Journey's End
Pairings: There are book pairings. The Buffy pairing by now should be painfully obvious. If it is not, then, there really is not much of a point to be asking about it, is there?
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: Author's notes tend to be misjudged, I think. My headers are still relatively small so I will keep up this newfound tradition. And… reviews? Wow… Anyways, Trina and I both appreciate your comments. We have spent a lot of time on this story, and I think it is beginning to show. While there is a rather large chunk of the story still to tell, I only hope that you enjoy what is to come.
Mama T – Many, many thanks.
Goldenshadows – oddly enough, so am I.
BuffyandDracoLover – where is the fun in all of that? I really do not write for the fans, I write to tell the story. I did not feel that it was the opportune moment to push a couple before the brink of disaster. They will get their moment, but I did not want to "rush" it. There is always that "next chapter".
Sukera – As long as you are apologizing, so will I. I find it really hard to tell sarcasm from sincerity sometimes. Anyway, you did sort of get me moving around again instead of just hanging around.
Jumpin-jo – well, the story has finally been edited to completion, with a few little extras thrown in. I will not give a final chapter count, but it is pretty darned close to thirty. It has been an amazing journey, to say the least.
Sparky24 – and, wouldn't you know, that was never my intention? The original story never had a Buffy pairing, so this was unexpected. I am rather pleased at the outcome, however. The first pairing is my biggest 'ship' of all times, while the second pairing just sort of randomly happened. In the end, however, all parties will be happy.
Lorency – oh, my dear, thank you.
Russa – I like this addition, too. It allows for me to comment to what you lovely people comment on. I know that others use this method, too, but it works nicely for me. As for Buffy's health, this chapter pretty much summed it up. I will just say that there is quite a bit that she can still see, be and do. And, yes, speaking about how hard it is to write comes from personal experiences. I am not a writer. I am an editor. Writing is only something I do to help ease the passing of time from spring until autumn when I can go back to graduate school to become an accredited teaching professional. Writing is just a hobby and one I hope to continue throughout the summer, at the very least.
Creative-Insanity – okay, first of all, I really like your user-name. Second of all, thank you ever so much for your comments. I really wanted the pairing to seem natural and not forced. I am a learning writer, and thus these things take time.
Rcaqua – I will get there, eventually. I am still working on the one-post-a-week thing where I hope to have both stories posted by June sometime.
Evilelvengoddess – Aw, thank you! We both appreciate your comments!
Shapabo – Well, I am certainly glad that you appreciate the speed at which this relationship has progressed. It would be out of character for them both if she were to just accept something this small and what he feels towards her is not the deep, romantic kind of love. At least, not yet. He loves her as he could his own countryman because he has seen her true face of bravery. That is likely the easiest way to describe it. I thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to review this story! And, yes, this is the type of relationship that could take years to finally get to some means of an end. This isn't a spoiler as such, but merely a stated fact.
Vampy, the chosen one – She'll catch a break, eventually. I think her big break is death, because that is what a Slayer truly is. Which pairing were you hoping for? I think this one works well enough for this story. I did not want to do a duplicate pairing, and I tend to favor the unconventional. It works for this story, as you said. And, oh, you have our thanks. To hear such compliments elicits pride.
Chapter Summary: The Men of the West make their last stand as the rest of the human world waits on bated breath.
Chapter Warning: This chapter became the epitome of our doom… deciding where to go from here, we decided to combine two separate elements into one chapter. The first would be the downfall of the Ring, described in all of four Tolkien pages. The second would be the two underlying romances, one which was beautifully begun in the previous chapter and one that has been sort of dormant until now. I still claim myself as a terrible action writer, but I do know how to describe things well, hence the reason why this chapter is far darker than others. You have been warned.
x-x-x
Chapter 21
Last Stand
By Alyson Kay and Katrina Claire
x-x-x
By dawn's light, the beating of wings far above their heads seemed to cease as the creatures took refuge within their own realm. The men moved as one, with the footmen along the interior, the horses pushed to the exterior to better protect the army in case of an ambush.
There was no resistance, but Buffy was hardly surprised. Sauron had them exactly where he wanted them. They were bait dangling on a fishhook that was far too sweet to swallow. Now in full view of the gates before them, Aragorn turned to his captains and they in turn moved to disperse their forces. Buffy obediently moved away from Gandalf, though the old Wizard looked after her as she did. She rode to stand before the Rohirrim, many who gazed at her. She looked right back at them, but there was no fear in her eyes. She wouldn't allow herself to be afraid. Not anymore.
And still, as they stood there, facing the gates expectantly, nothing happened. Feeling slightly foolish with six thousand others behind her, Buffy watched as Aragorn made a small gesture with his hand. A rather large group came forward, riding towards the gates. She felt her breath draw sharply and catch in her throat. Did they really have a death wish, all of them? She heard murmurings behind her, but refused to listen to them. She knew the men behind her were afraid. Hell, she was even imagining what sorts of horrors lay beyond the walls. They knew not what could come from behind those gates and after what she had yet seen, she half-expected something a lot worse. Sador began to dart anxiously to the left, but Buffy held tight. She refused to let herself show weakness in the eyes of these men, many who would quail and run seemingly at the drop of a pin.
The group consisting of Aragorn, Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, Pippin, Éomer, Imrahil and their respective banner carriers and horn blowers had finally reached their summit. Aragorn rode forward alone, casting a daring glance up at the towering wall above him. Pippin stirred uneasily behind Gandalf, his small eyes taking in the size of the gallant wall and the darkness that seemed to seep from behind it. There was naught a sound, but all those gathered this close to their doom knew what fate awaited them on the other side.
At last, they came to a rest before the grand black gates and still, nothing happened. The heavy iron gates remained sealed beneath the spiked wall of the frowning archway. Aragorn alone seemed to ride forward and stand before the doors, preparing himself for what was to come.
"Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!" he shouted. "Let justice be done upon him! For wrongfully has he made war upon Gondor and destroyed its lands! The King of Gondor demands he should come forth!"
There was a long, creeping silence in which the fear seemed to abate from the eyes of the men behind the lines of Captains and heralds. There was anger now and the thirst for vengeance. Buffy knew that this was as dangerous as fighting fearfully. Vengeance led to death far faster than being afraid to fight. Though she could barely hear their words, she rode forwards slightly to hear what the others were saying, but not one of them spoke. They seemed to be waiting for Sauron to make this next move.
At last, there was the beating of drums that echoed through the mountains, spilling out into the great battle plain. A loud sounding of horns followed the drums, as the doors were released and, at last, the gates opened. Out from behind the gate rode Sauron's embassy.
At the head of the column was a hideous creature atop what appeared to be a horse. He, or she, was robed in all black, but it did not appear to be a Ringwraith. The others before the now-open gates were standing fast as the Orcs behind him quickly gathered around the dark figure, but he alone moved forward.
"I am the mouth of Sauron," the creature said, and even as it lifted its head, he was like no living man any had ever seen. His skin was marred with blemishes and scabs and blood seemed to trickle in his mouth as though he inhaled it. His voice was distorted, twisted by his evil and his malice. He spoke again, his tone disdainful. Buffy understood immediately why this creature was out talking with them. Sauron wanted to hurt them and, apparently, he was efficient at it. Buffy had been through this before, many times. The most recent event had to have been with Caleb and the First. She knew then what she was facing. Still, though, she hung back. She refused to leave the thousands behind. She was no lord nor was she a Captain of some great army. She was just someone dumped into a foreign land expected to do what she had been chosen to do. Her end had finally come.
And, yet, the creature spoke again. "Is there anyone with authority to treat with me," he asked, "or perhaps with wit to understand me?" He turned to Aragorn first, sensing his target. "It would take more than a bit of broken Elvish glass and a rabble to make thee a King." Though his eyes were hidden beneath his black helm, his lips twisted into a disdainful sneer as he met Aragorn's solemn gaze. Where one was arrogant and smug, perfectly set in the ways of following such darkness, Aragorn was his polar opposite. Aragorn remained steady on his horse and his gaze never faltered. The hideous creature soon recoiled and spat, "I will not be assailed! Such a course would be due for all of your misfits to seek certain death!"
"We have not laid one hand upon you," Gandalf said, his eyes darkening. "You have nothing to fear from us, until your errand is done. Sauron has sent you to speak on his behalf. Perhaps you would care to tell us what he offers or else he should send forth his legions and be done with it!"
"So," the Messenger said, his lips twisting as more black blood seemed to seep from nowhere, "you are the spokesperson, old Greybeard? You have been far treacherous than ever, hatching plots against my Master. You shall see what becomes of those whose wanderings go far against Sauron the Great! I have tokens that I was bidden to show if you should dare to come." He signed to a guard and the Orc rode up and brought forth a black package. Unwrapping the package, the black Messenger withdrew a small sword. They were all dismayed, Aragorn most of all, when they realized that a Hobbit had carried this weapon. There was also a long, greenish-grey cloak with an Elven brooch, and, lastly, a Mithril shirt.
Pippin was the one that broke the silence, crying out, "Frodo!" but Gandalf quickly hushed him, sending a fierce glare towards the young Hobbit who rode behind Prince Imrahil. But Pippin's face was stricken over the loss of his cousin, and his eyes were wary as he turned towards the Messenger.
"So, you do not deny that you know these," the Messenger said, practically seething with satisfaction. "What use you find in these children I cannot guess, but to send them as spies into Mordor, well… even a fool could see his error in such ways!"
Oh, how old Gandalf suddenly seemed as he gazed upon the items. "I do not wish to deny them," he said quietly, his eyes cast down.
"He was dear to you, I see," the Messenger said, twisting the proverbial blade even deeper. "His errand, which you have wished to succeed, has failed. He shall now endure a slow torment of years… who knew that someone so small could endure so much pain?"
From her small distance behind the group, Buffy closed her eyes. Yes, she thought to herself. How could anyone so small and so young go through so much pain? What kind of foolish destiny was it to suppose that only the smallest person could make a difference?
"Name your terms," Gandalf said quietly, for he suddenly appeared aged and withered, at last showing his true self as an old man, wise beyond his years but still not without his compassion. The Messenger's face lifted and it seemed that he was trying to judge Gandalf's reaction.
"It matters not my Master's terms," the Messenger said, sneering again as he twisted his head, glancing at each member within Gandalf's party. "You have utterly destroyed his forces and for this, he wishes to treat you with the same respect as he himself was treated when you dealt that crushing blow. Once his victory is made and your bodies swept aside, the lands you knew as Rohan and Gondor will be no more!"
Buffy glanced up, but there was undefiled fire within her eyes. She could feel the strength of Mordor in this moment. Sauron was testing them. She hoped that Gandalf would show his true strength. If he didn't, she was going to have to do something, and it wasn't something she wanted to do. Even as she rode closer, Gandalf gazed forward, his withered eyes lowering.
"That is quite the bounty for our insolence," Gandalf said, but it appeared to the others that his tone was in mockery. "If this prisoner is so great to you, why not return him to us and then have your war?"
"Sauron does not wish to destroy those who could be such valuable acquaintances," the Messenger said coolly. "Your spy will not return to you until his torment has been passed. You will recognize only a shadow of the child you once knew. His bidding is for you to return to your lands and await your doom, to leave Mordor untouched and leave Gondor unspoiled, forever. Take these, or leave them!"
Gandalf suddenly looked up, and reaching a hand across his breast cast aside his cloak, and a white light shone forth like a blinding flash of light. As the Messenger quailed under the light, Gandalf reached forward and took the three items back into his possession. "We will take what belongs to our own!" he said, finally pulling Shadowfax away. "We did not come here to waste words with an embassy. Our treat is with Sauron. Go, and be gone, for certain death is now upon you!"
The Messenger's face had twisted to one like a wounded scorpion backed into a corner, still able to strike painfully yet not having the power to do so. The creature turned on his horse and the embassy galloped madly back to Cirith Gorgor. The soldiers, however, blew the long-awaited signal and even as the Messenger crossed the gates, the first throngs of the enemy began pouring forth. Sauron had sprang his trap.
The drums began rolling as the doors of the Black Gate were swung back wide. Out streamed a great host, comprised of men, Orcs and the newly-bred half-Trolls, swinging their hammers menacingly. Even as Aragorn turned to the others, calling "Fall back!" the men who had remained behind straightened, knowing they would soon be surrounded. Buffy returned immediately to stand with the men from Rohan. Somehow, this is where she wanted to be. King Éomer soon rode and stood his steed beside Sador and both he and Buffy exchanged a long look.
Little time was left to organize the battle, but the men were spread as far as they could go. Slipping her hand to the hilt of her sword, she held it there as she stopped, Sador neighing softly from underneath her. She didn't want to put her faithful horse through such an ordeal. If they had time, she would have sent Sador back towards the Anduil. Behind them rose the banner of Rohan, the white horse on a dark green background. To their far right was the silver swan of Dol Amroth, blowing slightly in the foreboding breeze. The black standard of the north was raised at last, the seven stones glistening in the sun.
"I would not ask for you to fight for me this day," Éomer said quietly to Buffy as they watched the great host move behind their forces. She knew that this number was well above ten thousand. It just had to be. She may have sucked at math, but this was a little bit bigger than what she expected.
"And I wouldn't have it any other way," she admitted, looking at him. He saw that she held her sword at the ready and smiled grimly, knowing that even though this could be the end, he would rather stand next to her than anyone else at this particular time. "Besides, you're kind of stuck with me."
The Orcs had taken to bashing their spears into their shields, creating such a racket that some of the men began to pale in their fear again. But Buffy remained strong and headfast as she rode forward, and then turned around. She glanced at the King and received a small nod from him. He knew that her words carried an impact with them. He was willing to test her on her ability to lead.
"All right!" she shouted, her voice barely carrying above the din from the Orcs now completely surrounding them. "Now, I know we've got a job to do, but we've done this before. We've been through this! This is nothing! Don't be afraid to do what you can! After we're dead, all that remains is our families, our homes… our futures. Don't forget the sacrifices we all made to be here! And don't be afraid to let loose, because they deserve one hell of an ass-kicking!"
Even as Sador came about, Éomer was looking at with a look of increasing respect. "That was not so bad now, was it?" he asked. She shrugged and drew out her sword, allowing the dim sunlight to glance off of its sharpest edge.
"It could have been worse," she admitted. "Besides, I—"
But, her voice suddenly died. She had just had the strangest sensation, as though someone in a dream were calling her name, someone asking for help. She slowly turned to face the open gates and, beyond that, she saw the tower with the glowing red eyeball on top of it. Besides being a bit disturbed by such a sight, she was also vaguely aware that it was calling to them. She heard her own title on the wind, as though a hiss of a serpent. "Slayer…"
She lifted her hand to brush a few wayward strands from her eyes before throwing it back over her shoulders. Lifting her sword to her forehead, she bounced it from her skin before sweeping it regally aside. "Come and get me," she whispered under her breath. "You know you want it."
As though Aragorn had sensed it, he turned upon his feet and grinned at the army standing behind him. The host had now emptied from Mordor and both sides stood, glaring at one another, waiting for one side to break.
This day, Aragorn made the choice that the men of the West should lead the attack. "For Frodo," he said, with that odd twinkle in his eyes as he spun about, taking off at a run towards the thickest of the army before him. He was quickly followed by the other Rangers, the Elves, his friends and the entire host from Dol Amroth. The Rohirrim kept to their right flank, turning instead to fight the ring around them. There was a fierce clash of metal against metal and soon the enemy forces began to close the noose as the heavy doors of the Black Gate began to close and the sounds of drumbeats began to fade away.
x-x-x
Éowyn had awakened that morning with a sense of foreboding. As she moved into the gardens, she took her usual glance out towards the hills of Mordor in the distance. The fires had long since stopped burning, but the sky was full of ash and a cold, impenetrable darkness. She could feel the brutal fury of her greatest enemy standing at such a distance and realized now that those she loved were in grave danger.
A cold wind swept from the mountains, unsettling her hair and causing her to shiver. Even though spring was fast approaching, it was still rather cold. She felt a strong sense of warmth suddenly as a cloak was draped over her shoulders. "Thank you," she said, turning to see Faramir standing beside her, his hands gently pulling the cloak about her neck as she turned to face him. He gently set the clasp and stepped back, regarding her with a bemused expression.
"You looked cold," he said at last by way of greeting as he glanced out over the wall of the fence, staring down over the city. It seemed to them that a hush had fallen over many, as they feared that all of their hopes and prayers would be forsaken by the great evil lurking only a small distance away.
"I can feel their fear," Éowyn said softly. "They understand that those they love will die and with it, our hopes and dreams."
"I never once saw that fear in your face, my Lady," Faramir said, turning to her with a knowing smile. "I do not wish to see it now."
"If my brother were to die, I would be alone to rule," Éowyn said, pulling the dark blue cloak around her shoulders. "I do not wish for this to happen."
"Your brother is strong and able," Faramir said convincingly. "He knows what it is he must do."
Éowyn smiled. Of course Éomer knew what he was doing. He was, after all, a marshal. "We must have hope," she said in a bright, clear tone.
"We must have hope," he echoed, his hand lightly touching hers. They remained at the gate for a little while longer before the wind grew far too cold, and they were forced to turn away.
x-x-x
All at once, hell seemed to break loose. It seemed as though the enemy army had been anticipating a wild brawl and soon were called to arms. There was the clashing of horns as well as shields and swords. Buffy found herself moving swiftly to her left and quickly taking down as many Orcs as possible, knowing that twice as many filled in the gap behind her. She heard the sound of hooves behind her, but her attention was riveted by the rather large force that seemed hell bent on preventing her from what she was attempting to do – drive a line through the center of the left-most flank.
But the men of Rohan refused to let that happen. They had no intention of leaving one of their most pivotal female fighters in a league of enemy swordsmen. Sador was extremely agile, considering that if she moved but one or two paces to the left or right, she would trample the poor men to death. Sensing her mistress's mind, however, she seemed to take great relish in treading upon the enemy.
There was a great shrieking sound above her. Whipping her head around, she caught sight of eight winged creatures advancing quickly upon them over the now-closed gates of Mordor. Their screams seemed to penetrate into her soul and she felt as though a great chill had hardened over her heart. She had heard many stories in the past few days from the men of Gondor, speaking of how Faramir and his men were picked off in groups by the Nazgûl during their flight from Osgiliath. Her eyes widened as she felt how close everything seemed to the end. Even in front of her, a man fell, his throat slashed from a vicious blow. His blank eyes stared into hers for a split second before his head hit the ground and his body rolled in the impact of the Orc delivering a second, unnecessary blow through the man's sternum. Taking out her rage and her frustration, Buffy drove her sword clean through the Orc's helmet before kicking it aside. She turned around to launch into a second offensive when the cry sounded again.
Sador bucked in a violent reaction to the sound, and Buffy found herself flying less-than-gracefully through the air once again. Where she landed, however, was not in friendly territory. When the group of Easterlings turned and saw a young woman lying on the ground looking slightly dazed, they turned and lifted their own swords.
Her salvation came in the form of her own sword. It drove through the shoulder of armor on one man before the hilt landed perfectly in her hand. She flipped back to her feet and kicked out at the figure, using a second roundhouse kick to send him spinning off to the right. She turned to the man next to him and as his sword swung dangerously close to her chest, she leapt back and, with a hint of flourish, lifting her sword under his, throwing off his own parry of retribution. She swung her wrist around, easily knocking the sword from his outstretched hand and yet another kick sent him sprawling on top of the first man. The others seemed to rush in all at once and she spun around, grinning coldly underneath her helm, which was still far too big for her head.
They seemed to attack all at once, but she took her time in dispelling them, knowing that one false move could mean her death. She didn't want to die. Not yet, anyway.
The endless cries of the Nazgûl were suddenly cut off, and a small voice seemingly right behind her cried out, "The eagles! Look, the eagles!"
Buffy spun around just in time to see the small Hobbit darting over the bodies, the look of disgust spreading across his youthful face. She caught a faint glimpse of a huge bird battling with the winged creatures, but none of that mattered to her. There was a large Orc advancing quickly on such easy prey as a Hobbit that she doubled her efforts to get to him before the Orc did.
Pippin, although he'd managed to kill several Orcs with his small, Westernesse blade, was easily outmatched by the larger figure. Though he struck out with his sword, the Orc took it with his hand and twisted it, throwing the young Hobbit onto the ground. The sword wrenched from his grasp, Pippin had no means to defend himself aside from lifting a stone and throwing it with all of his strength. It seemed to work as the Orc suddenly grunted, the rock glancing from his head. Pippin, realizing he had found a weakness, grasped around on the meadow for more rocks, but none could be found. He felt something hard step onto the backs of his feet and felt them crack under the pressure. He winced as the pressure grew. This Orc wanted to play with him before it took his life.
He suddenly felt the pressure lessen and glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widening. He rolled out of the way just in time as the Orc collapsed. As Pippin glanced up, he saw a long spear that had been driven cleanly through the dark creature. Turning to see who had covered his neck when so many others were to be fought, he found himself gazing at a small figure that, unlike him, looked as though she belonged there.
"Come on," she said, reaching a hand down to help him up. He took her offered hand and stood up, staring in horror at the figure now oozing thick streams of black blood onto the field. "Stay with me… I'll look after you."
"I got separated," he said, collecting his sword and trying his best to stay behind this woman. She may be short, but her legs were far faster than any Hobbits' legs. "I must…" He quickly darted as she struck down another foe, this one landing very close to his feet. "… I promised that…" His voice quickly drew off into a squeak as a shadow of an eagle and creature locked in a mortal battle spiraled right above their heads. "I said…"
"Quiet," she hissed, quickly kicking another figure aside. Pippin took that opportunity to watch as she drove her sword through the armor on the Orc's body before twisting the blade and pushing him easily from the metal. "Stay close to me… I promise you won't get hurt."
But, in that moment, he hesitated. He knew that she was strong enough to look after him. She had saved him before. Directly in front of them, on his feet, was King Éomer, and Buffy was making a direct path towards him. Pippin shook his head and quickly ran behind her. She stopped every few paces to either kick or hit something in their path before she finally reached the King.
"I hope that you're enjoying yourself," she said breathlessly as the Hobbit moved behind him.
For some reason, Éomer looked immensely relieved to see her. The second she had gone from his line of sight, he had worried that she would fall in battle. But there she was, alive and well, although covered in Orc blood and carrying only her sword. And, apparently, she'd picked up a traveling companion in the form of a Hobbit, just a head shorter than she was, but still nevertheless frightened. Facing an onslaught from a forthcoming group of a larger breed of Orcs, the two exchanged a dark look before lifting their swords in defense. Buffy moved to the left quickly as Éomer swung his shield up, spinning it in a slight show of flair before they both leapt into battle, the remnants of the Rohirrim behind them quickly called to arms. Pippin, not seeing any other choice, quickly followed.
Buffy stayed low, her speed and her flexibility easily getting her through the lines. As she turned around, she spun her sword back into her firm right-handed grasp and looked around. No one, not even Pippin, had made it through. With a groan of frustration, she doubled back.
She had just kicked aside a single Orc when she saw a shield lying in the grass. For a second, her blood pounded in her ears and every sensation seemed to rush into her head as she saw that it was, indeed, a royal shield. She quickly bent down and took it by a corner before lifting it. Hefting it against her hip, she leveled it into her left arm before turning and whipped the shield through the tangle of bodies. It reached the intended target and fell to the side, its oily hands grasping the tip of the shield which had been directed into his neck. As she moved forward, her arm knocking an Easterling aside as she sped along, she noticed a solemn hand reaching down to retrieve the shield.
"That was you?" she asked innocently as she reached him, stabbing her sword slightly into the ground.
He was gazing at her, his eyes suddenly intense. "Perhaps now you will understand why—"
There was a sudden gasp from Buffy though as she felt something hard smash into her back and she stumbled forwards. Éomer managed to catch her, but not before she had taken her sword, still stuck into the ground, and had cloven his head cleanly from his body. "How about we do this later, if we both live?" she threw back at him, her eyes attentively searching for her next prey.
"That would work," he said, and his voice seemed to fade as Buffy took off, running towards Gandalf and Aragorn, whom she had just spotted. They seemed to be bearing the brunt of the attacks. Pippin wisely stole out from behind Éomer to follow behind her. But on her third or fourth step away, he found his voice and cried, "Look out!"
There was a half-Troll who attacked them both, bowling over the woman. Her sword went flying from her hand and she landed sharply on her stomach. Knowing that he owed her a life debt, Pippin stole forward and bent down, slashing the over-large Orc crudely behind the kneecaps. When the creature hissed and bellowed, Buffy snapped back to her feet. Even without her sword, she appeared formidable. Taking out her pale hand, she pulled off her helmet, shaking out her hair underneath. Her smile was cold, and her eyes colder still, but she couldn't resist her last comment. "You are so going to get it."
And then she let loose. Each punch, thrust and kick drove the creature towards the outer rim of the battlefield. Pippin followed behind her, collecting her sword which, in itself, was very heavy. With one final raw backhand, the creature let loose one final hit on her. As his fist grazed across her face, her head spun and her hair caught the light as she recoiled. Bringing up her bruised hand, she touched her face, but as she turned back, the creature did not see the fear it had counted on. It saw pure, raw fire.
For some time, they just stared down one another. The half-Troll seemed to back off, knowing what was coming. But, in that time, Pippin noticed a line of archers suddenly lining up behind the creature even as she dealt the mortal blow. Buffy caught sight of them just in time and turned to see Pippin standing there, his eyes wide, mortified, and her long sword dragging on the ground behind him.
"Look out!" she cried, and threw herself forward just as a series of arrows were released. She managed to dodge two, but as she threw herself in front of the Hobbit to protect him, one of the darts pierced into her right hand. It didn't hurt as bad as she thought it would, being an arrow from an evil land and all. Still, the impact forced her to her knees as she ripped out the dart and threw it aside. Rising, she saw the other archers taking aim for her now that they knew they had made a target. She heard Pippin murmur something behind her, and the next thing she knew a series of riders on horseback had come and were neatly beheading the archers one by one. "Are you all right?" she asked Pippin, turning to look at him as she got back to her feet, at last reclaiming her sword. As she took it in her right hand, however, the nerves suddenly died and the sword fell harmlessly to the ground. Both she and the Hobbit stared at it for a moment before Pippin took her hand.
"There was poison in that dart, I fear," he said, gazing at her with those frightened eyes.
"Great," she said, taking up her sword in her left hand while frantically shaking out her right. "This is exactly what I needed."
As another Orc approached them, she drove her sword through his abdomen at such an awkward angle that the tip came out near his shoulder blade. She quickly retracted it and, as she kicked him away, the poison seemed to catch up with her.
"Damn it," she muttered as she fell to her knees.
"No!" Pippin cried, his voice suddenly very far away.
She looked up and saw him standing in front of her. She could see the fear in his eyes as well as see the long lines of half-Trolls advancing rapidly on them. She should have known that going outside the boundaries of the Rohirrim would make them more tempting targets. But still, she had made a promise to these people and she wasn't about to let it be thrown away because of a stupid poisoned arrow.
She rose and took off running, taking Pippin by his shoulder. They stumbled between many fighting bodies until, at last, they had no room left to run. Before she could even mount a defense, a clawed hand came out of nowhere and knocked her over. Buffy flew through the air and landed hard on her side, her sword landing a good ten feet away from her. Turning onto her stomach, she began to crawl towards it when she felt the crushing weight of an Orc's foot on her lower back. She felt her body imprint itself into the ground as the troll drove his foot further, pushing her down. She sank several inches, her face now trapped in the muddy Earth. She heard Pippin's frenzied cries for help as she reached back and felt along her belt until she drew out her dagger. She took it and drove it through the bottom of the troll's foot. His retaliatory response was to swipe at her and she cringed as she felt the razor-sharp nails graze through her chain-mail armor.
Pippin watched helplessly as the troll drew up its hand to lift its hammer with both. As it prepared to level its final blow, however, two small Elvish blades seemed to come from nowhere and the Orc soon tumbled over. Buffy, feeling the weight disappear, quickly rolled to her left. As the figure landed heavily, she pushed herself off of the ground, gasping as she coughed and spluttered, tiny grains of mud and dead grass falling from her neckline. She turned towards her savior and found an Elf standing there, regarding her with a quiet nod before he turned and continued onwards. She felt a slight smile grace her features as she bent down to retrieve her sword for the second time. Lifting it with her left hand, she turned and gestured for Pippin to come. Before he could, however, a long stream of Rohirrim came between them on horseback. They had been riding in grand circles in the attempt to throw off the archers. It hadn't worked as well as Éomer might have hoped, however. Perhaps it was time to mount a new offensive. Seeing that Éomer and his Captains were once again pinned down by the largest of the forces, she quickly ran behind the horses, Pippin at her heels.
"Hey!" she shouted as they came about. "You, the rear, you need to take the left flank! It's about ready to crack! The rest of you… to the King!"
They decided to follow her orders, considering they really didn't know what they were doing other than riding around in circles in the vain attempt to throw off the archers. Eventually, though, the archers had grown bored in this tireless pursuit and had taken to firing their poisoned darts at the dying men, one by one. Buffy grimaced as she cradled her hand. Already she could see the black poison in her veins, creating a spider-web like pattern down to her wrist. Her wrist hurt like hell, but that wasn't about to stop her. As Pippin ran forward, she turned to shout again at the rearguard. "Cover the left flank! Use arrows if you've got any! Otherwise, cut off the—"
But, in that moment, her voice drew out in a long, shuddering gasp. Pippin spun around and recoiled at the sight of a deep red stain at the front of her mail. Through the stain, a silver tip twisted brutally and with a sickening splat the blade was drawn back. For a second, time seemed to stand still as she reached down to touch her abdomen as the sword withdrew brutally. The Orc began cheering in triumph over catching this figure unawares. Buffy pulled back her hand, staring at her own blood as it spread across her fingers and began dripping to the ground. Already, she could feel the pain settling in. It was exactly as she had seen it.
Pippin felt helpless as she stumbled to her knees. She blinked uncertainly, as though trying to figure out what was happening to her. One of the archers, seeing her down and completely oblivious to the battle around her, fired a second dart which pierced into her shoulder. She didn't even react to it. But as the Orc came to claim his final prize, she rose and spun around, her sword in her left hand. With a great crack, the figure was blown nearly twenty feet away, cleaved nearly in half by the force of her sword. Pippin, seeing the clearing, ran towards her.
"My lady!" he cried, reaching her side as she fell back to her knees. "My lady…"
"No," she said, shaking her head as she looked at him. "You have to get out of here now."
"I am not going to leave you," he said, tugging on her elbow. "You can still fight!"
But her eyes were troubled as she gazed at him. "I don't think there's much fight left in me now…"
She could see from his widening eyes that they were being approached by the half-trolls once again.
"You can't save me," she said, reaching out and suddenly grasping his hand. "Get out of here. Be safe… and…" Her voice seemed to fade as she blinked again before she suddenly collapsed to the side, her hand falling away from his. Pippin had but a second to think before he felt a cold hand touch his shoulder.
"No!" he cried, spinning around and driving his sword through the chin of the Easterling. "I will not leave you behind!"
"Go…" she moaned, holding her hand against her wound. Already, the poison was having the sobering effect that the sedatives and muscle relaxants Giles had once used on her. She felt extremely lofty, as though she were floating over her own body. As Pippin turned to go, a second hand reached for him. But this time, it was a friendly hand and it belonged to a man wearing a white tree with seven stars. "Get him out… please…" she said, and she choked as her own blood bubbled from between her lips.
The man gazed at her with pity and nodded, quickly stalking off. Pippin turned his head, his voice shouting as he kicked and screamed as he was dragged away.
Buffy pressed her forehead to the cold ground, feeling laughter bubble within her. There were tears in her eyes now, the tears of frustration that she was crying because she was no longer going to be able to do any good. What good could she do when she was dead?
She felt a set of claws reach down and grasp her by the back of her neck. Her body was subtly lifted into the air and thrown a great distance. She rolled over and over before coming to rest on her back. Already, she thought, she could see her life flashing before her eyes. But, before she could finally close her eyes to rest, she felt the crushing weight of the troll on her body. She reached up as its claws dug down, the nails scraping her flesh from the back of her neck to her throat. She struggled to reach around its' broad neck but soon snapped it. Unfortunately, its heavy arm fell across her throat, which had been cut by his nails. Her oxygen supply nearly cut off, she nearly blacked out from the stench of the creature atop her, as well as the mounting poison within her blood stream.
There was a great feeling of dread suddenly in her heart. The Nazgûl were screaming again. Lifting her eyes as the orc's black blood began to ooze down her face, she saw the eight creatures flying back over the mountains, which were behind her. Beyond them, however, she could sense a great danger. Everything was beginning to come apart and there was nothing she could do to save herself now. She fumbled in the desperate attempt to move his body, but it wouldn't budge. She relented at the fact she had been holding her breath for nearly four minutes now, and breathing still wasn't coming any easier. That sword must have found her lungs. It would explain why she had been coughing up blood…
The next few minutes seemed to pass as an eternity. She saw her entire life flash before her eyes. She saw her mother, her father and Dawn. She saw Xander and Willow and the rest of her friends. She saw Giles and Faith and those who had shared her destiny with her. And, lastly, she saw the Rohirrim, who had placed their faith in her, knowing that she had the power to lead them into battle.
What a disappointment she must have turned out to be.
But even as these thoughts flashed through her darkening mind, another troubling thought seemed to stir… one that ended with a question she could not answer. What if this wasn't supposed to be her journey's end? What if she was supposed to do something else, be someone else? Was she supposed to live through the peaceful times to finally have an idea what true peace was really like? And… what if she didn't want to die?
The thoughts seemed to fade. The light was fading now. Another body had collapsed on top of theirs, and she felt her body press into the ground again. The blood was nearly obstructing her vision, and it was beginning to run into her nose. She still couldn't breathe, but it didn't matter anymore. All she had to do was close her eyes and the last three weeks of her life would be erased. She would simply become someone else's memory.
Even as a silent hush fell over the battlefield, followed by a resounding crack as the earth around her began to dissolve, she exhaled sharply for one last time and was swept forever into the darkness.
x-x-x
Even as chaos ensued, Pippin made a desperate attempt to keep his thoughts about him as he finally pushed off the offending Gondorian soldier and went off to look for the woman he had left behind.
All he knew was that she was dear to the King of Rohan. He may not be a lot of things, intelligent amongst them, but he was perceptive. He had seen something in the glance that the King and this woman had shared. Was she betrothed to him, perhaps? The King would never forgive him if he let her go!
"Buffy!" he cried out, as he reached the edge of the plains. "Buffy!"
The earth was gone, he thought, racing amongst the piles of corpses and gazing into the abyss that lay beyond. Even as Gandalf flew overhead on the backs of his eagles, Pippin grimaced at the dark reflection in the never-ending chasm.
Turning, he began pushing random bodies into the chasm, after making absolute certain they were enemy soldiers and not those that had been once near and dear to the captains and all the royal leaders who were now coordinating the final offensive to the fleeing army.
King Éomer began to realize that Buffy was missing only when he thought that she alone could lead the last attack against the departing army. But she was nowhere to be seen. He felt the clinch of panic in his stomach and knew that either she had survived and was buried amongst the foul-smelling wreckage about them or she had not survived at all. He was desperately hoping that it was the first option, because he refused to accept her death. He quickly called the Rohirrim to him and questioned them.
"Have you seen Merilin?" he asked in his deep voice. The others exchanged wary glances. One or two quickly spoke up, saying they had seen her fighting off one beast or another. But not one of them could say for certain whether or not she had fallen. He quickly turned away, unwilling the others to see his grimace before he turned back. "Search everywhere," he ordered quickly. "You must find her."
The others murmured their assent as they quickly scattered and began the long search. Éomer himself moved forward, rolling over the dead Orcs to examine the bodies hidden beneath. He knew he was acting rather foolish, but he had promised himself that he would see no harm come to her. She had saved him, though. It seemed to be a rather touchy habit of hers. He had just risen to move towards another tangle of bodies both human and non when he heard a small voice calling to him.
"King Éomer! Thank goodness I found you!"
It was Pippin, the foolish little Halfling. He turned to face the young man, whose face was taught with anxiety. "Yes?" he asked, rather impatiently.
"I have heard you wanted word of Buffy," he said quickly, not wanting to delay too long, for this King was known to be impatient and it seemed to him that he cared for this Buffy. "I have seen her fall, but could not reach her body. It is far buried."
"Show me," Éomer said, and Pippin nodded, quickly disappearing between the throngs of men. He noticed that there were a few severely injured men sitting upright, looking both dazed and confused, but he didn't pause to check on his own men. Those who had been searching in vain broke off their pursuit when they realized that Éomer was all but running towards one of the distant circles, near a sharp drop off. When Pippin stopped running, Éomer glanced at the number of bodies that were before him. They were entirely Orc except for a small bit of a cape that he could see. It was damp with the oily black blood of the Orcs and yet he knew that one of his people was trapped beneath an avalanche of dead enemy soldiers.
The first Orc rolled easily away, but there were more trapped beneath it. The others came and began pushing the bulky figures away. It was only when the caught a glimpse of golden hair did their efforts intensify. At the bottom of a rather large pile of bodies was a small figure. She wasn't very noticeable at first, but Éomer soon recognized her face, although it was nearly undetectable under thick coats of mud and the Orc's black blood. He drew her out from under the troll and lifted her in his arms. Pushing her blood-coated hair from her face, Éomer gently cradled her. His first cry of frustration and agony quickly alerted the others that he had found what he had sent the others to look for.
Pippin cautiously stepped over the bodies and knelt down beside them, his eyes wide as his small hands gently moved down her armor-clad arm to her wrist. He winced as he turned her palm upwards and saw the black spider web-like poison spreading from the bolt that had been fired to kill him. Her skin was very cold to the touch, and her face appeared lifeless, transparent… there was no color remaining in her once radiant expression. As he felt her bruised wrist for a pulse, he watched as the young man before him gently cupped her cheek in one hand, glancing down at her face with growing despair in his tone.
"Long have I feared this," he said, almost as though he were speaking to himself as the other Rohirrim gathered around them. Many looked startled at the woman's body draped in their King's arms. They quickly cast their eyes downwards.
"She has gone cold," Pippin said in an anxious tone. No matter how many times Éomer would shake her; she did not stir or utter a sound.
Éomer shook his head as he set her upon the ground, now clear of the bodies of their former enemy. She looked so peaceful lying before him, her eyes closed. Her blood had since dried as she had been unconscious for hours now. As Pippin was about to release her wrist, he felt something pulse beneath his touch. His eyes quickly glanced down, but there was no mistaking it. She was still alive. Éomer seemed to have sensed it, too, as he had lifted her by the shoulders and sat, gazing into her calm face.
"She's alive," Pippin said quietly, handing the King her wrist. Éomer frowned as he took her hand. It felt so limp and lifeless in his grasp that he was certain the Hobbit couldn't possibly be right. "She needs help, my Lord, but she lives."
"How can this be?" Éomer asked quietly, rising with the bundle in his arms. She was surprisingly light-weight, despite the multitudes of armor she wore. She appeared even frailer now, yet in the light he could clearly see that there was a flush to her fair features he had not seen in the darkness. As the light of day overwhelmed them, the sunlight met her face. Though she did not stir, it seemed to them that her skin still held warmth. She was truly alive.
x-x-x
An entire army recovers from their final battle, while, for one woman, this is only the beginning…
And a personal note from Alyson… there was another sequence between Éowyn and Faramir that was cut from this chapter because the chapter itself would have been far too long. It will be included in the next chapter. Of course, there will be a bit of, well… mush in the next chapter. That is just a bit of forewarning!