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: Success! I feel like I am playing that crappy Windows 3.1 Conquer-the-Earth game. I have finally overcome my computer after it had mastered me with its evil virus. Thank you for reading this beforehand. I shall make other comments in the next chapter which will –hopefully– be posted next week.

Chapter Summary: The war for Middle-earth has begun, as one of the final battles ends.

Chapter Warning: This is largely an original chapter with some references from the book. I could not stand the way Denethor was portrayed in the movie. I hope I did his character justice. Because I was basically combining three chapters into one, it turned out to be one messy heap once it ended. Of course a little bit of editing and scenes were added to make it flow more smoothly. It is only slightly longer than the previous part but I am quite proud of it. These were the first action scenes I have written and I vowed to give this battle justice.

-

Chapter 16

The Battle of Pelennor Fields

Part Two

By Alyson Kay

-

As Éomer and the other knights rode off towards the great Haradrim force, Merry found himself standing beside the fallen King, forgotten by all that had gone off. Still there were others that remained. He seemed astounded as the sounds of the battle rang close to him, yet he took no notice of it.

After searching the ground, he found the shield Éowyn had given to him. He pulled it over his shoulder and looked for the sword. He found it, smoking, and the blade worn to nothing. He held out his sword-arm, which was very numb and thought for a moment that he could not feel his own fingers…

He was distracted by the sounds of weeping, for knights had come to lift Théoden onto their shields and bear him towards the smoking city. A younger knight bent down and pulled Éowyn into his arms and gazed at her fair face, so quiet as though she were resting through a deep sleep.

Merry tagged behind them as they bore the King and his niece with great honor towards the city, meeting with Prince Imrahil on his ride out of the gates. When he cast his eyes upon the King, he dismounted from his horse and made his way towards the honor guard, his face full of dismay.

"What burden do you bear, men of Rohan?" he asked, glancing at the two figures behind him.

"Théoden King, for he is dead," they replied, and when Imrahil turned his eyes upon the young woman borne behind him, he looked at her in amazement. "King Éomer rides in battle now."

"Surely here is a woman?" he asked softly, touching her cold face. "Have even the women of Rohan responded to our great need?"

"Nay," they replied. "Save the Lady Éowyn and…"

Prince Imrahil bent to one knee to honor the fallen two before rising again. As he did, he caught a greater glimpse of Éowyn. "Have you no leeches amongst you?" he asked, pressing his glove to her lips. As she exhaled, a faint blue mist appeared and disappeared within the blink of an eye, yet there were many who saw it. "She is still alive but will fall to death surely if haste is not taken."

There was a great cry and the Prince turned as his horse rode to his side. In the distance, he could see the white-horse tailed helm of Éomer. But his attention was drawn instead to the horse beside the newly instated King of Rohan.

"That is surely the other woman to ride with us," one of the knights murmured behind the Prince of Dol Amroth. "She is called Merilin."

The Prince had little time to dwell on it. Already the great oliphaunts were making their presence known, forcing the Rohirrim to scatter. Time was of the essence and unless he moved his knights onto the battlefield, the Rohirrim would face certain death. He bade the honor guard farewell and rode south into battle.

-

Buffy realized that they'd made a mistake when charging the giant Hannibal-like elephants. Hell, she wasn't even surprised anymore to see such creatures. Come to think of it, she was waiting for walking crocodiles and arrow-touting flamingos. Indeed, Éomer's fury seemed to have betrayed him as the horses, whilst riding in formation, made delectable prey for the archers perched on top of the gigantic elephants. The Haradrim's footmen, realizing they had at last found a weakness in the Rohirrim's formidable force, fell back to stand behind dozens of the large mûmakil. As the creatures charged, the horses reared and pulled to the side, which led to a rather grotesque amount of trampling.

Buffy pushed Sador to the side as one of the great feet landed with a tremendous thud next to her. Sador neighed and reared, nearly tossing her rider from her back. Buffy miraculously held on, and as Sador came to, Buffy blinked as the horse cleared the opening lines of the elephantine creatures. But she saw with some horror that not all of her riders behind her were there. In fact, there were large, gaping holes and after watching one of the crater-sized feet crush one horse after another, she winced at the sound of smashing bones and screams of utter terror. They were sounds she'd heard throughout her life.

Despite that, they were finally out of reach of the archers atop the mûmakil. She glanced around for Éomer when she saw him leading a second charge back into the line of foes now streaming towards the city. In the distance, her gaze caught sight of a grand banner bearing a white ship like a swan upon blue water. "Come on," she said softly to Sador.

The rest of the rearguard was riding swiftly parallel to Éomer's forces, gathering what weaponry they could. A line of men was set up to attack the archers, fighting fire with fire. Buffy drew her own bow and fitted it with an arrow, spying the approach of three of the great mûmakil. "Fire!" she shouted, and as they fired, a greater swarm of Orcs seemed to spill like ants onto the battlefield, pushing forward with their lieutenant Gothmog sending them. They were now facing a battle on two fronts and because she had lost a significant number of men, they were going to lose both. Éomer was shouting something over the din of clashing swords and thundering hooves.

"Fall back!" she shouted, lifting her axe and gesturing with it in the direction of their King's call. "Fall back to the King!"

It began to rain. The beautiful sunrise had given way to a dull grey sky. The rain was cold on her face…

Éomer, realizing that his goal to take on the Haradrim was futile, started gathering his forces to him. He caught a flash of gold in the distance and saw the metallic glint of an axe swinging in a graceful arc. And yet the Rohirrim were being pushed through to the center where Éomer was standing. Knowing that it would be futile to continue fighting enemies ten times their size, he called the remnants of his forces to him. With them came his own rearguard and he saw with some relief that Merilin, of Buffy as she preferred to be called, was still alive.

"That was fun," she said, exhaling hard as she drew Sador to rest next to him. "I don't think I want to try it that way again."

The look on his face was intense and his voice was dark. "It seems we have little choice."

Her hand tightened on her axe as she sought the banner. There were a great many Orc and other wicked men between them and their aid now, she thought, sighing. They were being cornered into this location and soon they would be picked off like flies. "We shouldn't just sit here," she growled. "We're just waiting to be killed."

The day had seemed thus to turn against Gondor, and as it was now mid-morning and the rain was blowing away with the north wind.

The woman sitting next to him seemed even tenser than he was, if that could account for anything. She wasn't moving much. He saw her scanning the enemy with a calculating look in her eyes.

"We must go east," she finally said, lowering her gaze and glancing at the King. His attention was drawn behind him where Southrons were now attacking his own rearguard. Both turned their horses about and pulled out their favored weaponry. Éomer held his sword in his hand while Buffy held her axe to her body.

Then, with a parting glance, they charged back into the battle.

-

The sounds of the battle were lost inside the great tomb of the forefathers of Gondor. Denethor stood next to a stack of wood, watching as his son's diseased figure was laid to rest upon it. Six torch-bearers stood around him as Denethor gently cleansed his son's face with the perfumed oil given to him by his guards.

He only glanced up when he heard the clashing of swords on the other side of the doors. When they burst open he turned, agitation clearly shining in his eyes.

In rode Gandalf on Shadowfax, with the tiny face of his former guard peering behind him. With their arrival came a lashing of rain and wind from the north, cold upon the faces of the guards nearest the door as they fell to their knees at the commanding power of Gandalf.

"Stay!" Gandalf cried, lifting the pike he'd seized outside the door. "Stay this madness!"

The men that came to him bearing shields and armed suddenly quailed as Gandalf sprang ahead, a beautiful white glow set about him. He turned ancient eyes to Denethor who stood upon the wood, doused in oil, smiling the coldest smile.

"Did you think the eyes of the White Tower were blind to all that moved, Mithrandir?" Denethor asked, and in the darkness of the room they saw the glimmer of madness in his eyes as he withdrew one of the palantír. "For a little space you may triumph on the field, for a day. But against the power that now arises there is no victory. All the East is moving. Even now as hope glimmers in the City the black ships rise on the Anduin. The West has failed. It is time for all to depart who would not be slaves."

"Such counsels will make the enemy's victory certain, indeed," Gandalf said quietly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "As will all counsels that demand you burn alive your own flesh and blood."

"Hope on then," Denethor laughed. "Your hope is to rule in my stead. I know you have entrusted this Halfling to keep such things from me. And yet in our speech together I have learned the names and purpose of all your companions. With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor and with the right bring up this Ranger of the North to supplant me." His eyes seemed to grow darker in the dim red light from the orb he held ever-so-tightly in his hand. "I will not bow to a Ranger from the north, the last of a line bereft of lordship and dignity."

"Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the King, Steward!" Gandalf said, his voice sharp as he gazed upon the man who had just dropped the great seeing-stone onto the ground. His eyes remained clouded.

"You have already stolen my son's love from me. I shall not give you my pity," Denethor said, his long cape swirling backwards as he gestured for the torch-bearers to set the wood on fire. "Come hither!" he called to his servants. Lifting the palantír he leapt upon the stack of wood as the flames began to burn about him.

There was a cry as Beregond came forward from the doors, his eyes searching the smoke-filled tomb. When he at last laid eyes upon his Captain, he made forward and knocked him from what could easily have become his fiery grave. All of this was done out of eyesight of the Steward, who was gazing with great pity upon Mithrandir and the little Hobbit who had been a part of his guard, even for a short time.

"You will see ere the end of the day," Denethor rasped as the flames took him. Gandalf and Pippin could only watch as the flames consumed him and, with a final cry, Denethor passed on into the daylight.

"So passes Denethor, son of Ecthelion," said Gandalf tragically as they walked Shadowfax from the tombs, thick, billowing clouds of smoke pouring from behind them. From the darkness came four guards bearing Faramir, and Gandalf ordered him to be taken to the Houses of Healing.

The rain that had been falling before now seemed to be waning, but in the distance he could sense a change of fortune. From where he was standing, he could not see the battlefield but knew that the hearts of men were weakening to the thousands of foes now spilling onto the fields.

-

Buffy pulled her axe roughly from an armored torso and kicked away the body, spinning around to land another harsh blow to the neck of a secondary foe. All around her men were fighting. She swung her axe upwards before using the exertion to knock the body ten feet away where it spun cleanly in the air before landing on the ever-growing pile of corpses around the cornered group of Éomer's Rohirrim forces.

But most of their eyes were now gazing towards the river and with their glimpses raised a cry of alarm. Even from where she was now mounting back onto Sador she could hear the sounds of bells ringing in the towers of Minas Tirith. Her eyes sought out the cause for their concern.

There were black ships aligning the horizon.

"Oh, no," she said quietly under her breath as a great cheer rose from the field. As the vigorous fighting continued, she turned her attention back to fighting off the wave upon wave of Orcs now seemingly wishing for the entire Rohirric éored she stood beside. Lifting her bruised face, she caught sight of Éomer's dark expression and saw the reflection of the black sails through his clear grey gaze. Pulling her axe from the cranium of her latest victory, she rested on her axe for a moment, attempting to catch her breath as she switched her axe from hand to hand. Already the men around them were raising their swords in defense of the ships now coming to shore.

"The corsairs! The corsairs of Umbar have come!" they cried. "It is the last stroke of doom! The Corsairs of Umbar have come!"

Now all that remained of the men were staring at the ships as the cries continued to erupt around them. Already the fighting ceased as victory seemed to be sealed for the darkness and Gothmog himself rode his warg onto the battlefield, lifting his sword in triumph.

"I guess this is it," Buffy said, preparing herself mentally for what this would mean. "I guess this is the end."

"Then let us make it such an end!" he said, and took the banner from his knight and rode to the hill before stabbing the ground, setting the banner. For a moment all gazed warily at the green banner as it fluttered in the breeze before returning to his men.

They all gazed upon him, their looks bordering on reverence and respect. Buffy lowered her gaze as her hair caught the wind, yet there was a fierce determination in her gaze. "Give 'em hell," she said, smirking slowly.

Éomer turned his steed about as they prepared to fight to the last man. It was only when he saw a flicker of color from one of the standards aboard the ship did he laugh. As he gestured to the horizon, many pairs of eyes followed. For, as he laughed with despair, there a standard broke bearing the white tree and seven stones above, signaling seven stars. A high crown sat atop it, sewn for Aragorn by the hand of Arwen Evenstar. As the ships came to the bank, those awaiting them were suddenly stunned with surprise as from the bow of the ship came not the pirates of the Umbar, but Aragorn, son of Arathorn or Elessar, Isildur's heir.

Immediately the mood seemed to change and crackle with some power. Swords were lifted in the air and with it came the sound of singing. Buffy let her head roll back with relief as she spied Legolas and Gimli, never far behind the Ranger and with him came the other Rangers, the identical Elves and what seemed to be hundreds, if not thousands, of men bearing arms.

The hosts of Mordor were seized with bewilderment as Aragorn led the charge from the east. The Prince of Dol Amroth led the charge from the west, pushing the enemy further away from the city. The Rohirrim turned and, with their own peals of laughter and song leading them, led the charge south. The host of Mordor looked upon this new wizardry and a great black dread fell amongst them for their ships were full of their foes and the numbers that had been easier to attack had now swelled. The tides of fate had turned against them and their doom was at hand.

Together the three opposite forces charged the foes in the fields. Buffy pulled her own guards parallel with those of Dol Amroth, only to come face-to-face with the great half-trolls from the far East of Harad, giant men towering twelve feet tall bearing axes of their own caliber that looked more like giant anvils. Buffy led her own charge through these foes and, in two single lines, they charged into the fold.

Buffy managed to wrench an axe easily from the first figure she came across only to receive a cold blow to the head. Kicking aside his frame, she received a second blow. This was enough to send Sador rearing and Buffy, caught unawares, tumbled off the backside of her horse, her own axe landing sharply into the ground near her head. She had just enough time to grasp her weapon and thrust it upwards into the torso of her attacker before there was a gentle thud of an axe a few inches to the right side of her body. She flipped back to her feet and lifted her enemy's axe into her hands, giving it a righteous twirl before delivering it into the abdomen of the second body to attack her. She used the impact of her initial parry to propel him backwards into the advancing group. She had raised the axe again to launch herself into a third foe when something collided hard with the back of her skull, sending her flying a good twenty feet before she landed sharply on her head and tumbled head over heels to land on her back. The impact of her body slamming into the ground sent little stars before her vision and for a moment her ears rang as the battle erupted around her.

She pushed herself back up, realizing that as she'd flown; her axe had gone spinning into oblivion. When she had landed, she'd heard a magnificent crack and as she stood she felt a dull ache when she inhaled. Her shoulder was also rather painful and seemed off and she realized that when she'd landed she'd managed to dislocate it. She didn't have time to worry about the condition of her body, however, as the Easterlings were once again moving towards her. Pulling out her sword, she fought her way through the line, only to be joined at last by a vast group of men crying in a language she didn't understand and wielding weapons from pick-axes to hatchets. She found herself caught up in their enthusiasm as they easily overtook the smaller Easterlings front. She was just about to turn back towards the north when a great roar sounded from behind her.

"Oh, no, not these guys again!" she cried, only to turn and have her sword easily knocked to the ground. A second blow later and Buffy was stumbling backwards, trying to stay on her feet, but with the axe raised as though it were a hammer, it was even more difficult to have much hope.

Seconds before the creature could deal her one final blow, it straightened, as though having a seizure. As it collapsed, she gasped, falling to the ground despite her determination to stay above it. Her axe that had disappeared when she'd been flung from Sador was embedded into the back of the creature's skull. "What?" she asked, not understanding what had just happened.

A gloved hand reached down to wrench her axe from the body before turning it over to return the handle towards its owner. Buffy found her eyes moving up from the plain black boots and trousers to a long cloak and armaments adorned with mail. Her eyes met those of the Ranger she had first been introduced to just days before. "You," she whispered.

He bent down and offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet. "I found this flying through the air," Halbarad said, nodding at the axe now safely back in her own hand. "It nearly took my life. You should use more caution should it escape that grasp again."

"I guess I'll have to watch that," Buffy said dryly as they ran off. Seeing the large group of forces before them, she tightened her grasp and saluted him before charging back into battle.

In the distance, Éomer and Aragorn met as they leaned on their swords, watching as the remaining Rohirrim on horseback swirled around the last of the Orcs, cutting them off from the forces Gothmog was now leading into battle. After spending enough of the morning watching his men and his own Uncle and sister die at the hands of these foes, he took great pleasure in destroying these forces.

"Thus we meet again," Aragorn called to Éomer as the two fought off these new foes. "Did I not say so at the Hornburg?"

"So you spoke," Éomer replied. "But hope oft deceives, yet today was not. Never was a meeting of friends more joyful." And they clasped hand in hand. "Nor indeed was it any more timely," he continued. "You have come none too soon, my friend. Much loss and sorrow has befallen us."

"Then let us avenge it, ere we speak of it!" Aragorn cried as the two men rode back into battle, side by side.

Legolas and Gimli, on the other hand, led the force of men from Lebennin and the men of Angbor of Lamedon and the Ethir into battle.

"Fifteen… sixteen…" Legolas counted as he withdrew both of the arrows he used as a blade from one foe and embedded them into the skull of a second. Behind him, Gimli swung his axe through the torso of one Orc before turning to slide the backend of the axe into the cranium of a second.

"Seventeen… eighteen…"

With a sickening snarl, the creature he'd just killed grunted as it fell face-first onto the muddy ground with a sopping splat.

"Nineteen…"

The Prince of Dol Amroth rode forward with his own knights and they spread about the field, before his horse came to reside next to a smaller figure that fought with an axe much too large for his figure. But the more he stared at the figure, the more he realized that this was this Merilin that the others had spoken of. He watched her fight with both ends of the axe, knocking a clear path through the line of Easterlings that she fought against and with her stood Halbarad, the rest of the Rangers, and the twin sons of Elrond.

He began to see why she was in battle. She was clearly far too small and swift for these creatures to defeat her. Yet she managed to use such grace and skill with her arms despite her lack of height. She was a formidable opponent and he could easily see why the others seemed to flock to her in battle. She was attacking every creature she could, avenging the death of her fallen King. What he didn't know was that by fighting this war, she was avenging the promise she had made to not watch the King fall. This was her choice to fight as she was. The other men, Éomer, Aragorn and the Prince of Dol Amroth amongst them only fought those brave enough to face their banners. They knew nothing of the wrath of a short yet stern-tempered Slayer who wanted nothing more than to see every last foe destroyed.

Behind them rose the sounds of horns and trumpets, signaling the return of the mûmakil. Buffy turned and saw a group of knights thundering across the field towards her. With a cry, she rolled out of their way. She sent one kick to send the men tottering over in a slight domino effect before the other Rangers fighting with her took them on in battle one by one. After neatly beheading one with the end of her axe, she turned to strike a second foe with the blunt end, sending the figure spiraling away from her. She gave him a mighty kick with the tip of her foot, sending him flying into the path of the barbed wire hooks of the mûmakil.

"Crap!" she moaned, turning to dive aside as the thundering creature missed her body by mere feet. Pushing herself to her feet, she lifted her gaze and saw something that made her pause. In this moment, it seemed like time had finally come to an end.

It was a figure dressed as a Ranger on his knees. She saw the figure glance up with a look of almost childlike innocence in his eyes, the look of a man who knew that a dark fate was about to end his life. Seizing her sword, she threw herself into the figure, yet another of the half-trolls. As they both crashed to the ground, she kicked him away to turn a second glance back to Halbarad, who was now lying on the ground, a severe wound across his chest. She cried his name only once before a below sent her sprawling. She regained her balance as she lifted her axe in defense against the creature that had just tried to kill the man that had saved her life. As she moved, her helmet twisted uncomfortably, blocking her vision. She lifted her axe blindly only to feel the secondary axe crack her weapon into two, sending her sprawling for a second time. Once she'd regained that balance, she ripped her helmet from her head to gaze upon her enemy and saw that he was advancing for the kill. She lashed out, punching and kicking the creature with both ends of the axe until she sent it staggering in the opposite direction.

She cast down both ends and pulled out her sword. It glinted in the bright sunlight as she brought the sword against the creatures axe. It took only two swift blows before the creature was on its knees. She drove the blade of her sword through the top of the half-troll's head before cleaving its head. Kicking the headless creature aside she turned in time to see a great crowd of black cloaks descending on them.

She was so tired, she thought as she stumbled back towards the man now lying motionless on the ground. She drove her sword cleanly through one foe before cleaving the head from another. At last she fell to the ground next to Halbarad, only to remain there to close his eyes, which were staring peacefully at the clear blue sky over their heads. Glancing up, she spied one of the twin Elves standing there, offering her the helmet she'd removed in battle.

"There is little you can do for him," the Elf said as she took the helmet and stood up, stumbling slightly as the extent of her sleeplessness and her injuries started to take hold.

"Thanks," she said, forcing a small smile as she took up her sword. He noticed the wariness in her eyes. "Here," she said, walking over and throwing her left arm into his grasp. "Hold me."

He didn't know what she implied, yet he held her as she twisted around until there was the mild sound of popping and a string of colorful curses before she ripped her arm from his grasp.

"Are you injured?" he asked her.

She shook her head as she shook out her arm, taking the sword with her left hand. "Good as new," she said, lying through her teeth. Yet he didn't need to know that. She spied the backsides of the mûmakil and, jamming the helmet back on her head, burst forward, stunning the Elf with her speed and enthusiasm. Coming forward on their warg-riders were the remainders of the Orcs, led by Gothmog. He leapt from his warg and moved forward to clash swords with the woman.

She easily threw him off before kicking him aside. From her left came the Dwarf, his axes cleaving into the Orc's torso and abdomen before Buffy thrust her sword through his backside. Their foe finally defeated, the two shared a grim nod before turning to face the remnants of what had once been a great threat of Orcs. Few remained now and they looked upon the growing numbers of their enemy before them. There was King Éomer of the Rohirrim and the rest of his men, gathering around him both on horseback and on foot. There was the Prince of Dol Amroth and the knights all around him. Lastly there was the Ranger of the North, Aragorn, with his own band of men from the south. Swords glistened in the sunlight as the full wrath of Gondor was finally unleashed against the great armies of Mordor.

Buffy was finally reunited with her own rearguard and came at last before Éomer who looked relieved to see that she was still alive. She turned her back to face his own as they fought off the latest group thrown against them. "Do you really think I'd let a little thing like death kill me off again?" she asked as she punched one figure away before kicking from the side into another.

"It pleases me to see you live still," he replied. He felt a slight amount of guilt in not really finding out whether or not she was still alive. She had been important to Mithrandir for reasons he had yet to understand. But some of his men seemed to love her and gave out small tokens of welcome as she once again rejoined their numbers, looking worse for the wear.

She glanced at him and for the first time he saw her injuries. He was yet uninjured, but with that was a stroke of luck. She had thrown herself into every battle and had fought against every foe. She had truly become one of a great many, one of the few women who had ever fought the war for Middle-earth as a human woman. She had two deep cuts across her face and most of the left side of her cheek was bruised. Her lip was broken and she seemed to be bleeding from a blow to the head. She limped slightly as she walked and as she drew breath she made a rasping sound. He knew that she was exhausted for she hadn't slept much at all during their travels to Gondor.

They were separated yet again by the Rangers who had come and met them at last. Turning to the lines of mûmakil still wreaking havoc upon the field, Buffy turned and gathered what men she could. She was most surprised when a bow was suddenly thrust into her chest. She turned and saw one of the Elves standing by her side, offering her a quiver. She took it with a grateful, "Thanks" and turned to rush forward. Hundreds of men readied their weapons as the great elephants were goaded forward one last time. With them was the onslaught of the last of the foes of Mordor. With them rode the Rohirrim and their horsemen, spears and pikes held in the hands.

Buffy led this group alone on foot, her own bow steadied as she lifted the tip of her arrow, raising the angle at which she cried, "Now!"

Hundreds of arrows flew through the air, many selecting a target and the rest falling soundlessly to the well-trampled grass. Those bearing pikes and spears now stood upon the smoldering remains of barns and homes as, at last, the two sides came face-to-face. The day of the chaotic battle where absolutely nothing was organized had at last come to an end. Buffy exhaled painfully as she pulled a secondary arrow. She was joined a few seconds later by Legolas, who fired a second shot at her command of "Fire at will", whilst muttering "Thirty nine" under his breath.

They exchanged a bemused look before she let loose her own arrow. When it made its mark to a warg, sending the creature sliding twenty feet before coming to a rest mere yards from their position, she gave Legolas a haughty glance before triumphantly whispering, "Sixty."

It was only a guess for her. It felt like two hundred, but whereas she'd been fighting all day, Legolas had only arrived a few hours before. Still the look that he gave her made her laugh, a sound that had not been heard on this battlefield since their foes had raised their victorious cries at the landing of the Corsairs.

"Archers!" Aragorn cried out again, forcing both the woman and the Elf to rearm and ready themselves for the final onslaught of battle. Beyond the groups of men were the mûmakil, still formidable even though their numbers had been greatly lessened. There remained now only eight of these creatures, but their backs were bare as every last Haradrim had been shot down. Many had died in the attempt to assail these expert marksmen and, as Buffy noted with a hint of satisfaction, without the men driving these poor monsters into battle, they were likely to trample friend and foe.

However, the mûmakil were also gathering speed. She knew now why the marksmen on their side had taken to higher grounds. She saw Legolas eyeing the closest mûmakil with something like disgust in his eyes.

After releasing a second set of arrows, Legolas realized that he and a few others were in the path of the oncoming mûmakil. "Come with me," he said, taking Buffy's wrist.

She had been distracted by the sudden arrival of the screeching creatures far above them. She was jerked onto her knees before stumbling back to her feet, trying to keep pace with the unyielding Elf. He was seriously going to get her killed. When she realized they were heading directly towards the giant Hannibal-on-steroids, she moaned under her breath. A long rope was trailing to the ground and as they ran along side the creature, Legolas told her to jump. She had just enough time to sling her bow over her shoulder before her fingers grasped the cold materials. With a leap of his own, Legolas sliced through the wires holding the rope and Buffy found herself flying into the air.

Her exhausted mind was blissfully calm for a moment until her tired body was thrust into the side of the mûmakil, which let out a roar. Using the last of her strength, she twisted until she had a good view of the back of his head. Keeping her grasp on the loose netting still hanging off the top of the pathetic creature, she drew and arrow and shot it straight into the creature's skull. It bellowed and started moving sideways, sending Buffy skidding ten feet along the backside. She barely managed to hold on by digging her fingers into the hard, grey flesh. The creature roared again, but Buffy pulled herself up and taking a second arrow shot it into the mûmakil's thick skull. As the creature slowed, it tilted to the side. Once it was close enough to the ground, Buffy dove off of it, only to land on the ground and have to dive again as the carcass landed straight where she'd been standing just seconds before.

The Elf seemed to sense her hesitation to return to battle despite the fact that they had at last engaged the forces of Mordor by hand. Swords were flashing in the sunlight.

Buffy could hardly breathe as she glanced around, feeling her chest tighten with the effort. She saw the Rangers fighting with their own strong arms. She saw one of the banners of Rohan flying gaily even as its pointed end was used as a weapon. Time seemed to slow as she drew back to her feet, sword in hand. She heard her breath ring through her ears as she took in the bodies, both friendly and not around her. It seemed as though this battle was finally drawing to an end.

They had won.

She heard the shattering of wood behind her as one of the wooden war towers was knocked down, splinters of wood and rock landing around her. When she was engaged in combat, her mind was blissfully clear. But there were no more foes around her and her mind was reminding her just how little rest it had lived on. The battle was over, she thought to herself. She had fulfilled her end of the agreement. She had done what Whistler had asked of her and had advised King Théoden to the end, may his soul rest at peace. She had done everything she had been asked to do.

She closed her eyes as she slid down the sturdy surface of the war machine, bidding her eyes to stay open. But her injuries were forcing her body back to the present. She had certainly broken ribs after falling from Sador. Her shoulder was still tender and as she directed her blurred gaze to her hands, she saw that they were still bruised and bleeding.

There was a song coming from the fields now. Or was it inside her own imagination, a voice telling her it would be okay to sleep? It would be okay to finally rest at peace. It was all right to just want to…

As she sagged down against the rotted tower, the others continued in their haste to finish the battle once and for all. Gandalf himself had left the city and with him came the rest of the forces of Gondor. Their enemy, pinned between the two forces, their foes were finally brought down.

The sun went at last behind the mountains and filled all the sky with a great burning, so that the hills were dyed as with crimson blood; fire glowed in the River and the grass of the Pelennor Fields lay red in the nightfall. And in that great hour, their battle for Gondor was finally over. The fields were quiet under the darkening lights and only those who remained searched among the great debris for any signs of life. All foes had been slain save those who fled to die, or to drown in the red foam of the River. Few ever returned eastward to Morgul or Mordor and to the land of the Haradrim there came only a tale of the wrath and fury of Gondor.

-

In the next part, the Houses of the Healing and no victory is ever sweetened with the bitterness of loss… even when hope is found. Yet another two-part chapter sequence approaches and hopefully will be hosted at once.

I really hope you did enjoy this section. I am not an action-writer, so it tended to be a little "hunky dory" for me. And yet... I felt it needed something else. I was happy with the way this turned out, however.