Journey's End
Pairings: There are book pairings. It would be fruitless for me to deny anything else at this point, since you all seem to speculate so well.
Events: This fiction is one that follows the path of Rohan through the end of the War of the Ring. Beyond the end of the story, there are chapters concerning the first few years of the Fourth Age, after the passing of the Ringbearers into the West.
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.
In Gratitude: I really appreciate all of the reviews for the past few chapters! It really helps the imagination forward to create something a little bit different. And to those of you who think you see something that perhaps you think may not be there, it is there. It just sort of happened in the whole process of writing this story, I assure you.
Chapter Summary: Buffy comforts a grieving Éowyn while the Rohirrim prepare for war.
Chapter Warning: Where two of my chapters can pass for one day, this chapter manages to pass through three. I have never been much of a fan of the pairing that is basically squelched in this chapter, but I cannot deny the attractiveness of that particular pairing. This is mostly from the books and my imagination.
- - - - -
Chapter 13
Made To Be Broken
By Alyson Kay
- - - - -
The King of Rohan was waiting as Aragorn finally appeared, supported by his kinsman Halbarad, surrounded by the twin sons of Elrond, Buffy, Legolas and Gimli. Éomer led them to mid-field where the King was waiting.
Buffy immediately left the company and turned to where a young man was bringing Sador out from a company of others. She smiled when she recognized the young lieutenant from the battle at this Keep just days before. "Hey," she said conversationally, packing her weapons onto the saddle.
"It is good to know you will remain with us," the man told her kindly, handing her the reins.
"To the end," Buffy replied, gently tucking her battle axe inside the leather straps before pulling herself onto her magnificent steed. The horse gave a rather resentful neigh at being treated like an armory, yet she stood waiting as Aragorn stepped forward to talk with Théoden.
It was so much a part of being something huge to be perched on Sador among the hundreds of men waiting around her. It really felt as though they were preparing the cavalry for the apocalypse and just thinking of a term that was so unique to use in Rohan made her smirk slightly.
"Tell me, Théoden, how long will it be until the Rohirrim are made ready for war?" Aragorn asked, his arms folded before him. None of the others with the exception of Halbarad had an inkling of what the Ranger was speaking of, yet Buffy fidgeted slightly on Sador's back, feeling somewhat guilty that she was able to share in such intimate knowledge without the rest of his Fellowship involved. "I have heard strange words and there are newer, darker perils far off. I am now troubled in mind and must ask you how long 'ere you come to Dunharrow?"
"It will take three days by the mountains," Éomer replied curtly. "The muster shall begin as soon as the moon passes this night, but more speed we cannot make, for we must reach the end with the strength to fight."
Three days, Buffy thought to herself. It had been three days since the battle, and still much had happened. It would certainly take three days just to get to another stronghold? Edoras was a full day's ride away… certainly they could reach this armory faster. She was beginning to think that staying with the Rohirrim was made in error, considering that she was rather stronger than they were, and choosing to approach battle with fervor instead of caution was her way.
Aragorn glanced up, his face much less troubled. "Three days and I fear the muster of Rohirrim would have just only begun. I see now that my decision lies clearly before me." He straightened slightly and bowed at the waist to the King before rising, looking far less concerned. "Then, by your leave, my Lord, I shall take new counsel for myself and my kindred. I will ride east and I will take the Paths of the Dead."
The men around her began murmuring at this revelation, making Sador uneasy and making Buffy feel rather uncomfortable. They were just half-Zombie-spirits that were supposedly cursed until they could do something to repay such a debt, right? What dishonor was there in that? She thought it was rather courageous of Aragorn to stand up to the King of Rohan and speak his mind in such a way, especially as they were about to make a three-day journey into the hills to get the rest of the army waiting for them.
"That gate remains in Dunharrow," the King said, nodding slowly. "Yet the Paths of the Dead are treacherous. No living man has been able to pass."
"They will answer to one alone," Aragorn said, lowering his eyes. "This is now my path and this journey I must now take. I shall take my leave of you and wish you well, for we shall meet again."
"Alas, Aragorn," Éomer said, his tone distraught, "I had hoped that we should ride to war together, but if you seek the Paths of the Dead, then our time to part has come and I shall never see you again under the light of the sun."
"This path I must assume nonetheless," Aragorn replied, "but perhaps we will still meet again in battle, Éomer, with the host of Mordor between us."
Well, at least he was rather optimistic about his chances, Buffy thought dryly as she rode forward to stand before them. It was then she got her first good look at the twin Elves, who eyed her with curiosity. She caught herself staring intently at them for a moment before tearing her gaze away, her cheeks tinting a slight shade of pink.
"You will do so as you will, my Lord Aragorn," the King replied. "My strength is lessened at this parting, but perhaps if all you say will come, we shall meet again. Farewell!"
"Farewell, my Lords," Aragorn said, stepping aside. "Farewell, Merry! We will leave you in the safety of good hands! Legolas and Gimli will still hunt with me, I hope, but you will not be forgotten!" His eyes met Buffy's and they exchanged a silent look of understanding before she nodded and turned Sador about.
Théoden turned to Éomer and gave the order for the riders to move out. Cupping his hands over his mouth, he let out one loud cry and the Riders turned about, preparing to head through the Coomb. The ground began to tremble as five hundred horses (and one small white pony) rode through the Dike and the Coomb before crossing the river and turning to the east.
It wasn't the hardest ride, Buffy decided as she dropped towards the rear, her fair golden hair blowing in her eyes as she caught the last sight of the Deep before it disappeared completely from view.
And then a thought, one foreign in nature, entered her mind: what if she never saw the Keep again?
Forcing the thought from her mind, she continued to keep pace with the relatively skilled Rohirrim before she was completely left behind.
- - - - -
The Grey Company, as Aragorn's group came to be named, passed quickly through the plains and approached Dunharrow the following night. Éowyn was waiting for them as they entered camp, and her face brightened when she saw Aragorn leading the smaller group inside, while hundreds of pairs of eyes followed their every movement. Her eyes scanned the group, as though looking for something she didn't see.
"Did she not come with you?" Éowyn asked as Aragorn dismounted, signaling for the others to do the same.
Aragorn knew who she spoke of immediately; there was only one woman foolish enough to ride with a battalion of men, and that was Merilin. "She rides with your Uncle and you will see her in a day's time."
"I feared the worst when they said she had gone into battle," Éowyn replied, clearly distraught. "Our accommodations were not made ready, but if you choose to wait, better housing can be prepared for tomorrow's night."
"I have a swift errand I must see to," he replied. "If we may rest tonight, we will leave come dawn tomorrow, for we have no time to lose."
"Then it is kindly done, my Lord," she said, smiling up at him. "You have come many miles from your path to bring word to me."
"No man would ever count that journey to be wasted," he replied, smiling down at her. "I would still have come, for there is a road that lies beyond Dunharrow I must take."
"But, lord, there is no other road besides that to the south," Éowyn protested mildly.
"There is one road," Aragorn replied, as the rest of the Rangers, Legolas, Gimli and the sons of Elrond passed him by to enter the dining tent at the request of yet another woman of court. "Tomorrow come dawn I shall take the road of the Dimholt and ride by the Paths of the Dead."
Éowyn's mild face grew tense with concern as she blanched. "But, lord, no one may pass through the roads and emerge alive! It is certain death to pass the Road of the Dimholt."
Aragorn followed her into the tent where the others sat silently, waiting for the King's niece to arrive. "It is the only road I must take," he said firmly as he sat, his eyes never leaving her face.
"But this is madness!" Éowyn exclaimed, dropping her fork on her plate with a resounding clank. "These are men of renown that you should be leading to war and not leading to their own deaths. Why not take them into battle beside my brother, for then all hearts should be gladdened!" She stood then, rushing from the tent in her pent-up emotions, embarrassed after losing control to such feminine need. She stopped outside the tent, her arms held helplessly at her sides as she tried to choke back the tears that threatened her control.
A single hand fell on her shoulder. It was all it took for the tears to begin, but they were no tears of anguish, but tears of frustration and anger. "My Lady," Aragorn said, taking her by the arm and leading her a small distance from the tent. "There is no madness here. I will take the Paths of the Dead alone if it is in my will. I do not ask these men to go to their deaths; they choose to from their own free will."
"You shall do your duty and I shall do what is in mine," she said, her voice a blank reflection of the frustration welling within her.
"Your duty is with your people," he said gently.
She spun on him and for the first time, he caught a hint of the rage burning like a fire within her. "You speak of duty as though I were some common dry-nurse!" she spat. "I am of the house of Eorl and that would make me a shield-maiden. I have waited long enough on my faltering feet to gain a sense of honor. Why should I be left behind to watch the Riders go and find beds and food for their return?"
"There may come a time when none return, and your renown will be asked for then," Aragorn replied.
"Yet you say in no uncertain terms that my place is within the house!" Éowyn retorted. "Would you suggest the same for Merilin, who rides with my Uncle and carries with her a tale of victory?"
"This is her destiny," Aragorn replied softly. "She did not choose this, as it was chosen for her."
"As it is for me," Éowyn said. "I can wield a sword and carry a shield. I fear neither pain nor death."
"What do you fear, my Lady?" Aragorn asked, rather amused. She obviously didn't fear him, for her rant had gone on long enough to ensure such.
"A cage," she whispered, the fire flickering in her eyes. "To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them, and all chance of valor has gone beyond recall and desire."
"You have no place in this war," Aragorn told her, his voice holding a hint of warning. "The road south brings nothing but needless death. You are still a daughter of Kings… a cage will not be your fate."
There were figures starting to emerge from the tent now, thanking her for her kindness and her care before disappearing into the night. She watched them go, a myriad of emotions spreading across her face. "They will go with you because they love you," she said softly, turning at last to face him. "They would not want you to face this darkness alone, and neither should I."
Turning, she walked away, her shoulders visibly relaxing when she knew he was out of view. Letting out a long breath, she felt the tears come and didn't even attempt to stop them.
When dawn came, Éowyn was waiting for them. She was clad in Rohirric armor to the waist and with her stood the other women of the court, their heads bowed in a great symbolic show of respect as Aragorn stepped up to her, his hand touching her face. "Farewell, Lady of Rohan," he said softly. "We shall meet again."
"Do not do this," she said, her eyes imploring his. "Do not throw your life in vain. Remain here and wait for the others that come."
"I cannot," he replied, pulling his hand away. "I must go and I ride now."
"I beg of you," she said, tracking his steps as he approached his own stallion, Roheryn. "You cannot abandon the men."
"The men are not abandoned," Aragorn told her. "They still have one of considerable strength that will not rest until she sees this world freed of darkness, if it will come to her death."
Éowyn closed her eyes and looked away. Aragorn saw the expression on her face and turned back to her. "Éowyn… do not waste all of your tears on this. There will come a day when—"
"I must go," she said, interrupting him as she took a step away. "If you do not know my reason for being here, than I surely have no reason to remain." With a small sigh, she turned, her skirts lifting as she hurried towards the arch leading from the stables.
"I know what it is you seek," he said to her back. She paused as he approached.
"Let me ride with you," she said, not looking at him. "Let me ride and show you I am able to be of renown and glory! Let me prove my love…" She turned to him, wishing for him to see her determination and her courage that burned ever so brightly in her eyes. It was apparent when she saw the look on his face; the one about to stab rejection into her very heart that she knew this resolve was defeated.
"Nay," Aragorn replied, reaching out to touch her face. He carefully considered his next words as his fingers brushed her trembling cheek. "Since I first saw you, I wished you all of the joy that would come into your life. But I cannot give you what you seek."
She took a step back and he felt his own heart lighten despite the look of deep disappointment across her face. He turned away, not seeing the stricken tears in her eyes. She was still standing there when the Riders rode past, and until the last glimpse, she was still standing in the archway, looking as though the world had finally reached its end.
- - - - -
The second night was the most difficult night for Buffy. After a full day's ride with little rest the night before, she was ready to collapse on anthills if she could. When the night was finally full and the moon was waning overhead, Théoden gave the order to make camp for the night and Buffy eagerly pulled out her blanket, ready to settle down in the rather rocky hills for a good, long sleep.
But it was not to be. After only two hours she was shaken awake by the young Hobbit and, in a rather foul temper, she hastily got back onto Sador. The men were wise to avoid her as they continued their slow ride across many dales and crossing the many streams.
Merry seemed perfectly content to be as foul-tempered as she was. Realizing it was also partially her fault considering Merry had lost all of his traveling companions; she swore that she herself would not be one of them. The men did take the time to speak with her, especially those she'd known since Helm's Deep. They were rather fascinating to get to know, and she found herself intrigued by many stories. But it was that late night that she rode up to Stybba and to Merry, who looked at her through sleepy eyes.
"They're really playing slave drivers, aren't they?" she asked sympathetically. Merry, not having a clue what a slave-driver was, simply nodded and yawned. "You know," she added, slowly, "you really don't strike me as the silent type."
"It is rather strange with no one to talk to," Merry replied. "My thoughts keep wandering back to my friends. I wonder where Pippin would have gone, and what would become of Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. Lastly my thoughts would come to Frodo and Sam who have the most important quest of us all, but I seem to have forgotten them."
"It's not easy to be forgotten, is it?" she asked, recalling with a fading amount of bitterness her friend's estrangement just weeks before (or years ahead). "If you want someone to talk to, you can talk to me. I could use a story or two to keep me awake. From what I've heard, you're full of them. So, come, tell me a story."
Many hours passed and soon they were riding into the sunlight, splashing across another stream. Buffy was now riding up next to the King, having left Merry in far better spirits before they had crossed. Éomer rode behind them and was running a commentary on the landscape as they passed through the different locales. In the distance, under the failing sunlight, there were many fires on the horizon.
"Our journey is ending," Théoden told her as they continued the slow ride up the hills. "Snowbourne is there," he added, pointing to a large mountain top in the distance. "That is where Rohan's great armory is held."
"It looks like a postcard," Buffy commented, her eyes on the scenery in the distance.
It wasn't but another hour before there was a great cry and a small group of guards came forward, crying, "Théoden King! Théoden King! The King of the Mark returns!"
Théoden held up his hand in welcome as one of the guards blew a great horn and the sound reverberated through the entire valley. As they cleared the crest of the hill, gaining nearly fifty riders and leaving fifty to stand guard behind, she saw, to her immense surprise, thousands of tents and horses gathered on the plain. "Wow," she said softly under her breath.
"Indeed," Éomer said at her left elbow. She turned to look at him, his frame reflecting in the hundreds of fires lit around them as the King was welcomed by what seemed like every single group of men crowding around the fires. "You should see the view from above."
"Above…" she said, her voice hanging until she saw the long crisscross passageway leading up the side of the mountain. "Oh. We go up there?"
"If you are too frightened and wish to remain here, I am certain many would not argue," Éomer replied, riding ahead slightly.
"Are they worried I'll chop off their heads?" she asked in a soft, mock-sympathetic voice.
"They are more concerned with your voice," Éomer replied. "You speak far too much for a woman."
"Maybe it's because the only women you know are in the kitchen making endless perfect stews," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, when are you going to get over this whole submissive thing? I don't do little French maid."
"If we could only be so lucky," another guard said, riding up on her right.
Both men exchanged a small smile of triumph as she sighed in frustration and rode ahead, much to the curiosity of the thousands watching her move. Where had she come from, and since when did women ride with the King's company who were not in his family, as many of the royal women who were considered kin were already on top of Snowbourne waiting his arrival?
They continued their slow climb up the steep hill, zigzagging back and forth, Sador following the other horses willingly, the King still riding in the front.
When they came over the crest of the last slope, they came upon an encampment. Along side the road were women who were bowing respectively to their King and his First Marshal. At the head of them, nearest the first series of tents, was Éowyn. When she saw them, she bore a small smile. She was clad in Rohirric armor to the waist and also carried a sword.
"Hail, Lord of the Mark!" she called, slowly and dramatically as a great cheer went around the smaller encampment as the kindred knights came forward to welcome. Buffy noticed that of all the soldiers they had ridden with, only a few remained. She dismounted Sador and handed her horse to one of the women stepping forward for her, her hands outstretched. Sador tossed her head and turned to Buffy, as though asking why her owner would give her up so easily again.
"We'll ride soon again, my friend," Buffy promised Sador, rubbing her horse and nuzzling her one last time before pulling back. Theoden was continuing to talk to Éowyn.
"Is all well with you?" Théoden asked his niece, who stood there patiently, waiting for the others to come forward.
"All is well," she replied, and Buffy looked at her closely. Éowyn looked brave for the sake of standing before twenty knights, a woman and a Hobbit, who was still struggling off of Stybba. But at a second glance, she looked as though she'd had a good, heartfelt cry. "All is well," she repeated, as though trying to convince herself of the same. "All has now been ordered, as you see. The Riders are arriving and will ready to move at your command. Your lodging has been prepared for you, for I was told that you would be coming."
"So Aragorn has come then?" Éomer asked, glancing around, as though hoping the Ranger would spring from one of the tents with his usual dour expression. "Is he still here?"
Buffy immediately knew the answer. It was the only reason that could explain why Éowyn, one of the strongest women she knew, would break down and weep. "No, he has gone," she said, lifting a trembling hand to gesture to the south, where the dark mountains lurked in the distance. "He has gone towards the Dwimorberg."
"Tell me," Théoden said, "did he speak of that road?"
"Yes," Éowyn replied, as many around her exchanged a dark glance, "he spoke of the Paths of the Dead."
"So, he's gone," Buffy said, stepping forward. "He decided to go anyway."
"I tried to dissuade him," Éowyn said, glancing at her. "He would not hearken to me."
And this, Buffy believed, was the reason why Éowyn was behaving as such. "I'm sorry," Buffy said softly.
"It is not your fault," Éowyn replied, turning back to Théoden.
"You are grieved, my daughter," Théoden said, gazing more intently into the eyes of his niece. "Are you certain that all is well?"
Éowyn hesitated at this answer and Buffy knew it was her turn to intervene.
"I'll take care of that," Buffy said quickly, rushing forward and taking Éowyn's arm. The taller woman stared at her in disbelief, but Buffy kept her smile stoically on her face. "We'll see you at dinner. For now, we need to have what you males might call tea time."
Éowyn again hesitated but saw that she wasn't going to win out. Buffy's eyes were rather stern and her grip was quite painful and before she knew it, the woman was being dragged sideways away from the guards making their way towards their tents.
"Here's the thing," Buffy said, once they finally reached a small area between tents where they could talk without being overheard. "You may be able to fool your Uncle and your brother, but you can't fool me. I've been through more than you can imagine, and I know he said something to you."
Éowyn didn't have to ask who Buffy meant. All she could do was slowly shake her head. "He could not give me what I sought," she said, her voice small and defeated. "I offered myself to serve with him, and he would not take my hand. I… I asked him to stay behind to fight with my brother, by his side where he belongs and he refused."
"Éowyn," Buffy said gently, reaching for the other woman. "You have to understand –"
"He told me he wished me all the joy in my life since he first saw my face," Éowyn said, glancing at Buffy and meeting her intense gaze. "He did not want what I could give him."
"You didn't want him though, did you?" Buffy asked softly, stroking the woman's arm in comfort. "You wanted what he stood for. You want to go and fight in a stupid war and die in a blaze of glory, I can't blame you for wanting that! But you have to realize that you're better than that. Sure, you've been born into a family of fighters and your destiny is waiting for you out there someplace. I can't blame you for wanting that, but before you go off to war and prepare to die the most painful way possible, you have to find yourself first."
"What of you?" Éowyn asked softly. "You fight because Aragorn spoke of your destiny. Have you found yourself first?"
"This is what I am," Buffy replied. "I was born and this is what I am. I'm not some delicate little kitchen-maid as your brother keeps insisting I should be."
"You have spoken with my brother?" Éowyn asked.
"Many, many times," Buffy said, deadpanning. "I can't decide whether or not I like him or if I want to hurt him really, really painfully."
Éowyn's gaze was stronger now and the tears were gone. A small smile played around her lips. "Perhaps you have found a home with my people."
"I'm a human being," Buffy said with a shrug. "I adapt well. You're a human being, and friendship is born."
"This is not what I speak of," Éowyn replied.
Buffy suddenly understood what Éowyn meant. "Oh, no! You can't possibly think that I… that he… oh, no! And a hundred thousand more after that… that's just…"
"I think you protest too much," Éowyn said, stepping around Buffy and heading back towards the camp, leaving Buffy with her rather alarming thoughts.
Dinner that night turned out to be an interesting affair. Buffy was asked to sit at the King's table and did so, feeling rather uncomfortable. Merry did most of the talking, but chose the unfortunate topic of the Paths of the Dead, inquiring where Aragorn had gone.
"We do not know where the Lord Aragorn has gone, and for this our hearts are heavy," Éomer said, setting down his goblet and turning to regard the Hobbit. "As for the Paths of the Dead, you have taken your first steps, as beyond this encampment lies the road of the Dimholt and the Dwimorberg mountain. What lies beyond that no man knows."
"Legend speaks of a door on the Dwimorberg," Théoden said quietly, glancing at his plate. "Men pass a stony road and take the door under the mountain, but what becomes of them, no living man can say, for none have returned."
"It's just so like him," Buffy said, laying down her fork. "Could he pick a more dangerous place?"
"I agree with you," Merry said, glancing at her. "But why would he go that way?"
"Obviously he does have a death wish," Buffy murmured, returning to her dinner.
"Greatly changed he seemed to me since I first saw him in Edoras," Éowyn said softly, glancing down at the table. "He seemed grimmer and older."
Buffy, recalling the experience of Aragorn wrestling with an oversized marble shuddered and pulled her cloak tighter around her as a cool breeze swept through the dining tent.
"Perhaps he was called to take this road," Théoden said thoughtfully. "Yet my heart tells me I shall not see him again. He is a kingly man with a high destiny, my daughter. If any man can fulfil this journey, he would be the one that many would trust the most."
"He'll do it," Buffy said, her eyes meeting Éowyn's. "He'll find what he's looking for and something good will come of it."
"How do you know this?" Éowyn asked, her voice still lost in the grief despite the fact she'd resigned herself not to weep anymore.
"It's what he does," Buffy replied. "If he feels that he can talk to a psychotic zombie ghost-spirits, I'd say more power to him."
Before anyone else could respond, there was the sound of shouting and loud talking outside. The King straightened in his chair and Éomer made the move to stand up, but Buffy put up her hand. "I'll check it out. You, sit."
Turning, she disappeared out of the tent, her cloak fluttering as she was swallowed by the darkness. Amidst the many male voices, a single female voice inquired about the noise. From what they could hear inside the King's dining tent, someone was approaching that hadn't stopped to speak to the many, many Rohirrim below.
As Théoden told Merry the tale of the King that had gone to the mountain, Buffy swept forward towards the sharp drop-off leading into the valley below. Many fires flickered in the deepening twilight as she reached the edge rather quickly. A few of the guards had come with her, as though questioning why she had come and not a Marshal. But, then again, she had come out of the King's tent, so a friend she must be.
Her eyes sought out what she'd been looking for immediately. A single horse was halfway up the steep criss-crossing path.
"Do you have a sword?" she asked the guard standing over her right shoulder.
"Aye," he replied.
"Good," she said, smiling up at him. "I might need it in a bit."
"You wish to use my sword?" the guard asked. "This sword has been in my family for—"
"I never said I was going to run off with it," Buffy replied testily, her eyes narrowing as she stared down the sharp drop. "I'm just saying that if I start screaming down there, drop it, okay?"
These had to be the strangest orders the poor man had ever received. "I trust that you would—"
"I'll give it back," she snapped, turning to face him. And then, with a parting smile, she said, "Wish me luck!"
Turning, she ran to the edge, not stopping as she dropped down the other side.
There were sharp gasps as men quickly ran over to the side, peering down in the darkness, not seeing if she'd even fell onto anything solid before tumbling a thousand feet to a gruesome death below.
Buffy landed on the edge near one of the stout little statues, crouched low to the ground as she moved slowly along the path before dropping onto the next diagonal. The figure was turning uphill below her and she moved forward so that she could be seen easily, as not to scare the horse into tumbling both it and its rider over the side of the mountain.
It was another few, silent minutes before she actually saw the figure sitting on the horse in clear view. She stepped forward and when he spied her, he gasped. The horse he was riding reared and nearly toppled sideways. Buffy moved forward swiftly and took the flying reins, holding them tightly in her hands as the horse seemed to calm down at her presence, seeing that she wasn't something about to attack it.
"What madness is this?" he asked in a hushed voice.
Buffy could swear she could hear his heart beating from where she stood, rubbing the horse's nose gently. "It's called a welcoming party," she replied with a smirk. "I'm the one making sure you're not some mad axe murderer."
"You are but a woman," he said, his eyes narrowed as he scanned her face in the darkness.
She sighed dramatically, tossing the reins back towards the rider. "Come on," she said stoutly, walking in front of him. "I should have known it'd be one of you Rohirrim trying to scare everyone half to death."
"I'm not of Rohan," he said clearly, enjoying the way she seemed to pause and turn slowly back to face him.
"You're not," she replied. It wasn't a question. It was a deadpanned statement.
"I come from Gondor," the man replied. "I have a message for your King."
"He's not my King," Buffy replied. "Well, I suppose he is… but I'm not from Rohan either."
"We are both strangers on this road in some distant land," the man replied, bowing his head towards her. "Tell me, what purpose does frightening a man to his death serve on the eve of battle?"
"If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead all ready," she replied, continuing on. "Come on… you're already taking forever… I never thought you'd ever get to the top."
Once they'd finally reached the top, the man dismounted his horse, hurrying after the woman continuing directly towards the line of tents in the near distance. "You never spoke your name," he said, finally coming to her side.
"It's… not important," she said, ignoring this fact. "You're from Gondor?"
"Yes," the man replied, pulling something from his cloak. She paused, her hands poised to strike, until she saw it was a black arrow. "I wanted to make certain it was still in place."
"Oh, right," Buffy replied, turning about. "What's with the arrow?"
"The arrow is a symbol of the unity between Rohan and Gondor in times of war," the man replied. "I have come as a messenger for the Steward, Denethor. I come to speak to your King."
"We've been through this," Buffy said patiently. "Not my King, but I still follow him."
"Who are you?" the man inquired, watching as she moved. She was quick on her feet and she spoke as though nothing could bother her. At first impression, she gave the aura of dottiness, but at this second impression, he saw that these guards respected her as they lowered their arms and nodded at her. For some reason, she had joined with these Rohirrim and they seemed to recognize her.
Buffy's face showed recognition, but she said nothing. They reached the King's dining tent and the guards immediately stood, their swords aimed into the darkness. When they saw Buffy leading a young man forward, they bowed and stepped away.
"He's safe, don't worry," she told them. To the man, she added, "Stay here."
She ducked inside the tent as the others turned to face her. Their plates were clear and they looked ready to head off to bed. "There is a messenger here to see you," she said calmly. "He's from Gondor."
"See him in," the King said, rising to his feet as the others at the table did the same. Buffy nodded and ducked back out of the tent.
"Come on," she said to him for a third time. "He's waiting."
Giving her an odd look, he swept past her as she held open the flap before following him in and standing by his side. When his eyes fell upon Théoden, he smiled with relief and moved to Théoden's side, dropping down to one knee and holding out the black arrow. In this light, Buffy could see that the tip was painted a bright, blood-red.
"I bring word to you from Denethor," he said, as Théoden took the arrow with a trembling hand. ""Hirgon am I, errand-rider of Denethor. I bring to you now the Red Arrow, for now is our direst hour of need. Rohan has often aided us and now Lord Denethor asks for all of your strength and all of your speed, lest Gondor fall at last."
"What tidings do you bring?" Éomer asked him, staring down hard at this young man on his knee. Hirgon nodded before rising to both feet. Glancing at the woman still standing at his side, he turned back to Théoden, looking uncertain about speaking so openly in front of two women.
"These women are of my house, and if you speak plainly to me, you may speak it before them," Théoden said quietly. "Merilin has ridden under the guidance of the White Wizard and has brought counsel to me in dark times."
Hirgon turned to regard her in a new light, for he had seen this Gandalf riding and had heard news of his tidings.
"Very well," he replied, turning back to face the King of Rohan. "Many enemies are moving to strike the city of Minas Tirith. It is before these walls that the great doom of our time will be decided. If we do not strike there with haste, then the last of the free lands will fall."
"Dark tidings, indeed," Théoden said, frowning as he gazed at the table before pacing slightly. "Rohan will answer the call of Gondor, but we must look to our own borders. I can promise no more than six thousand, for I must protect my own cities. We have already suffered much loss, as well, as Saruman took many from our numbers." He turned towards Buffy then. "It is a long road, and men and beast must reach the end with the strength to fight."
"How long until the forces of Rohan are ready to ride to the city and to the aid of Gondor?" Hirgon asked.
"Two days," Buffy said, before Théoden could answer. "We ride the day after tomorrow for war."
"My counsel has spoken," Théoden replied, nodding at Hirgon. "Éowyn," he continued. "Fetch this man a plate and give him lodgings for tonight. In the morning, we shall give him a new horse. I retire for the night, and must bid farewell to you all."
After Théoden had left, many of the others walked out as well, leaving Buffy and Éowyn alone in the tent with one guard and Hirgon of Gondor. Éowyn quickly fixed him a plate and handed it to him.
"You must hasten to our aide," Hirgon said to Buffy as she took the seat across from him, taking her own half-eaten plate. "I fear the city will be razed to the ground before Rohan could answer."
"Rohan will be ready," she replied, picking up her fork. "You have my word, man of Gondor."
He nodded. "The word of a woman is the most truthful, if nothing else. It is good to know that you serve the King of Rohan."
"It is," she replied, turning her attention to her plate. Éowyn waited until they were finished before the company left the tent behind. Éowyn showed Hirgon to his lodgings before turning back to Buffy, but a figure had already come out of the darkness and she paused, recognizing her brother's frame.
Buffy glanced up when she saw him. "Oh, I'm so not in the mood to argue with you right now," she said, shaking her head and holding up her hand, hoping he would take the hint and walk away.
He did not.
"How could you speak to that man without seeking first the will of the King?" Éomer asked her quietly, not wanting to provoke her further.
"Were you about to tell him it would take us a week to get there?" Buffy asked impatiently. "He looked about two seconds from breaking down completely. The last thing we need is a psychotic guy from Gondor pestering us about hastening and making way and preparing the coming and whatever else he could pester us about."
"That was still unwise," he replied, but his voice had lost its edge.
"No one said I was perfect," Buffy sighed, finally closing her fist and pulling it back to her side. "I think I need to sleep for a few hours before I can think logically again."
As she walked past him, he reached out and touched her arm. "Sleep well," he said quietly.
"Thanks," she replied, taken aback by this rare moment of kindness. "You too," she added, before walking away.
Éowyn caught up with her as she reached the line of sleeping tents.
"I set your armor and your weapons inside my tent," Éowyn said quickly, pulling her towards an elaborate white tent and leading the younger woman inside. A single light lit the dim interior, but there were two pallets on the floor, both set with blankets and throws.
"Thanks," Buffy said, unclasping her cloak and setting it over the back of her armor. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get some sleep now."
"Of course," Éowyn said, bowing her head. "I will see you come morning."
Buffy didn't have the energy left to answer her as she sat down on the edge of one of the boards, undoing her boots before she rolled onto her back. Even though she was sleeping on a stack of wood, it was as comfortable as a feather mattress. Before her mind could begin to process all she had taken in since her arrival to this mountain, she was fast asleep.
- - - - -
In the next part, the Rohirrim ride for war as Gondor prepares for the latest siege as the war begins.
In the part after that, the Rohirrim ride to the aide of Gondor as Aragorn prepares to return to his city in need of its King. Following that part, this story will have finally reached its halfway point.