to continue on. Otherwise, we will likely leave the story where it already ends. This story follows the path of Rohan through the events of the book.
Thank You's: Thank you for your recommendations! They are completely awesome stories I do plan on reading (or in any case, to finish reading what I have started). This will be perfect Winter Break reading. As for this fiction, I plan on completing the 'new and interesting', but I hopefully will finish this prior to Christmas. I am not daring to hope, since anything can and probably will happen. I have yet to complete my final project prior to my graduation next month, so hopefully I can finish posting all of these chapters before I leave for home in early January. I have missed my home state so much since returning to WI, so going home will be the epitome of graduating.
Disclaimer: J.R.R. Tolkien owns 'The Lord of the Rings' book series. Joss Whedon controls the world of Buffy. Peter Jackson and company own "The Lord of the Rings' films. We only own a part of the plot.
Summary: Buffy is summoned to fulfill an oath before she can rest in peace.
Chapter Summary: Gandalf's arrival frees Théoden and brings hope to those of Edoras; Buffy proves that not all young people die without honor.
Chapter Warning: This chapter relies pretty heavily upon the book. I gave one of Gandalf's quotes from The Houses of Healing to Gríma, as was seen in the film.
- - - - -
Chapter 5
The King of the Golden Hall
Part II
Written by Alyson Kay
- - - - -
Buffy had no sooner stepped out from the corridor leading outside when a cool voice beckoned to her. "My lady, the King wishes your company."
Buffy had no choice but to turn around and let the guard take her through the long passageways until she at last reached the Hall. Éowyn stood behind her Uncle, her face a frozen mask of grief and despair. It was obvious she had heard some depressing news, or else the moron who had been brainwashing everyone had tried to put yet another failed move on her. Nevertheless, Éowyn looked miserable.
"The time has come to pass judgment upon this child," Gríma's slimy voice spoke as he came up from behind her and touched her shoulder. "Too fair is she to give to the wolves of Isengard…" He slowly circled around her to look down into her face, which Buffy kept perfectly neutral. "Strength, she carries, and wisdom… I can see this."
His hand was just about to brush her face when her own caught his in an iron-tight grip. Her eyes hardened in anger. "Get the hell away from me," she said coldly.
"So fair, yet so cold," he continued, wrenching his hand from her painful grasp and shaking it as he backed away. "She is quite alone."
"She is not alone," Éowyn said quickly. "She is friend to this land and she holds it in high regard, much higher than that of your own regard." Stepping out from behind the throne, she moved until she was standing in front of the shorter woman.
"Two women stand alone while their captains have abandoned them," Gríma said, and Buffy watched as Éowyn's face darkened in pain and she turned away. "Who knows what you've spoken to the darkness. In bitter watches of the night, when all your life seems to shrink, the walls of your bower closing in about you. A hutch to trammel some wild thing in, you have become." His own eyes hardened to obsidian crystal as he glanced at the shorter woman. "You come with the traitor and yet you are an outsider. You have found welcome in these Halls, but in the end, you will abandon this house to ruin."
Buffy glared at him, while Éowyn's face tightened with anger. "Your words are poison," she spat, before turning away abruptly and hurrying from the Golden Hall.
"You don't know me, and I sure don't want to know you," Buffy said, putting her hands on her hips. "Let me make something clear now: leave her alone. She doesn't deserve this insanity. You're beneath her." She could feel the guards closing in around her, but this time she wasn't afraid to fight them all off. It was the distracting sound of movement behind her that hindered this decision.
Just then, the doors burst open and the Doorward appeared.
- - - -
Outside the Golden Hall, Gandalf had just ridden before Háma, the Doorward. "Here I must bid you lay aside your weapons before you enter. This is the order of Gríma Wormtongue."
Gandalf turned and nodded at his companions, who had bid their own steeds' farewell at the gates, after returning them to the men with the good faith in which these horses had been lent to them in the first place.
Legolas was the first to hand over his well-crafted bow, his quiver of arrows, and his daggers. "Keep these well, for they were given to me by the Lady of the Golden Wood," he spoke.
The man who faced them was amazed and quickly tucked the weapons against the wall, as though he were afraid to touch them. "No man shall touch them," Háma said in his sternest tone.
Aragorn was more unwilling to give up his own blade and held it in his hand until the Doorward prompted, "This is by order of Théoden King that you shall not approach so heavily armed, my lord."
"Come, come!" Gandalf said, eyeing Aragorn sharply. "We are all friends here, as we should be. The laughter of Mordor will be our only reward if we quarrel. My errand is passing. I shall at least give you my sword. Now, my good Háma, allow me passage."
At last, Aragorn handed over his sword, while Gimli stared longingly at his axe before handing it to Háma, who laid it beside the weapons of Legolas.
"Now, then, if all is as you wish, let us go and speak with your master," Aragorn said.
Háma's eyes drifted to the staff that Gandalf carried. "Your staff, too, must you surrender. It cannot be allowed to pass through these doors."
Gandalf frowned at the stick of ash, yet made no effort to pass it forward. "Prudence is one thing, discourtesy is another. I am old. You would not part an old man from his walking stick?"
"The staff in the hand of a Wizard is more than a prop for old age," Háma said, his eyes full of suspicion, yet he signaled for the others to open the doors into the Hall. "Yet I believe your company is true. What the wizard has said is right: we are all friends here. You may go in."
And inwards they walked, as the doors closed behind them. Háma led them to the far end of the house, past many woven cloths decorated with the relics of old. He led them before a dais. On top of the dais was the great, gilded throne of a weathered, withered man, hunched over by his age.
In this hall were many guards, and to his side, in a secondary chair upon the dais, was a man in a long black cloak. A figure in a green cloak stood to his side, but disappeared with the incoming company.
"Hail, Théoden-King!" Gandalf said, opening his arms in welcome.
The King rose slowly, lifting his head, ancient eyes staring out as he hobbled on his own staff of a short, blackened wood. His eyes were very cold and held no welcome. "You bring with you a herald of woe," he said, in a voice a dead man might use. "Troubles follow you like crows, and ever the oftener the worse. I will not deceive you. When I heard of the return of Shadowfax, I rejoiced at the return of my horse, yet more still at the lack of the rider. When Éomer brought the tidings of your passing, I did not mourn. No, and yet you have come to me again. And with you more evils as to be expected. Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" Slowly, ever so slowly, he sat back down in his chair. His eyes glittered with something like triumph, yet his face remained as impassive as always.
"You speak justly, lord," said Gríma, rising. His own eyes glistened with amusement as he approached the four men. "Why indeed should we welcome you, Gandalf Greyhame? Láthspell I name you; ill news is an ill guest."
"You are held wise, Wormtongue, but in this way are you one fool: there are two ways a man may come with evil tidings," Gandalf said. "He may be a worker of evil; or he may be such as he leaves well alone and comes only to bring aid in the time of need."
"There is yet a third kind," Gríma said, his eyes narrowing as he passed before the wizened man, "the picker of bones, the meddler who comes to lie down upon a man's sorrows. What aid have you ever brought Stormcrow? And what aid do you bring now? It was aid from us that you sought last time you were here. Do you bring men? Do you bring horses, swords, spears? That I would call aid; that is our present need. But who are these that follow you?"
"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King," Gandalf spoke instead, his gaze lifting to meet the ancient face staring intently at him. To Wormtongue, he added, "The wise speak only of what they know. Be silent, and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy words with a witless worm."
Buffy had half a mind to jump in and speak her support, but she could feel the tension in the air rising. Gandalf lifted his staff and passed it to his opposite hand. She took in the darkened look in Gríma's eyes as he turned to the guards surrounding this new company.
"His staff! I told you take the wizard's staff!" he moaned.
The guards surged forward then. Buffy watched as the three in Gandalf's company rushed to hold them back before ducking her head down and hastened herself into the skirmish.
She punched out one guard before turning her hostility upon another and using a sharp kick to his chest to knock him into another as they both tumbled to the floor. She saw Gríma's look of intense disgust as he tried to pull away, but the Dwarf sprang forward, knocking him to the ground. Pulling her fists down to her sides, she turned with the others to see Gandalf standing before the dais, his staff pointed to the King.
"Too long have you sat in the shadows," Gandalf said, advancing upon the King, who stared at the wizard with blank eyes.
Above them, there was a roll of thunder as the room darkened. The friendlier guards stepped forward, closing around the hostile guards still unconscious on the ground. She knew she had revealed herself to those in Gandalf's company, but this was a far more pressing matter.
"Hearken to me!" Gandalf said as he begun to shine with pale light, even under his dark cloak. "I release you from the spell." He put out a small gesture, which seemed to accomplish nothing.
Théoden's gaze had changed when he looked up, his mirthless laughter ringing evilly in the dark room. "You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey!"
Gandalf lifted his hand and shed his dark cloak, exuding a blinding white light. Théoden cried out and cowered against his seat. From the corner of the room, Buffy saw Éowyn return and, upon seeing her King in peril, rushed forward to meet him. She took a step forward, but it was the man called Aragorn who held her back. Once Éowyn had paused, Buffy came up from behind her and stood, watching the scene unfold before her.
This was very strange. Willow had a hell of a lot of power. But this Gandalf was the power. It was scary to see this sort of good power used in its rarest form.
"If I do, Théoden dies," the King said waspishly, in a voice unlike his own. Buffy felt a chill race down her spine and knew that this was the voice of the dark Wizard Saruman. How she knew, she couldn't say.
"You did not kill me," Gandalf said, gesturing ever so slightly with his staff. "And you will not kill him."
"Rohan is mine."
Buffy outright shivered at these words, and the first thought to her mind was, possessive much?
"Be gone!" Gandalf commanded, and with this, the last ounce of darkness was taken from Théoden as he cried out one last time before falling with exhaustion back into his chair.
Éowyn let out a muffled sob and rushed to her King's side. Buffy released her arm and gained a look from Aragorn, one of complete surprise. She averted her eyes from his and watched as Éowyn bent down on her knees before her King.
"Do you ask for help?" Gandalf asked softly, his face glowing with his triumph as he returned to his old position of leaning heavily against his staff. A light began to return to the room, as sunlight streamed through the windows, bathing the Golden Hall in magnificent light. "Not all is dark. Take courage, Lord of the Mark, for better help you will not find." He spied the woman he had parted with a few days before and shared a nod with her. "No counsels have we to give those that despair. Too long have you sat in shadows and trusted to twisted tales and crooked promptings." His face relaxed. "Breathe the free air again, my friend."
The man before them was changing before their very eyes. Gone was the long, snowy hair and beard. His lined face was growing sharper and more focused, and his eyes became more aware. Éowyn took her Uncle's hand and held it, her eyes shining with tears as his gaze turned to her. "I know your face… Éowyn."
She smiled brightly then, a tear cascading down her cheek. Théoden then turned his gaze to the man in the long white cloak standing before him. "Gandalf?"
"Now, lord," Gandalf said, gesturing widely to the windows facing east. "Look upon your land, and breathe your free air, and you will see that not all has come to darkness." He turned and bid the others to depart, promising Éowyn he would look after her King. Once they all had left, he turned to his old friend.
The King rose and leaned heavily on his staff, only to frown at it and cast it aside. As he stared through the veiled glass, his eyes grew with a longing. "Dark have been my dreams of late," he said softly. "But I feel as though I am newly awakened. I would now that you had come before, Gandalf. For I fear that already you have come too late, only to see the last fall of my house. What is to be done?"
"There is much to be done," Gandalf said swiftly. "First, send for Éomer. He has been imprisoned under the orders of Wormtongue I am certain."
"It is true," Théoden replied. "He has rebelled against my commands and threatened death to Gríma in my hall." He stared out as a veil of sunlight crossed his face. "I will do as you ask. Since Háma proved untrustworthy as a doorward, let him become an errand-runner. The guilty shall bring the guilty to judgment." Turning, he smiled at Gandalf, and the extraneous lines on his face melted away, never to be seen again.
Háma was summoned and came in the company of a woman. She was smaller than many of his land, and young enough to be his own kin. She wore an emerald cloak over her face, but she brushed it aside at his command. Her hazel eyes burned into his, and it was a gaze he remembered from the days before. After Háma had left with the company of this woman, Théoden turned to Gandalf.
"Was that not a woman that came with the errand-runner?" he asked in some surprise.
"She comes of my service," Gandalf replied. "She has come to bring counsel to these lands, and already she has won the favor of your sister-daughter." He paused as the doors opened and the others returned; Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli moved forward as the King returned to his throne, and Gandalf took up the chair abandoned by Wormtongue.
"I must speak of this now, because there is no time to tell all that you should hear," Gandalf said. "You are come into a peril greater than even that the wit of Wormtongue could weave into your dreams! The enemy is strong beyond our reckoning, yet we have hope at which he has not guessed. You live. Gondor and Rohan do not stand alone."
As he spoke, Gandalf held down his voice, so none by the King could hear. As soon as he had stopped speaking, Théoden rose in his seat to his full height, and Gandalf beside him, and together they looked from their high place towards the east.
"That way lays our hope," Gandalf said, loudly enough for all to hear. "That way lays our greatest fear. Doom hangs still on a thread. Yet hope there is still, if we can but stand it."
The others in the room turned to the east and they all paused, watching in silence. Many questions were on their mind, yet none had the voice to speak them.
Slowly, Théoden returned to his seat. "Alas," he said, "that these evil days should be mine, and should come in my old age instead of the peace which I have earned. The young perish and the old linger, withering." He clutched as his knees with his withered hands, which hadn't yet lost the touch of darkness pressed upon him.
"Not all of us are dead yet," said a clear female voice from the head of the room. All turned to see the young woman in the green cloak approaching them, her eyes solely on the King. The companions of Gandalf stared at her, and Legolas's eyes narrowed in recognition. It had been she who had given the report in the Riddermark.
Gandalf rose and extended his hand to hers. "Merilin," he said, using the name given to her by Galadriel. She gave him a brief smile.
"It's good to see you, too," she said, before turning her attention back to the man who stared at her with polite puzzlement in his eyes.
"I have seen your eyes," he said, gazing at her intently.
"I'm… well, yeah, you have," she said, bowing her head. "It won't be the last of them you'll see, either."
She stepped to the side of the dais as Gandalf sat down again. The King was still blinking in wonder, yet the weariness was lost to him. His hand was still grasping his knee.
"Your fingers would remember their old strength better, if they grasped your sword," Gandalf said.
Théoden rose and put his hand to his side, but no sword hung from his belt. "Where has Gríma stowed it?" he muttered as he glanced around the dais, as though his sword would be lying anywhere.
"Take this, dear lord!" said a clear voice. "It was ever at your service." Two men had come quietly up the stair and now stood at the top, before the King. Éomer was there; he was the one who had spoken. There was no helmet on his head, nor did he wear armor, yet he carried a sword, and he knelt as he offered the hilt to his master.
"How comes this?" Théoden asked his eyes on his sister-son. Éomer and the other men entering the hall looked upon the King, tall and erect, with wonder, as they had last seen him withered over an old black walking stick.
"It is my doing, lord," Háma said, trembling as he gave his head a stunted bow. "I understood that Éomer was to be set free, and such joy was in my heart! Yet, since he remains a Marshal of the Mark, I brought him his sword as he asked."
"To lay at your feet, my lord," Éomer said quietly.
For a moment of silence, Théoden stood looking at Éomer as he knelt before him. Their gazes pierced the other's, and neither moved.
"Will you not take the sword?" Gandalf asked, just as Buffy finally said, "Would you take it already?"
Slowly, Théoden reached out and took the hilt. As he clasped the cold metal, it seemed to those observing that strength was returning to his weak arms. Suddenly, he lifted the blade and swung it shimmering into the air. He cried out, and the others rose to his call. The men looked at their lord in amazement, and then as one they drew their swords and laid them at his feet. Éowyn, who had followed her brother inside, rose to her own feet, although she had nothing to put to her Uncle's.
"Command us!" they said.
Buffy just stood there, staring at the stack of swords at the King's feet before she stepped forward and, pulling out her own Elvish sword, laid it with the others. Somehow, this seemed like the right thing to do, a call to arms of sorts. This was the sort of act that inspired confidence and after spending all of five days in this realm, she knew that confidence and courage were seriously lacking.
The King laid the sword flat in his hands before lowering it to Éomer. "Take back your sword!" he said. "Go, Háma, and seek my own sword! Gríma has it in his keeping. Bring him before me, also!"
Turning back to Gandalf, he inquired, "Now, Gandalf, you said that you bring me counsel. What is this counsel?"
"You have already taken it," Gandalf said with a patient smile. "To put your trust in Éomer, rather than a man of a crooked mind. To cast aside regret and fear. And this counsel is the last I offer you: every man that can ride should be sent west at once, as we must first destroy the threat of Saruman while we have time. If we fail, we fall. As for your people, they need to get to safety." He turned to the woman who stood before him, and she blinked, seemingly growing before their eyes. There was no surprise in her expression, for this story was well known and well-taught in her own verse.
Yet Buffy was not afraid to take it. For some reason, she knew what she had to say, and she said it. "For everyone left here in… (here she waited for someone to mutter 'Edoras' behind her), you need to get them out."
Éomer turned his gaze from his Uncle to the woman standing a few paces away. He stared at her in amazement, still not knowing who she was, or where she had come from. He had heard little when he was imprisoned.
"I do not understand your dialect," Théoden said kindly, trying not to feel put out at being talked to by a woman. She must be great to be in Gandalf's good grace, and she spoke with wisdom. Yet seeking the counsel of someone who spoke in a language he did not understand would not carry well with him.
"Yeah, yeah, you're just like the rest of them," Buffy muttered under her breath.
Gandalf gave her an impatient look before turning back to Théoden. "Those who remain should fly into the refuges of the mountains. Little provisions should they carry. They should not burden themselves with treasures, great or small. It is their lives that are at stake."
"What he said," Buffy said in her informal tone. She was well aware that the damned Marshal was staring at her again.
"The counsel seems good to me now," Théoden said, glancing at both the wizard and the young woman. "Let all my folk get ready! But you as my guests, the courtesy of this hall shall be opened to you. A guest-house shall be made ready: there you shall sleep, when you have eaten."
Buffy was all up for that. After nearly getting mauled by Gríma and then watching the King go from old to young, she wasn't really thinking with her brain anymore. Yet, her brain was there. It was strange. She felt as though a part of herself had left the building. Her brain really wasn't processing this on the higher level yet. This had been one bit of magic Willow hadn't ever done. Who needed a fountain of youth when there was Gandalf around?
"Nay, my lord," said Aragorn. He realized that this woman was staring at him now with an intense, thoughtful stare. "There is no rest yet for the weary. The men of Rohan must ride forth today. And I promised Éomer that my sword and his should be drawn together."
"Now indeed there is hope of victory!" Éomer said.
Buffy turned to him with a wry glance. "I vote one for the slave-driver," she muttered. Both Aragorn and Éomer turned to her, but Gandalf spoke quickly, drawing the attention of both men back to him before an argument could break out.
"Hope, yes," he said, smiling sternly at his young charge. "But Isengard is strong. And other perils draw ever nearer. Do not delay, Théoden, when we are gone. Lead your people to safety at the Hold of Dunharrow."
"No, Gandalf," said Théoden. "You do not know your own skill in healing. It shall not be so. I myself will go to war, to fall in front of the battle, if it must be."
"You… go to war?" Buffy asked, staring at a man who had, a half hour before, been a walking corpse.
"Who will guide your people if you will not go with them?" Gandalf asked.
"Uh, guys?" Buffy asked, stepping into the sunlight. "I have an idea." Many heads swung to look at her, yet she didn't step away. Her features were strong, her gaze determined. Although these people were bigger, they didn't intimidate her. As Gríma had been dragged out, something else had, too. Her fear, her reservations and her loneliness. Hell, it was great to have Gandalf back. As it was great to have Éomer free from his prison cell (although Buffy wished for once he would quit glaring at her like that) and Éowyn in her good graces.
It appeared as though many men of this hall may have underestimated this charge of Gandalf's. But before they could say anything to counteract or even demand to hear her 'idea', there was the sound of footfalls approaching. Théoden looked up and smiled grimly as the form of Gríma Wormtongue came into view.
- - - -
Buffy was well aware that she had attracted a lot of attention since she'd decided to make her presence known. She was not known for her everlasting patience or understanding, which was probably the likely reason why she had jumped into the fight. After spending how many days cooped up in this stuffy Golden Hall, she was ready to prove that Buffy Summers still had worth, even as Anne or Merilin or whatever name they called her next. She almost laughed. She had more than one name. That alone in her thoughts was ridiculous.
She had gone down with Háma to the dungeons to release Éomer. Actually, she'd been along in the event that no one would want him to be set free. She was willing to kick their asses. These people needed their General. And she, in some odd way, found maybe she needed him, too. He would make her work in this country a lot easier if he wasn't behind iron bars. He was like the masculine version of Faith, with full body armor and a beard.
When he saw her, his jaw dropped. She wore something his sister might wear, but wore a dark cloak over her gown, covering every last trace of her ability to fit in Rohirric society, erasing in any sense anything that may have caused him to think she could be like Éowyn. Her hood had been down so he could see who it was, but he was even more surprised when she opened the door herself and held it there.
"Your people need you," Buffy said to him.
He saw the intensity of her hazel eyes then. She had proud eyes, too. He lowered his own and turned to Háma, commanding the Doorward to bring him his sword. When he turned back to the young woman, he'd found she'd disappeared.
She was trickery, she was.
Upstairs now, she could see that Gríma was trembling as he was placed before the youthful King. Buffy had half a mind to run out there and throttle him herself, but she knew she'd get her chance later.
Or perhaps sooner than later, since Gríma was staring at Gandalf, rage flashing in his pale eyes. Her own eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms. Little did he know she wasn't about to be bullied by anyone, least of all this scum.
"Here, my lord," Háma said, stepping before his King and bending down to one knee, offering the hilt of a very handsome sword, one with gold and green gems. All stood and watched as Théoden rose to take the hilt in his hand and gave it a dramatic twirl in the sunlight.
"I see this pleases you," Wormtongue said, his pale tongue licking his thin lips. "I care for you and yours as best as I may. Your meat is ready; will you not go to it?"
Buffy almost started laughing. This little worm was about to distract the King of this country by offering him meat? Diversion, much? At best she let out a small snort and Gandalf glanced at her, warning flashing in his eyes.
"I will," Théoden replied, gazing at the smaller man before him. "And prepare food for my guests on the board beside me. The host shall ride today."
"It is as I feared," Gríma said in his tragic voice. "The wizard has bewitched you. Will you leave none to guard the Hall of your fathers or men to defend your treasure?"
Théoden's head snapped up, anger etching in his face. "And speak not of your treachery? Your leechcraft would have had me walking on all fours like a beast! No… if you remain in my service, I bid you come with me and prove your faith."
Buffy's eyes saw Gríma's slowly turn to Éowyn, who was watching this scene with great disgust on her lovely young face.
"If you seek my faith, I will remain at the Hall of the Mark and keep all things until your return," Wormtongue said in a velvety voice.
"You think we're gonna trust you?" Buffy asked loudly, stepping out from behind Gandalf. Gríma's eyes widened when he saw her standing there in his company. "You wouldn't stop till you're King."
"No," Gandalf said stoutly. "You do not fully understand the treachery at work here." He turned to Gríma. "How long is it since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price? When all the men were dead, were you to pick your share of the treasure, and take the woman you have so desired? Too long have you watched her. Too long have you haunted her steps."
As Gandalf spoke, Gríma's eyes returned to Éowyn, who returned his lecherous look with a disgusted gaze of her own.
"I would have slain you, as I knew this," Éomer said darkly. "But there are other reasons." He stepped forward then, his own sword raised, but Gandalf lifted his arm to hold him back.
He didn't, however, realize the figure moving on the other side of him moved far more quickly than he would have gathered, and was soon slamming the deranged servant of Saruman into the nearest column. Her eyes were flashing as she held him by his throat, which was a mark unto itself, since she was still shorter than he. "You should have known that if they didn't kill you, I would," she snarled.
For a moment, no one did anything. It wasn't until a figure stepped out and gently pried her away did the young woman finally come to her senses, but she threw the figure aside in abhorrence. "I don't need a Ranger's help," she snapped, turning about and storming from the room.
"Disregarding her rather poetic device of handling things," said Gandalf, a smile playing around his lips, "I am nevertheless correct: Éowyn is safe now. But you, Wormtongue, you are not safe. If one of the men in these Halls do not take your life, I am certain that Merilin would not hesitate to do it for them. Go back to Saruman and let his deed be done; you have done the best you were able to do."
Gríma slowly lifted himself from the floor and glared at Aragorn, who recoiled backwards several steps in apparent disgust. Then he turned to face Théoden, darkness in his gaze. Straightening to his tallest height, he spat at the King's feet and burst forth down the stairs.
"After him!" Théoden cried. "See to it that he does not harm any!"
But Gríma apparently hadn't faced his last battle at Rohan yet. As he stormed down the corridor, the damned woman who'd nearly tried to kill him upstairs was down here too, and within seconds she had a knife to his throat. Pinned against the wall, he quailed under her cold, intense gaze.
"Tell your Master this for me," she said, pressing the blade into his neck. "Gandalf isn't the only one he has to fear anymore."
"If you think Saruman would fear you," Gríma said, his eyes mocking. "You have no power here."
"I think you'll see you're wrong. Again. I'm not the one to be afraid of. Yet." She wedged the knife even closer to his skin and stood on tiptoe so that she could whisper into his ear. "The next time we meet, you're dead." Pulling back, she gave him a strange look of triumph as he fled. Within seconds, guards passed her as she sank into the shadows, sheathing her knife underneath her dark cloak. Well, at least that was over for now.
Tugging at her hair, which had come undone from the upsweep she'd managed to get it in, she retraced her steps and found everyone standing before the King as the prepared to go to dinner. Théoden had just given the order that every able-bodied man should suit up and get ready to ride, since the King was about to take on Saruman head-on.
"As if we don't get enough excitement around here," Buffy muttered as she followed the King to his table. As she walked, she heard a voice imploring to her.
"You need not have done that," Éowyn said quietly, stepping out of the shadows. Her eyes were shining as she gazed at this woman, barely younger than herself.
"I wasn't about to let him treat you like that," Buffy said, a repugnant look on her face. "You're so far above him, I doubt he can even see that sunlight."
Éowyn looked humbled as she gestured towards the stairs and the room with the King's board. "Will you not join us? I am certain the King will not mind. You have stood for his sister-daughter."
Buffy shrugged and glanced at her cloak. "Why not?" she asked. "At least this way I can pledge myself to go to war."
Éowyn's eyes were wide. "You will ride to war?"
"It's not like I haven't done that before," Buffy said darkly. "Let's go… or else by the time we get down there, they'll all be riding off without me. And I, for one, don't like being left behind."
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The next chapter: why ticking off a Marshal is never an intelligent thing to do; Buffy meets the Fellowship's royal trio.
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Sneak Preview – I Capture the Sun
This is a "sneak" excerpt from my newest fiction, I Capture the Sun, my Buffy/Legolas story. It is nearing completion and once enough of Journey's End is posted, I will begin posting this, unless I get bored and decide to do so anyway.
Summary: After leaping through the portal, Buffy arrives in Middle-earth, which she perceives to be Heaven. Joining with a female tribe to help protect the people who rescued her from the enemies of the land, she finds herself as a leader of a powerful Amazon army… until one of her plans to help eradicate the Mirkwood threat backfires and she finds herself at the mercy of the Mirkwood Prince, at last finding something worth fighting for. Set thirty years before the Fellowship of the Ring.
From Part I
The horns blew at dawn.
Those encamped in the narrow circle of tents and horses sprang to their feet as utter chaos fell around them.
For a moment, they wondered why their scouts had sounded the alarm.
And then all hell broke loose.
There was a loud cry as a figure came from the shadows, a sword flashing in her hands. There were more cries, all of them undoubtedly female. The men in the camp quickly came to arms, but by the time they had arranged themselves into some sort of order, their captain had been pulled aside by a slender figure wielding a dangerous-looking sword. Her eyes were flashing with hatred as she held the tip to their faithful Captain's neck.
"Put down your weapons," she called clearly.
All of the men complied with her order, hoping she would release her hold on their Captain, but she did not do anything of the like. Instead, she glared forcefully at all of the faces staring at her with a mixture of fear, uncertainty and awe.
"What are you doing in this land?" another voice asked. This figure was taller and carried a bow, looking slightly angered. "You pass through the land of the Lady of Shadow."
The men all glanced at one another, sudden understanding in their eyes. They had heard the tales of a woman who fought alone by night, taking out many foes.
"You lie," the Captain said, spluttering through his shattered nose as the woman's grip around his neck tightened.
"Take a good look, buddy," the figure hissed before shoving him forcefully to the ground. As she did, she revealed herself, her sword falling to her side, her eyes full of fury. "You wanna see a living legend? Here I am. You hear those stories that all those old men told of this woman who came and fought at night? You're looking at her. This is my land, so I suggest you get the hell out of here before we decide to party."
There was a rustling in the bushes as more women came, all of them in long black trousers and tunic-tops, wielding swords, bows and spears. They all wore the same look, one of mingled fury.
"We travel to Dunharrow, my Lady," said one of the lieutenants, taking a step forward. The woman turned and silenced him with her piercing hazel-eyed gaze.
"You want passage, you ask for it," she snapped. "I have not spent the last two decades making this land safe only to have men come and spread their... filth about it." Her eyes regarded him coldly. "You've got two hours. Get out of here, or I'll let these girls have some fun."
It was obvious she wasn't just saying these words, as some of the women looked positively delighted. They all turned to the men with a sort of hungered look in their eyes.
"Long have you gone unchecked through our land," the dark-haired woman said, standing next to the somewhat shorter woman.
"We only ask to travel through the hills," the Captain said, his hand cupping the flow of blood from his nose. "There is nothing else we ask."
The woman with the fair-colored hair regarded him for a moment, but then stepped hard on something upon the ground and a small axe went flipping into her hand.
"You have two hours," she said softly, a brief flash of compassion in her eyes. "Now get out of here. We've fought both the pointy-ears and the straight-backs. There's a reason why no man has passed this land in five years... and that's me."
"But--" the lieutenant protested weakly, his voice falling away as the dark-haired woman glared at him.
"You dare deny an order from a royal?" she asked coldly.
"Siri, down," the blonde said, stepping into the light of their camp. "Get out while you still can," she told the lieutenant calmly. "There are worse things than Elves in these hills."
Then, spinning, she disappeared. The dark-haired woman and a few others followed, but those surrounding the camp stood their ground, their weapons in their hands, obviously making due on the threat of the woman.
The captain sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Break camp," he uttered in frustration. "We do not need the company of the Shadow upon us."
Another preview may come later at the request of co-author.
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