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: Oh, wow. I know it has been a few weeks since the last chapter was posted and for this, you have my sincerest apologies. I have been working on other projects and have some real life issues occurring right now that seem to need my utmost attention. I have finally caught up on my reading (lucky me), and have thus gone back to edit this chapter. It is the first part of a two part set written by Trina, and I really liked how it turned out. There is no cliffhanger involved and it is a bit shorter than other chapters, but, to me, it is emotional and beautiful and considered my second most favorite chapter of this story. My favorite has yet to come, but I loved it from the beginning. And I wrote neither of these chapters, which comes to show my faith in writing characterization. Alas, thank you for taking the time to read this story and I hope you will remain patient with me as we work through some of our current issues.
Chapter Summary: One battle is over, but the fight for life has only begun.
Chapter Warning: This is part one of the two chapter sequence on the Houses of Healing. We decided that two chapters would be better than one long one. For that reason, these are slightly shorter than the other chapters have been. Oh, and in passing, Buffy did not die… she is still alive, only "sleeping". This chapter combines elements from both the book and our imaginations.
x-x-x
Chapter 17
Hurting
By Katrina Claire
x-x-x
Merry was exhausted as he passed the withered gates of Minas Tirith. He gave little interest to the wreck and slaughter that seemed to lie all about him. Fire, smoke and stench were in the air as the city was still burning under the guise of the rain threatening to pour from the dark clouds gathering above.
The rain was cold on his skin and brought some sense back to his mind, which had remained blissfully calm. He was aware that he was walking through a smoky haze, which seemed to him that he was walking through a dim light towards the illumination in the distance.
Already men were laboring to clear a way through the debris from the battle, which had moved outside of the city. Litters had been brought forth and both Théoden and Éowyn were laid to rest upon them. Éowyn had been laid on a bed of soft pillows while the King had been covered in a golden cloth which was drawn over his face, burying his look of a man who could finally rest at peace. Torches were lit, even in the cold rain and wind.
Their bearers took them into the city of Gondor and all who looked upon them bared their heads and bowed. They passed along the streets of stone, through dim haze and through bodies piled to Merry's fullest height. He didn't seem to be aware of them anymore. It had become a meaningless journey in a dream, the light at the end never coming one step closer no matter how many determined leaps he was willing to take to get there. If only he could close his eyes to finally get some sleep! The road was endless and upwards, through many arches and around many corners. Soon even the doorways and the people seemed to blur as Merry's mind numbed and he found himself walking through his sleep.
It was then did he hear a voice which seemed to bring him from his daze; someone was calling his name.
"Merry! Merry!"
He looked up and the mist in his eyes seemed to clear a bit. There was Pippin standing before him. They were face-to-face and alone in a narrow lane. Somehow, Merry thought, he must have lost the main road. Pippin noticed the look on Merry's face and gently turned him around.
"Where is the King and Éowyn?" Merry asked, glancing around as though hoping to see their caravan before he lost his mind.
"They have been brought to the Citadel," Pippin replied. "I think you must have fallen asleep on your feet and taken a wrong turn. When we saw that you were not with them, Gandalf sent me to look for you. How I am glad to see you again!"
Merry attempted to give him a smile, but Pippin's face had already become a blur. "It's going all dark again," he murmured as he felt the chill in his arm. Pippin looked at him anxiously before reaching down to grasp the arm held loosely at the side of his cousin.
"Tell me, are you hurt or wounded?" Pippin asked, releasing the arm and touching Merry's face to feel for a temperature.
"No,' Merry replied. "I don't think so. But I can't use my right arm, Pippin, not since I stabbed him."
"Well, you'd best come with me as quick as you can," Pippin said, his tone reflecting the concern written on his face. "I wish I could carry you. You aren't fit to walk further. They shouldn't have let you walk at all, but you must forgive them. So many dreadful things have happened in this City." In his mind, he reflected on the last few moments of the Lord Denethor's life. "Many dreadful things," he added unnecessarily, seeing Merry stoop slightly to lean against a wall, taking deep, heavy breaths. "Oh, Merry…"
Merry turned to look at him, his face showing that he was indeed weakening to the point of collapse. "Are you going to leave me?"
"No, Merry," Pippin said, stepping under the useless arm of his closest friend and hoisting him back to his feet. "I am going to look after you now. Come on, foot by foot. It is not far."
"Where are we going?" Merry asked, his tone weak. "Are you going to bury me?"
"No," Pippin repeated, shaking his head as he continued pushing his way up the street. "No, we are going to the Houses of Healing."
They turned out of the narrow lane that ran between the tall houses and the outer wall of the fourth circle and regained the main street climbing towards the Citadel. As they walked, Merry continued to sway and murmur as though he were sleeping.
He spied one of the errand boys and pleaded with him to tell Gandalf where they were; he would never get Merry to the Citadel by himself. The hobbit had fallen unconscious and seemed to be troubled, the expressions on his face changing rapidly. Pippin felt himself panic as he touched Merry's right arm, which felt like ice to the touch.
It was not long before Gandalf himself came to search for them. He found them near the gate of the fourth circle. Merry's head was resting in Pippin's lap while the tearful hobbit stroked the other's hair. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of battle. A cold peal of sunlight fell across the street and the beam touched Merry's face which was pale, his lips slightly blue.
"I couldn't leave him," Pippin said as he recognized Gandalf's shadow standing over them.
"I would not expect that of you," Gandalf said, reaching down and relieving Pippin of his bundle. "He should have been borne in honor into this city. He has well repaid my trust, for if Elrond had not yielded to me, neither of you would have set out and then today's events would have been far more grievous, I fear." He sighed and gestured for Pippin to follow him. "And yet here is another charge on my hands, while all the time the battle hangs in the balance."
At last Faramir, Éowyn and Meriadoc were laid in beds in the Houses of Healing. They were tended well, considering not one of the healers knew exactly what was ailing them. They were all pale and dark, murmuring in their sleep. Every attempt to awaken them failed. Their wounds were treated with care and professional hands, yet none could fathom why they kept falling further into sleep. The boys who ran errands frequently ran through the halls to bring word of the battles outside. The healers had no heed to hear such tidings, but those lying in wait for treatment were eagerly awaiting the news.
Yet all through the afternoon, Faramir continued to burn with a fever that would not fade. The Lady Éowyn had been tended to with care, but her skin on her arm was cold to the touch and though wrapped in a splint of linen provided few answers to what was truly ailing her body. It was deemed they had been cursed by the Black Shadow, for it came from the Nazgûl. And those who were stricken with it fell slowly into an even deeper dream, and it seemed to the tenders of the sick that on the Halfling and on the Lady of Rohan this malady lay heavily. The healers remained near the beds, hoping to hear something in their murmurings that would help treat their condition, but only hurt dark words of the darkest dreams and not one of them cared to repeat such words.
Gandalf went from one to the other full of care and he was told all that the watchers could hear. The battle out of his hands now, he remained in the Houses of Healing, waiting and watching until the red light spilled from the sky. Then it seemed to those who stood by that in the glow the faces flushed softly as with health returning, yet it was just a trick of the deep red light.
The old wife, Ioreth, the eldest of the women who served within the Houses of Healing, looked upon the face of her lord Faramir and wept, for she and all people loved him. "If he should die…" she said, brushing the tears from her eyes. "He would stand a chance if there would be a King of old. The hands of the king are the hands of the healer. And so the rightful king could be known." She swallowed and looked away from Faramir, turning to meet the blue-eyed gaze of the old Wizard behind her. "If only we could trust such lore to the mythology of our days."
"Men may long remember your words, Ioreth," Gandalf replied, laying a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder. "There is hope in your words and if the men can use anything today, it is hope. Maybe a king has indeed returned to Gondor, or have you not heard the strange tidings that have come into the City?"
He was referring to the dozens of times that the errand boys had come to bring news of the battle outside. It had been near late morning when they had come with tidings of the Corsairs of Umbar, and as Gandalf smiled into his staff, so did the relieved healers when they heard that Aragorn of Arnor had come from the ships and not the pirates, which would have spelled certain doom for them all.
"I have not heard of such tidings," Ioreth replied, a hint of surprise in her tone. "I have been far too busy tending to the needs of others to hear of such things. All I care to hope for is that those murdering devils do not come to this House and trouble the sick! They need their rest!"
Gandalf silently agreed with her as he stepped out of the House. He took his staff that had been leaning against the outer wall and quickly made haste. He knew what he had to do.
x-x-x
A single horse trooped across the battle plain, stepping carefully around fallen soldiers and trotting magnificently on the fallen forms of the enemy. To one pair of Elvish eyes, the horse appeared to have sighted something of importance and was following the most direct path to that object.
Already the men who had survived were combing the wreck of the fields for survivors. A triage facility had been set up as the sons of Elrond began to work their skill at field medication. Yet, as the sun began to set, their role became futile as the doors to the city were opened and many came forth to bear the wounded to the Houses of Healing.
One thing troubled one of the sons of Elrond. All of the wounded they had seen, and the strong as well, had been men. Had there not been a woman amongst them as well?
He carefully followed the horse around the victims of the day and found it coming to a halt near the half-destroyed war tower. A figure was lying slumped at its base, and the horse was gently nudging the figure.
Buffy found herself slowly coming to. There was something wet on her face. It retracted before she felt a dull weight settle on top of her head. Moaning, she opened her eyes against the red sky and squinted up at the figure above her. It was a horse, she thought blindly as her senses came rushing back to her. It was her horse.
"Sador?" she asked, struggling to push herself into a seated position. Her muscles protested violently at not having been used after extreme force had been exerted on them for who knew how many hours before. "Ow," she grumbled, holding her shoulder. Her body was healing itself, she thought snidely, but she'd been hacked and slashed on the battlefield.
Sador gave a soft whine before bending down to nudge her again.
"So glad to see you, too," Buffy grumbled as she pushed Sador's head away from her face. "I'm alright," she continued, as though the horse would actually care.
Well, Sador might not care if she was dead or not, but there was a figure standing behind the horse staring at her and from the expression on his face, she knew that this man was concerned about her safety. He was bathed in the red light of the sunset and, as he drew closer, she saw that he wasn't a man, but an Elf.
"Hello," she said slowly as she used the wooden cage behind her to get to her feet. Her muscles were really angry now, she thought as she leaned against the tower, hoping to appear casual. She really didn't want to think on how she appeared, because she knew she was filthy. She was probably bloody, too. She felt disoriented after waking up so abruptly, but everything was coming back to her now.
"You are alive," said the Elf, stepping near the horse and resting a hand on the beautiful leather saddle. "Is this beast your own?"
"Yeah," Buffy said, chancing a step forward. Her body immediately fought against this decision yet she persisted in walking over to her horse. It must have been amusing to the Elf because he hid a smile behind a hand as he averted his gaze. "And I take it my walking off a field of victory is amusing to you."
"You walk as though on hot coals," the Elf replied in an apologetic tone, watching as she gently stroked Sador's beautiful mane. "You are obviously in a great deal of discomfort."
"I'll heal," Buffy protested.
"You may yet heal," the Elf said, watching as she began checking the saddle for any remnants of her once vast collection of weaponry. "I must ask you to accompany me to the City."
"You want me to go there?" she asked, turning her neck slightly to glance at the city in the distance, gleaming under a smoky haze. "You've got to be kidding me."
"You must get treatment," the Elf said, reaching for her arm. She gracefully pulled it away.
"I don't need treatment," she protested, taking a step away from him.
"But—" the Elf began to protest, but Buffy cut him off.
"Look, whoever you are, I'm sure you're a nice guy. But I don't like hospitals. I don't like treatment centers. I despise medicine. And I hate being pushed to do something I don't like doing in the first place. I suggest you back off before I get violent."
During their journey to the Paths of the Dead, Aragorn had clued them in on who this young woman really was. She was someone under the care of Gandalf and who happened to be a warrior. The Elf had seen her fight with great skill today. She had a violent temper, as Legolas had said. The Dwarf spoke fondly of her, saying she had skill worthy of any man. Aragorn spoke of her quiet leadership and her skill with many weapons, as well as her great regard for certain people. She was fond of the Rohirrim, they all had said.
She was standing before him now, her eyes blazing. She certainly didn't look very happy. She had a temper on him as he'd just seen. He'd watched her fight. And, even now in her injured state, she was considering hurting him, even though he was an immortal being thousands of years her senior. She may not get the world she now lived in, Aragorn had said in a heavy tone, but she sure knew how to fight for it.
"Please," the Elf said, reaching for her hand again. "The King asks for you. He is concerned that you have fallen in battle and to hear of this would grieve him."
Something seemed to change in Buffy's face as she gripped the saddle tightly before nodding slowly. "All right," she said, giving in. She was too tired to argue. Even on a few hours sleep, which her body seemed to be grateful for, her senses were still dulled with exhaustion. There was only so much a Slayer could take and after fighting and hacking against a few hundred thousand foes, she was ready to close her eyes again. She'd been ready to give up. She had been hoping upon closing her eyes to see Whistler's face, telling her she could finally rest at last because she had earned her eternal award. But, to her surprise and likely disappointment, she had awoken to Sador's curious tongue and a pushy Elf. If she wasn't cranky before, that had been reason enough to make her cantankerous.
She turned back to Sador and attempted to pull herself on the horse. The Elf quietly held Sador steady as Buffy mounted her mare before they turned towards the City.
"Where?" she asked, glancing down at him.
He gestured towards the many tents now being erected in the fields. "There resides Lord Aragorn," the Elf said. "I will accompany you."
She gave him a piercing, cold look and he quickly appended, "But I would dare not force a lady to do a thing against her will."
"Good," she said, taking the reins and gently nudging Sador onwards. "I would hate to have to hurt you."
They soon came upon the encampment. A steady stream of men were now entering the city, many being carried between two or three others and more still were walking under their own free will. Elladan slowed his pace and turned to his foster brother, washing his hands in a basin of water, his gaze dark and exhausted. He gazed out over the camp to see King Éomer and Prince Imrahil approaching the tent. "I see you have returned," he said, addressing Elladan. "Did you not find her?"
"I have returned with her," the Elf said, turning to gesture to the horse that had been standing beside him. But his eyes widened slightly when he realized that Sador was no longer there. "She was standing here a moment before."
"I saw only her horse," Aragorn said, pulling on his long robes and watching as the King and Prince came nearer. "This is not good tidings to tell him, for he was most concerned when he could not spot her before."
"She was alive," Elladan said adamantly, spinning in a full circle in the hopes of spotting a dark horse with a small blonde atop it. "She was right here!"
Aragorn was looking more and more doubtful by the moment. "We will find her yet," he said in a determined tone, watching as Éomer and Imrahil finally entered the camp, glancing around.
"All that could move on their own have been sent to assist the wounded into the city," Prince Imrahil said, glancing at Aragorn.
"That is good tidings," Aragorn said, before turning to Éomer, who was gazing towards the long lines of men streaming through the broken gates, frowning slightly. "Do not concern yourself for her safety," he counseled in a low tone. "She is resilient and would not suffer the fools that would harm her."
"Perhaps not," Éomer said, turning back to Aragorn. "I have lost my family and I wish not to lose my counsel as well."
Elrohir arrived a moment later and ducked under the lip of the tent. As he entered, the other knights rode up, dismounting and sending their horses off. A single hint of smoke tracked across the remaining sunlight, throwing the interior of the tent into shadow.
"Behold the sun setting in a great fire," Aragorn said, observing the light through a crack in his tent. "It is a sign of the end and fall of many things, and a change in the tides of the world. But this city and realm has rested in the charge of the Stewards for many years. I will not enter in, nor shall I make any claim, until it be seen whether we will prevail or if Mordor shall. I will remain here to await the welcome of the Lord of the City."
"But, Lord, already you have raised the banner of the kings and have displayed such tokens as that of Elendil's house," Éomer said in protest. "Will you suffer these to be challenged?"
"No," Aragorn replied heavily. "I have no reason to bring such tidings now and the situation is dire as it remains."
"Your words are kind, my lord," Prince Imrahil said with a slight bow of his head, "and wise. Yet if you will seek the counsel of one who is within the house of the Lord Denethor, you will know that he is both strong-willed and proud and will likely not take kindly to any challenge at this time. I would not have you seen like a beggar at the door."
"Not a beggar," Aragorn said. "I remain still a captain of the Rangers who are unused to cities and houses of stone." And he reached over and rolled his own banner and did off the Star on his brow, turning it over to Elrohir for safekeeping. "Keep these secret and keep these safe," he advised. "There will be a time in the future when the hurts of this world shall accept them. Now is not such a time."
"Of course," Elrohir said, taking the Star of the North-kingdom and stowing it within his robes. "What shall you do now?"
"We will take our leave from you," Prince Imrahil said, gesturing to both King Éomer and himself. "We will go to the city and assist in whichever way we can."
"I wish to see my Uncle and my sister," Éomer said in a dark tone, and though many could see that his eyes had darkened since his family had been taken from him, he was still young and was still King. "Where would they be taken?"
"The King would have been taken in highest honor to the Citadel," the Prince replied. "Any Lady of Rohan will likely be laid by his side. If you will accompany me, I will take you there."
Éomer nodded and the two said their words of parting and took their leave.
The moment Buffy had reached the encampment; she had seen the banner of Rohan blowing in the slight breeze. Her mind had suddenly become clear. She had clearly forgotten about Éowyn, the poor woman who had fought the foul beast to her own fall. Seeing that the Elf had disappeared, she had joined the queue entering the city. On horseback, she was able to maneuver around the large groups of people and debris on the main street. At last she came upon the crest of the hill and stood before the Citadel.
One of the guards took her horse the instant she dismounted it. He didn't dare ask who she was. She wore the armor of the Rohirrim and came bearing many scars of battle. She waved him off as she walked inside, her fingers working to loosen her helmet from her head.
A large litter was being lowered across the seat of the Steward. Many glanced up when she entered and a soldier of Gondor started forward when one of the Rohirrim called out, "She is one of the guards of Rohan. Leave her be."
Withdrawing his sword, he watched her move carefully towards the King's altar. Prying the helm from her head, it fell with a dull clatter on the ground.
She had to see for herself that this is what she had been brought into this world for. She had to see for herself that he had truly died in honor. She didn't know much about these people, but she had respected this man, who had taken many hard hits but had gone down fighting in the end.
The men around her were murmuring, but she paid no attention to them. She heard the sounds of torches being lit as a single beam of red sunlight fell onto the King's pale face. With bloody, bruised fingers, she gently pulled the cloth of gold from his face and folded it back to his chest. As one of the guards set his shield at his feet, he handed her the sword of the fallen King. She took it and smiled at the guard, who returned her smile humorlessly. She set the sword across his chest, the tip barely grazing the shield at his feet.
"It brings us great relief to know you are among us still, Merilin," a quiet voice said. She recognized one of the guards as he came forward and, without warning, drew her into a warm embrace. She felt awkward at this level of contact, yet awkwardly patted the man's neck a few times as he released her.
"Thank you," she said, and she genuinely meant it.
"Will you not take rest?" the man asked, watching as she returned her attention back to the place where the King was at rest.
"Not a chance," she said, walking towards the shadows and taking her seat on a bench that had been erected against the wall. "I'm staying here to watch over him."
"There are twelve of us," the man said, pointing them out. "We will stay here through the night."
"Then you'd better add one, because I'm not going anywhere," Buffy said in protest. The man didn't dare argue with her. He just patted her shoulder and returned to his post near a flickering light, but every so often she felt his gaze flicker towards her. She kept her own gaze steady as she began to unclasp her heavy armor. It was only when she felt the touch of cold wood on her fingers did she give a little start. With little effort she pried the once-broken horn from her belt.
"Oh," she said softly, staring at the small instrument in her hand. She felt a level of sentiment she wasn't so sure she should have. It had been given to her as a token for defeating their enemies on two separate occasions. It seemed only customary that after their greatest battle yet it would still remain intact and in her capable hands. She rose, lifting the trumpet into the light. Somehow, it seemed fitting that it would remain with the man who had carried his people from structured chaos to one of the biggest victories to date. It had to be a huge victory, considering full-scale battles such as that one only came around once a lifetime.
The guards glanced up as she entered their private circle, but she hardly noticed as she tucked the horn at the crook of the King's elbow. "Hey," she said, so that she would not be heard by the others behind her. "I just thought that you should know that it was… it was definitely different from what I'm used to. I've always been the one in charge and now... I hope you find your place to the halls of your Fathers. You've earned it, King of Rohan." Rising, she stroked his face with her bruised fingers. "Maybe I'll see you soon."
She took her leave then, returning to her bench. Although her wounds were beginning to ache and her breathing became painful, she refused to break. She was going to sit here forever if she had to. She wasn't guilty about the King's death, but her curiosity lied at where her path would now turn that this battle was over.
She didn't notice that King Éomer or Prince Imrahil had walked in, asking for news of the King and of Éowyn. When Éomer had heard his sister was alive, he rushed from the Citadel. He had not seen the young woman in the corner, leaning on her elbows and sighing every few seconds.
It was a few hours before someone approached her again. This time, to her surprise, it was Gandalf. "Hey there," she said, glancing up at him. He was gazing down at her with eyes full of concern.
"I should have known that you would come here of all places," Gandalf said, folding his arms and regarding her almost curiously.
"I had to make sure that he was, you know," she said, tilting her head towards the fallen man. "I couldn't help it."
"What are you waiting for?" Gandalf asked.
"I'm just waiting," Buffy said, leaning back against the wall and pressing a bloodied hand to her broken ribs.
"You are waiting perhaps for the end of the journey which has not yet come," Gandalf said quietly, edging closer to her. "Is this what you wait for?"
"Something like that," she admitted. "I mean, I've done what they asked me to. I've fought in not one but three battles. I've done all I can to counsel that man and now that he's dead..."
"The evil which has taken this land has not yet left it," Gandalf reminded her. "Sauron still remains and behind his walls the enemy is regrouping. There are Orcs and men ten thousand strong that are hidden and with that the threat of the world falling still remains." He paused a moment. "There has always been the threat of the one Ring. It has not yet occurred to their deepest thoughts that we would seek to destroy it. And yet until that Ring is destroyed, your destiny is bound to our world."
Buffy was staring at him warily before shaking her head. "You're right," she said, staring at the guards and slowly getting to her feet. "I guess we still have our battles to fight, huh?"
"We will fight later," Gandalf said, seeing the disappointment in the younger woman's eyes. "But for now we must care for all the hurting. You are still wounded, Merilin, and your movements are troubled. Will you come with me to the Houses of Healing? Aragorn has been brought to care for the others: Faramir, the Steward of Gondor, the Lady Éowyn and Meriadoc."
Her mind processed this until she reached the conclusion that Éowyn was being cared for, which meant that she was surely alive. "Éowyn is alive?" she asked in disbelief.
"She was near death when I last laid eyes upon her," Gandalf admitted. "As was the Lord Faramir and the hobbit was not far off."
Buffy was torn between her hatred of anything medical and her longing to see Éowyn alive, knowing it would bring her hope. "Okay," she said, turning at last to face the doorway. "I'll go with you. But the moment they put a needle in my sight, I'm out of there."
"Fair enough," Gandalf said, taking her arm as they moved out of the Citadel and towards the Houses of Healing.
x-x-x
In the next part, Buffy finally passes into the Houses of Healing. Her true reason for her "waiting" is uncovered as she confides in the one person she can.
Oh, and we finally get to see a bit of the heart of this fiction, including my biggest 'ship of all times… which you will see. I have rather enjoyed writing for this couple, and after what they have been through, they have earned it.