Journey's End
Pairings: There are book pairings.
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 do thank you for taking the time to read this story. I would like to ask you for your opinion however, now that we are nearing the halfway point of the story. This story has been a year in the making and is quite dear to both my co-author and myself. Your reviews and opinions are welcome, but just so you know, I tend to take criticism badly. I am just one of those people whose egos tend to bruise a little easier than others, I guess. I think it is because I spent far too much time alone as a child instead of with my brothers.
Chapter Summary: The Rohirrim ride to a war that has already begun.
Chapter Warning: This is definitely a book-worthy chapter. I adore this chapter in the books, but, alas… it belongs to Mr. Tolkien, one of my three British lords of the pen. Also, my apologies for this chapter being so late as everyone in my family, including myself, has fallen ill with the flu. It has come to the point where my mother has come to watch over us. I did want to do a few productive things today and this is one of them. The next chapter of my other story will be posted once I am feeling a little better as it still needs to go through the editing process.
- - - - -
Chapter 14
Into the Woods
By Katrina Claire
- - - - -
The city of Minas Tirith seemed to at last awaken as small forces came in from the distant lands. Pippin stood beside Bergil, son of Beregond, one of the guards of Faramir, a captain of Gondor. The first to arrive were the men from Lossarnach, led by Forlong and greatest of them all were the ones who had just passed, Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Even as the Prince and his grand knights passed by on horseback, they drew long paths of dust that rose and fell as the winds swept across the valley.
There were less than three thousand in total. Their cries and the sounds of their horns died away as they passed through the city gates. The cheers soon died out as more scanned the valley for others, but no more would come.
After they returned back to the city, Pippin took his leave, returning to the Citadel for his guard. Even with the distance from the edge of the city, he saw the dark clouds gathering beyond the city walls. His thoughts drew onwards towards better things, such as dinner, and he hurried off to the mess.
He met Beregond there, who sat by his side to await Pippin's news on his son. Once they had finished eating, Pippin stayed for awhile, wishing he could see Gandalf.
When he left, darkness had settled. He found his way through the dimness to his lodging and stepped inside, glancing around for Gandalf. Instead, he found a dark room ready for resting, and Pippin gladly took this rest, despite his motivation to find Gandalf.
In the night he was awakened by a light. Rising, Pippin saw Gandalf pacing to and fro, his brow furrowed in thought, muttering under his breath. He appeared that he was questioning Faramir's intentions on whether or not he would return to Minas Tirith.
Pippin slipped around the edge of a curtain, drowsy and disheveled. "I thought you had forgotten all about me," he said. "I am glad to see you back. It has been a long day."
Gandalf turned to him, frowning slightly. "But the night will be too short," he said heavily. "I have come back here to think for awhile and to find some peace alone. You should sleep if you can. When the summons comes, you will return to Lord Denethor, but it will not be at sunrise. The Darkness has begun." His frown deepened as he stared out of the archway into the darkness. "There will be no dawn."
- - - -
Buffy was awakened on the second morning by the sound of voices. She lifted her head from her makeshift pillow and slowly got to her feet. It was still dark outside when she poked her head through the tent, pulling on her cloak. She was just fastening it when a figure emerged from the darkness. It was one of the guards.
"What's with the noise?" she asked grumpily, throwing the cape back behind her.
"It is morning and we will be riding out soon," the guard replied, giving her a stern look. "The King has been sending for you."
"Oh, good," Buffy replied, and with a quick goodbye headed towards the King's tent. Éowyn was standing outside, waiting for her.
"You have come? A second errand-rider from Gondor has come," Éowyn said in a rushed tone of voice.
"And you didn't let me intimidate him?" Buffy asked in a mock-injured voice as she reached the edge of the tent. "You take away all my fun."
"I would hardly consider a man bringing tidings of war to be part of your amusement," Éowyn chastised, but she was smiling.
Buffy just gave her a quick smile before ducking inside the tent.
The previous day had been spent mostly in Éowyn's company, as far away from the grubby riders as she could get. Of course, walking around watching someone change bedcovers and clean armor wasn't exactly exciting, but it gave them ample opportunity to bond a bit more.
Buffy felt well-rested and relaxed. But her mood instantly changed when she saw the group of men inside the tent.
It was even darker inside, with two small lights set in the middle of the table. When they saw her, everyone in the tent lapsed into an uneasy silence.
"I think that this was the wrong time," Buffy said, her voice falling off. "I'll be out… there."
But before she could leave, she heard someone calling her name. At first, she didn't respond to "Merilin", but she finally turned back.
"I would expect my counsel to be here at this time," Théoden said, moving around the two errand-riders and extended his hand towards her. She took a deep breath and moved into the circle of men, not glancing at the circle of Marshals and Captains standing around the large tent.
"I'm here," Buffy said quickly. "I'm just not really awake yet… what is… what is all of this?"
Éomer chose to be the one to speak up. "We move out this morning, or did you forget it was you who chose this day for us?"
"No, no," Buffy said, waving her hands impatiently. "Why did you wake me in the middle of the night to tell me this?"
"It is past daybreak," one of the Captains replied, giving her a strange look.
"Really?" Buffy asked softly. "Why is it so dark?"
"We were about to be told," Théoden replied, turning to the second errand-rider standing besides Hirgon. "Speak."
"The darkness, my Lords, comes from Mordor," the second man said. He was somewhat shorter than the first, and broader in the shoulders. Buffy leaned against one of the posts, eyeing him warily, knowing the news he was about to bring would be bad. "It began last night at sunset. From the hills in the Eastfold of your realm I saw it come and creep across the sky, eating the stars as I rode on at night. Now a great cloud hangs over all of the land between here and the Mountains of Shadow, and it is deepening. War has already begun."
The King stood with his hands behind his back for a moment. At last he spoke. "So, we come to it in the end," he said softly, "the great battle of our time, in which many things shall pass away. We will ride the straightest and most open road and with all of our speed." He turned to Éomer then. "It is time… marshal the Riders."
He nodded and turned to the other leaders who rose and left the tent in tow. Great horns rang out close by and soon were answered by the horns from below.
The King continued issuing orders until only he, Buffy and the two errand-riders from Gondor remained.
"We must return to Minas Tirith with news of your arrival," Hirgon said.
"Merilin," Théoden said, turning to the young woman still loitering near the entrance. "Would you see to it these men are given fresh horses before they take their leave?"
"Yeah," Buffy replied, waving the two men forward. "I'll take care of it."
Merry was waiting outside with Éowyn when the King appeared on the heels of his counsel and their two guests, who hurried in the direction of the makeshift stables. Éowyn gave her Uncle a nod before turning and walking off after the younger woman, leaving the Hobbit with the King.
"I am going to war, Master Meriadoc," he said. "I release you from my service, but not from my friendship. You shall abide here, and if you will, you shall serve the Lady Éowyn who will govern the folk in my stead."
"But, but…" Merry protested. "I offered you my sword. I do not want to be parted from you like this. All of my friends have gone into battle; I would be ashamed to be left behind."
"It is five days ride to Minas Tirith, and none of my riders can bear you as a burden." The King took in the determined face of the Hobbit and he gently stepped forward, clasping the Hobbit's shoulder. "I shall say no more."
The King moved away to prepare his things as Buffy and Éowyn returned. "Come now, Merry," Éowyn said, moving forward and wrapping an arm over the Hobbit's shoulders. "I will show you the gear I have had prepared for you. This was the only request Lord Aragorn had, and I do wish to see it through."
Buffy watched as they both walked along the line of tents before ducking back inside the tent she shared with Éowyn. She quickly dressed in her tunic and trousers before pulling on her armor. The horns were ringing again as she stepped out, dragging her entire arsenal behind her.
"There," Éowyn said, watching as Merry pulled on the tiny helmet she'd found for him. "A true esquire of Rohan."
Merry took up the shield she'd handed him, fit for a Dwarf, but bearing the white horse of Rohan. He gave it a little spin and smiled up at her. She sighed and glanced at him. "We have no mail to fit you, and a sword you already have."
He noticed the look on her face as he continued to play with his new things. "Come," she said, as an afterthought. "Let us see the others off."
Merry skipped ahead as Éowyn hung back, her brother approaching from his own tent, clad in his own armor. "You should not encourage him," he said as he came up beside her.
"You should not doubt him," she said, turning to glare at her older brother. "Merry has as much cause to go to war as any of you. Why can he not fight for those he loves?"
"You know as little of war as that Hobbit," Éomer replied coolly. "When the fear takes him and the blood and the screams and the horrow of battle take hold, do you think he would stand and fight? He would flee. And he would be right to do so. War is the province of Men, Éowyn."
"What of her?" Éowyn asked him as they watched Buffy stalk across the camp, barking out orders. "Would you say the same to her?"
Éomer hesitated and his sister gave a small smile of triumph. "She fights because she must," he finally offered. "She would have it no other way."
Éowyn watched as her brother moved off after the younger woman. "Maybe she too fights for those she loves," she said softly.
Buffy was adding her weaponry to Sador's saddle when Éomer caught up with her, his own horse in tow. "Are we ready to go?" she asked crisply.
"The men are beginning to move down to the valley," he replied, watching with some amusement at the number of sharp objects hanging from the saddle of Buffy's horse. "Do you intend to use all of those?"
"Yeah," she said absentmindedly, adding her sword at last to the stash. "It's better to have a variety."
"Your horse will tire quickly," Éomer replied.
"I'm light-weight, so it'll be the same as one of you riding her," Buffy said cheerfully as she mounted Sador and the horse clanked away to join in the long queue slowly making their way down the hill. She glanced left to see that Éomer was riding up beside her, and beyond that was Merry, standing in his partial armor, his sword at his side, looking forlorn. She truly wished she could take him with her, but she felt that was pushing it a bit too far.
Merry stood watching as the horses disappeared one-by-one down the slope. He was turning to go back to the tents when a hand came out of nowhere and clasped his shoulder. "Where will wants not, a way opens," a voice said softly in his ear. "Will you ride me with?"
Merry thought the voice sounded familiar, but he was far too grateful to accept such an offer than inquire this stranger's identity. "I will."
Two hours later, many thousands stood gathered before their Lord in the half-light. Buffy rode to the front, her eyes staring at the group around her. The King came forward and with him was Éomer and the rest of his guards, almost a hundred men. Buffy silently urged Sador to ride with them as Éomer started the call.
"Form up! Move out!" he cried as they rode amongst the lines of men. "Form up! Move out!"
"Ride now to Gondor!" Théoden added as his own guard swept forward, the thousands of riders following behind. Among the first in line was the rider bearing the Hobbit, and more speed they gathered as they rode towards the mountains, splashing across the river.
- - - -
There was a great dark cloud moving over the city of Minas Tirith. Along the great walls, Gondorians were gathering and testing the armaments, walking back and forth between the towers on the outer wall. In the distance, a great rumble sounded. The air was brown and heavy, and even as Pippin stood along the wall, staring into the darkness, he felt as though he would rather be anywhere but here.
Beregond stood beside him, staring out into the gloom.
"You are weary this day?" Beregond asked him after a moment of silent reflection.
"Yes," Pippin replied. "I am tired with the idleness and waiting. I have kicked my heels at the door of my master's chamber for many slow hours while he has debated with his captains and Gandalf. I am not used to waiting on such great men, and I should feel the honor more deeply. But what is the good of such honor? What is the good of anything under this creeping shadow? What does it mean? Is this often the weather of such gloom when the wind comes from the east?"
"This is no weather of this world," Beregond said softly. "This is some device of malice, some broil of fume he sends from the Mountain of Fire to darken our hearts and counsel. And so it should be, as it seems. I wish the Lord Faramir would return. He would not be dismayed."
"Yes," Pippin replied. "Gandalf, too, is anxious. Where has he gone to? He left the Lord's Council before the end, and in no good mood, either."
Their thoughts were cut off by the emergence of an even greater darkness, one that seemed to strike all of the men on the wall dumb. They stared with starting eyes to five figures swooping out of archer's reach on the Pelennor fields below. Their cries were those piercing of hatred and power, and all that stood along the wall cowered.
"Look!" Beregond cried. "There are fell things below!"
The five figures circled and swooped as Pippin risked a look, his hands pressed over his ears. Even as the cries of the Nazgûl died away, there was the sound of a single horn.
"Faramir!" Beregond breathed. "That is his call…"
Even as the others watched, transfixed in horror, the five figures swept down upon the group of Riders coming in from the wall.
"Will no one come to save him?" Beregond demanded, turning away from the wall. "Will no one go out to him?"
Pippin, cursing his fear, stared at the scene unfolding before his eyes, until, in the distance; a great white light appeared, riding out behind the others. "Gandalf," he breathed. "Gandalf! It is the White Rider!" At his voice, many others came forward, breathing out his name as they watched, as though spectators of a great arena sport.
One of the five wheeled towards this newcomer, but it seemed to Pippin that Gandalf raised his hand and a piercing white light filled the brown gloom. The Nazgûl gave a long, wailing cry and swerved away; and with that the other four wavered before rising and speeding towards the east.
For a short while, the light from the fields seemed to brighten before it all started to fade away and hope began to wane again in every heart.
- - - -
The second day was the hardest to travel, Buffy decided. It was too dark to see much of anything, and that made it even more difficult. Telling time during a blackout was the biggest dilemma, at least in Buffy's opinion.
They had ridden overnight, driven by the need to cross the long plains to Gondor. They kept to the mountains, crossing over the smaller paths and streams. It was finally decided in the early morning that scouts needed to be sent out again.
Buffy rode up to Théoden and quickly dismounted, glancing around at the circle of men around her. They had finally decided on taking a short break since many were weary and despite the growing darkness, they kept moving. Buffy was surprised by their determination, and touched all the same.
"Are you sending out scouts?" Buffy asked him, reaching for the reins on his horse to hold him steady as the King smoothly dismounted.
"Yes," he replied, squinting at her. "Let me assume you wish to join them."
"I do," Buffy replied. "You need someone out there who can see, and I can see just fine. It'd be best if you had someone out there who can tell you when the baddies come before they kill your scouts."
"Perhaps you are correct," Théoden said slowly. "Perhaps it would be best if you were to join with the scouts."
"Then, it's settled!" Buffy said cheerfully, turning on her heel and pulling Sador behind her. In the valleys below, she could see great groups of men gathered by their cooking fires. She walked over to where the guards were gathered around a single fire and stooped low to warm her hands. She felt eyes on her, but she didn't turn. It was really odd to stand here among all of these men and feel as though she had some pull over them. But, for some reason, she did.
"Will you ride with us?" a voice asked behind her. She rose and turned to face three men mounted on steeds. She nodded and the three rode off. Making her way through the encampment, she found Sador grazing with other horses and gently stroked her mane.
"You up for a little scouting, girl?" she asked her horse softly as she mounted her, turning her about. As she moved, she felt the strangest sensation. Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes strayed over the many men gathered over small cooking fires, all set about their own business. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought there was something there that shouldn't be there, but she could not see it. In the distance, there were more fires as more men came to their encampments. Shaking off the feeling, she turned and rode onwards.
The four riders cantered gracefully down the smooth rock before slowing to trudge up a rocky slope.
For hours they rode ahead, occasionally dividing into two groups. It was only when Buffy and a secondary scout came to an outcrop did she see something that made her blood turn to ice.
On their second day of scouting, they finally came across something other than smoke or haze to report.
There was a road in the valley, marching from the west. Sador tossed her head, backing away a few steps as Buffy worked to calm her before they were sighted. Long lines of Orcs marched to the swift beat of drummers. Flaming torches were held in the air and black flags rippled in the hurried breeze from the east. She drew in her breath, her hand tightening on the handle of her sword. The other scout rode up to her side. "Perhaps this is something we should report," he said quietly.
"We have to find another way to cross these mountains," she replied, "or we'll be dead before we even get to Gondor."
"My lady," he whispered, tapping her shoulder and gesturing towards the woods. She turned her head as a shadow disappeared within the trees.
She didn't dare call out. Handing the scout the reins for Sador, she dismounted, pulling out her sword as she disappeared into the darkness of the trees. After a moment of walking, she suddenly turned to her left, the tip of her sword caught near the head of a short, stout man who stared up at her. She released her breath but held her sword steady as she asked, "Who are you?"
A few minutes later, Buffy emerged from the trees. The scout was still peering at the endless lines of Orcs down below but turned at the rustle near him. He saw Buffy and with her was a man somewhat shorter than she was, with large arms and clad only with grass about the waist. "We need to go back," she told the scout.
"Who is that?" the scout asked, staring hard at the smaller man who waited as Buffy mounted Sador and turned the horse around.
"He's our ticket to Gondor," she replied, and left it at that. Together the three of them made their way back to the encampment, where Théoden was speaking to the other party of scouts. They had nothing to report from the east, but from the south, he feared, their news was dire. He knew he was correct the moment he saw the other two. Both slid gracefully from their mounts and came to Théoden, bearing one of the inhabitants of the mountains.
"The road to the south is blocked," she said, beckoning the smaller man forward. "Orcs are controlling it. They far outnumber us, and if we were attempt to cross that path, we'd never make it to Gondor. But, not everything is bad." She gave the smaller man a push. "I'd like you to meet someone I found lurking in the trees. He says he can help us get to Gondor without facing the Orcs."
"The only road is to the south and east," Éomer protested. "There is no other way."
"Then we'll make our own," Buffy told him, turning to the smaller man. "Why don't you tell him what you told me?"
The figure glanced up and even in the firelight they could see his bushy beard, his yellow teeth and his eyes, wild and dark. "I am Ghân-buri-Ghân from the Wild Men," he said, his voice hoarse and throaty.
Théoden stared at the smaller figure in thought. There had been talk that the Wild Men still haunted this forest. For the past two days, three groups of scouts had ridden ahead by their path through the mountains and until today, they hadn't learned much. The first group had reported back that there were great fires burning throughout Pelennor.
"Do you ride to war, Master Ghân?" he asked in his crisp tone, his eyes surveying the elder face set in stone before him. But the old man shook his head.
"No, father of the Horse-men," he said, "we fight now. Hunt only. We kill in the woods and hate orc-folk. We help as we can. We know all paths. Wild Men live here before Stone-houses; before Tall Men come up out of the water."
"But our need is for aid in battle," Éomer said. "How will you and your folk help us?"
"We bring news," said the Wild Man. "We look out from hills." Here, he exchanged a look with the taller woman standing slightly behind him, her gaze stern. "We climb big mountain and look down. The stone-city is shut. Fire burns there outside; now inside, too. You wish to come there? Then you must be quick. But gorgûn and men out of faraway," he gestured with his short, gnarled arm eastward, "they take the horse roads."
"That was what we had to report," said the scout from the other side of the Wild Man.
"Let Ghân-buri-Ghân finish," the Wild Man said, holding up his stumpy hand. "More than one road he knows. He will lead you by road where no orc-folk walk, only Wild Men and beasts. The road is forgotten. But not by Wild Men. We can show you that road. Then you will kill bad dark and Wild Men can go back to sleep in the wild woods."
Théoden exchanged a glance with Buffy and she nodded slowly. Turning to Éomer, the two spoke in their native tongue for a moment before Théoden straightened and turned back to the short, Wild Man. "We will receive your offer," he said.
"How long would it take to pass by the enemy and come back to the road?" Éomer asked. "We must go at foot-pace and I doubt not that the way is narrow."
"The road is wide for four horses to pass," the Wild Man replied. "It takes Wild Men from sunrise to noon to pass the road. Even now the sun is hidden to the east. We feel the sun even when she is hidden."
"Then we must set out as soon as we may," Éomer said grimly. "Even so, we cannot hope to come to Gondor's aid today."
"There's always tomorrow," Buffy said and his eyes met hers. She was wearing a hesitant smile as she walked past him. Théoden turned back to the Wild Man, leaving Éomer to give the orders that it was time to move out.
In the distance, a Hobbit moved away from the group, his eyes full of wonder at what he had just seen. Merry returned to Elfhelm's encampment, the last in the long line, and to Dernhelm, the rider he rode with. Even now he could see Dernhelm atop his horse, his hands twisting with anxiety as horns broke through the gloom. A haze began to creep over the camps, thick with the smell of burnt grass and wood.
With an hour, the host was ready to travel and began the arduous journey up the hills and across the rivers. The Wild Men had posted hunters to keep a wary eye out for stragglers in the Orc host. The light grew more dim as they drew nearer to the beleaguered city. They walked in long columns of men, carefully uphill and then finally descending through the rocky plains until at last they reached the wide road. The light of Amon Dîn, long since quenched, stood on the black hill beyond them to the west. The leader of the Wild Men came forward again, explaining that their enemy was no more than an hour to the west and that they had need to hurry. Théoden called a council with the leaders of his Rohirrim.
Ghân, too, was receiving council from the hunters he had sent abroad. "Be wary," he said, turning to the leaders of the Rohirrim. "The walls of stone-city are down. The gorgûn do not look to the roads. They think roads are watched by their own."
Théoden realized the time had come to release the Wild Men from their services. Minas Tirith was only a short distance away and even in the darkness spreading over the afternoon, Buffy could see a faint red glow to the east.
"Good fortune go with you for tidings and for guidance!" Théoden said, and the Wild Men bowed and turned about, when one suddenly spoke up.
"The wind… it changes."
As the Wild Men hurried back up the hill, Théoden turned to his captains. Buffy allowed her thoughts to move to the present and rode hesitantly forward. She felt a sudden need to ride onwards, but slowed to a halt, her eyes scanning the landscape. Someone was in deep danger, she could sense. For some reason, she thought of Gandalf. He was the only one strong enough to defend a city against such an assault. If he was in danger, then he could use the Rohirrim now more than anything.
"My Lady," a voice said at her elbow. Buffy nearly jumped out of her reverie, turning to glance at the rider coming up alongside her. "Will you ride with me?"
"Scouting again, eh?" she asked with a smirk as she rode next to him. "Here I thought you'd never ask."
The two rode onwards, heading towards the east as the captains deferred with their King behind them.
- - - -
In the distance, there was the sound of drumbeats and screaming as the people of Minas Tirith fled from the outer walls. Protected in his domain by the heavy walls surrounding him, Denethor, Steward of Gondor, glanced upon the graying face of his son. He knew not of the war occurring outside, nor did he have any care for it. His eyes were alone on his son and his mind was twisted beyond sanity.
His guards were standing inside the door, looking with pity upon their leader's fallen son, one that the Steward believed to be near death. Faramir was resting in an uneasy fever, his skin cold to the touch.
"My line has ended," the Steward said softly, lifting one of his hands. A small orange glow emanated from the sphere he held as his eyes stared warily at it. "My sons are spent… and all glory shall be gone from this house before an end may come to greet the return of the King. The end of the world has come." Turning, he beckoned to the guards. "I have to bury my son 'ere the end," he explained. "Go to the tombs. Bring wood and oil."
As they departed, Denethor turned. His son may have been a Wizard's pupil, but Faramir was still his son. He pressed his hand over his son's face, checking for any sign of life yet found none. The Hobbit had tried to convince him that his son was still alive. He was not. Perhaps this was the reason why he had been relieved of his services.
"I am sorry," Denethor said, bending over to speak into his son's ear. "No peace is there that remains. Our leaving shall be but a sign that the end of the world has come." Rising, he watched as the doors spilled open and more guards approached.
"Come," he said, and the guards stooped to lift Faramir onto his shield and they bore him from the Citadel towards the room where the men of old were buried within their tombs. "Why do they fight so?" he asked, watching as smoke and the red glow from the many fires below lifted to his eyesight. "Why are they such fools?"
"They fight because Mithrandir demands it," one of the guards replied.
"Fools," Denethor muttered softly. "They are all fools. Do they not know the end when it comes? Do they not know death when they see it? Still they fight…"
"They fight because they have hope," a second guard replied.
"There is no hope," Denethor snapped, turning on him, the oil light held dangerously close to his hair. "I see many things, so do not tell me there is anything left to hope for! Rohan has deserted us and the city will fall before morning. There is no hope for men."
- - - - -
In the next part, the battle of Pelennor Fields begins and thus the halfway point of this story is reached. Finally.