FIRST KNIGHT BY ASHA DREAMWEAVER
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Summary: BtVS/LotR. Buffy is sent to Middle Earth to help bring down Sauron. Her duty, like the Istari, is not to confront Sauron directly but to help those fated to face him bring him down. More specifically, she has to help the King of Gondor get on his throne. Will Arwen and Aragorn's love stand against the shadow? Will Legolas be able to keep a secret, which if revealed, could shatter the lives of those he cares for? Will Buffy be able to fulfil her duty? Will Denethor be able to put aside his animosity for the man who would supplant him? Will the ringbearer reach Mount Doom, or will he be cut down before he reaches his goal? And will Boromir resist the lure of the ring?
Author's notes: Yay of all yays, I have found and purchased my laptop! After a month of searching! Say hello to the HP Pavilion dv1000!
P.S – I split this chapter into two because it was frankly, too much to handle in one. You would have been waiting another week at least if I hadn't. Hope you don't mind too much!
Review responses:
Allen Pitt - Pippin was scared and non-suicidal and Denethor had already told the Witch-King enough to let him know it was not Pippin. And sadly, guns don't look to be available in Middle Earth anytime soon…
Anna aka liit06 - thank you! And come on! You guys were all telling me to kill Denethor! You can't complain now! And the Witch-King is sneaky but he has yet to meet one hell of a mad woman….
Athene Saile - thanks! Guilt, I think, is something any decent warrior is going to feel at some point or another. But then again, slayers tend to channel grief into fighting, so anything's game.
Broken Whispers - thank you! Okay, to answer your question, Gandalf is trying to get Buffy to fulfil her destiny. About the Balrogs, think mayhem, death and destruction. And you might be onto something with Buffy and Aragorn….
Ellie – Sorry, can't say. But I am the Queen of Cliffhangers so I can't say no.
EverAfter-01 - thanks! And yes, Thranduil and Buffy have always gotten along well in this story! And what about Shakespeare? I had to do Hamlet for my finals and let's just say that I am heartily sick of it! And yes, Romeo and Juliet is definitely a contender for the most depressing ending title.
Gems7529 - thanks! And welcome!
JuliansGIrl - Neither do I, but I was just trying to illustrate how much it shocked Buffy. She never expected to kill Denethor. Or him running himself onto her sword. I know she is not like Faith was when the other slayer had her incident but it is probably the closest experience Buffy has to accidentally killing someone face to face.
Lali-chan - thanks! Yes, Aragorn is not far behind now. And why shouldn't I fill the battle with monsters? I never did like making things too easy for people now, did I? About Thranduil… I think it's a Wood Elf thing… After all, my Legolas had to get it from somewhere… Logic? Buffy not big on logic really. More like gut instinct and a knack for annoying the Big Bads. And yes, if Buffy ever becomes a queen, she is likely to scandalise every 'civilised' lady or gentleman present. And don't worry, Faramir gets his due in this chapter! You didn't think I would forget him did you? And Suffering is always part of the equation… No, Big Trouble is not the name of the monster but more like a friendly nickname… and yes, there is a sequel, all planned out and ready to be written after I finish First Knight.
Light Spinner – thank you! And Buffy and Aragorn will meet up soon enough! (Cackles)
Maleficus Lupinus – thank you! Yeah, I loved the Rohirrim's entrance too! They really saved the day! And I think I just wore out the clutch by 'stepping on the gas' at your order!
NiennaFaelivrin - thank you! And yes, I definitely think there should be more Aragorn/Buffy and Éomer/Buffy stories. As much as I love Legolas, that pairing did get a little old. And there's about eight or nine chapters left of FK. And yes, there will be a sequel, provisionally titled 'A Knight's Tale'.
RedsLover03 - (bows) Thank you! And well, Faramir is a little busy in this chapter, so he has a lot on his mind. And Buffy and Aragorn will meet again in the next chapter or two. Before that, they will both be in the chapters just not actually seeing each other face to face yet.
Reyavie - thank you! Yep, no more Denethor. He is so not coming back. And I hope that that edge of the seat wasn't too uncomfortable!
SelenaWolf - wow, thanks! There's a bit of Thranduil's fight in this chapter and the Lórien plot is told more from Galadriel's POV. There will be glimpses of Elrond. Can't say when though. No, Buffy didn't snap but then again, I've got a lot planned for her. And everyone…
Selene – Aragorn soon.
Tenshikoneko03 - thank you! And you missed the Nazgûl, the orcs, the Haradrim, the Easterlings and the Mumâkil. Glad you liked the way Denethor died. I thought it was fitting.
The Great and Powerful Oz - thanks! And as for 'History Repeats Itself', I passed it onto another author to continue back around February. So far, nothing has been forthcoming. Sorry!
The Lady Reaper of the Shadows - well, I was thinking of specialising in torture for a while but I switched to cliffhangers…
Tommy Byrn – Oh yeah! Definitely!
Wild320 - No, she won't go to the dark side. It's not really her. Even if she does look good in black!
XinnLajgin - Sorry to ask, but I didn't get what you meant by 'Queen Buffy? Yeah when hell freezes over'. Could you clarify? Thanks!
And major thanks to:
Anyanka of the Ocean, BuffyandDracoLover, cat, General Mac, Jaguar, Kamui Gaia 07, Lady Meridia, Ms8309, Nicole,
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: DESPERATE COURAGE PART ONE
"Victory - victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror; victory, however long and hard the road may be."
- Winston Churchill, British Prime Minister, 1940
Lothlórien, 3019 TA, March 17.
The strain on her face would not have been obvious even to a sharp observer. Only those that truly knew her could see the tension that filled her and took the edge off her usual grace. She knew the defences had to hold or Lórien would fall before the Dark Lord and she knew that it was Nenya that was her only advantage.
It was not a light burden.
Galadriel sat on the mound among the flowering elanor, idly twirling one flower in her hand, resting and waiting for the raid that would inevitably come. Her beloved Celeborn was at the borders, seeing to the defence but leaving her alone amongst Edhil who could never understand what she must do. She had sent even her handmaidens away, despite their reluctance, - what she must do she must do it alone.
It was in times like these that she missed her daughter so much it ached. Her darling Celebrían, now on the other side of the Sundering Sea, hopefully healed and whole in the light of the Undying Lands, had been mauled by orcs and ever since that day, she and her husband had nursed a seething hatred towards the twisted creatures and their master. She wished that Celebrían were here now, to cheer her, or even Arwen, to give her comfort. But her grandchildren were scattered to the four winds of Middle Earth, and she knew not whether they would see them safely home. Nobody's safety could be guaranteed in this time of war.
Once, she had wanted – nay, nearly demanded – the right to be a leader. Born in Aman, she had lived under the rule of Finwë and then Fëanor and had burned for the chance to be able to live by her own rules, and not those of her elders. Therefore, when Fëanor persuaded the Noldor to leave the Undying Lands and to venture to Middle Earth, she had been most eager to go, despite her father's protests. She had found her freedom, but at a grievous price. Ever proud, she had refused to return to Aman at the end of the First Age, despite the fact that she was the only leader of the Noldorin revolt still living. Because of her refusal, the Valar had then denied her passage across the Sea and she felt the hurt deeply now that the sea longing stirred in her heart. Her last hope for the West, and to see her daughter again, had been to pass a test. To deny the power of the One Ring. She had passed, and would go into the West one day and remain Galadriel in body and soul. However, some part of her feared that Celeborn would not come with her. Born in Doriath, in the time before sun or moon, he had never seen the light of the Two Trees and as one of the Sindar, had always had deep ties to Middle Earth. He would not surrender his home so easily.
So for her, the war was froth with evil whichever end came to pass.
Her grandchildren had yet to make their choice, though Arwen it seemed would now cleave to Elf-kind after all, thanks to a Woodland Prince, but the twins were not yet certain. If Lórien survived, she would have to make the choice between peace and her daughter in the West and her home and husband in Middle Earth. Nevertheless, if they won, the time of the Elves was ending and the dominion of Men would grow. It would be a bitter pill to swallow after so many millennia.
And yet, she could not let the Shadow have what time would rightly take. Her home.
For nigh on five thousand years had Lothlórien or Lórinand as it had once been, stood un-assailed. Ever since Nenya was delivered into her hands by a repentant Celebrimbor, the Golden Wood had stood safe even when Sauron ravaged Middle Earth. It had stood safe even when the wood had incurred his wrath at the sack of Eregion, when he had been hale and whole and at the height of his power.
Ironic that now bodiless and far away in Mordor, Sauron was finally able to strike at her heart.
Her head snapped up as she felt something pass along the borders of her woods. Rank and evil, she knew them for what they were. The next wave of orcs was here.
Standing, she brushed the blades of grass off her immaculate dress and started to make her way there, Nenya glowing gently.
When had it come to this?
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Minas Tirith, Gondor, 3019 TA, March 17.
The Witch-King did not wait for Buffy or Gandalf to recover. Instead, he climbed onto his beast and flew away; its powerful wings raising a small wind as it took off, leaving neither wizard nor slayer any time to lunge for him and see whether Denethor had revealed anything or not. For if the Witch-king knew about Frodo's errand and where he was, then if he got word to Sauron, Mordor would be locked up tighter than a Dwarf's treasure chest and all of this fighting would be for nothing.
Because if Sauron knew where the One Ring was, then very little could stop him from reclaiming his prize.
But they had no time to worry about what Denethor might have told, and what he actually knew. Not when they had an army at their heels and reinforcements had come to give them a real chance at last. Éomer had held to the Oath of Eorl; now they had to make sure that Minas Tirith upheld its part of the bargain. They had to make sure that the Rohirrim had a fighting chance because even if Éomer had managed to gather all his riders, they would not be enough to break the lines. There were roughly two hundred thousand enemies out there. Beside that figure, the numbers of the defenders, both Rohirrim and Gondorian, were paltry indeed.
But somehow, they would have to make it work.
Buffy looked at the wizard and the still shocked Pippin, and then at the withered White Tree, "One of us is going to have to kill him, you know." she said, almost conversationally, "Since I have a few Balrogs and dragons to deal with, I vote you."
"He will die by no man's hand," Gandalf told her, "And so it seems, by neither of ours either. Leave him for now. We know not what Denethor told him but he cannot use it now. He knows that he needs to defeat us before he can pursue anything else. Let us thank the Rohirrim for buying us the time we need."
"Buying us time?" Buffy repeated, "They are going to get slaughtered if we don't do something. They don't have walls to hide behind! I can't just stand back and let Éomer take a beating."
The wizard's stare was calculating, "Do what you must, Dagnir, do what you must. I must speak to Imrahil. Time has been bought and it will be paid for in blood. It is time to use the trebuchets. Whatever you do, we must defend the walls."
Buffy nodded shortly, "Great. You couldn't by any chance aim at the dragons, could you? 'Cos that might just help. And as for your 'defend the walls' thing, I say that the gates are now open wide and methinks the orcs are going to take advantage. The Rohirrim are here, I gotta hope that Aragorn's on his way too."
"His path is a dangerous one," Gandalf warned.
"I know that," she replied quietly, "Ghosts and ghouls are always nasty to deal with. But let's face it, we kinda need a miracle. The Rohirrim are hugely outnumbered, I intend to ride out and help them."
"Are you mad!" Gandalf said, "Those walls are our only safety."
The slayer nodded thoughtfully, "I know." she replied, "But the Witch-king knows that too. And there is nothing stopping him from sending in orcs to bash their way into the upper levels. Nothing. Except I intend to get in his way big time. I intend to hug the walls and make sure no more get in than what already has. We have no choice. We must get them from the rear. We have to do something to keep their attention or the Rohirrim will be slaughtered."
"You will be slaughtered yourself!" the wizard protested.
"No, I won't." Buffy said firmly, face set in determination, "Not if they think I'm as dangerous as the Witch-king. They fear him for his sorcery. I'll make them fear mine. I'll lead out whoever will go. And if no one will, I'll do it myself. I'll be the assassin Gandalf and you'll be the general."
Gandalf nodded, knowing now that there would be no dissuading her, "Getting yourself killed serves no purpose," the Istar said meaningfully, "Whatever you would like to avoid. I know you're not used to it but trust in Aragorn, Buffy, I know he's coming."
"I know he will." Buffy said quietly, turning away from him, "He keeps his word… And I keep mine."
She gave him no chance to reply, moving away at a swift pace, until she was running through the maze of streets, back to the lowest levels of the city. In her heart, she knew that Aragorn and her friends would come, even if the fires of Angband stood between them and the city. But she did not know when, and she could not afford to wait.
She had seen what Sauron planned and she would not let him have it. Not if she had to stand before the gates of Gondor alone. She had seen it in her dreams; the creeping fire that would consume the city, the Pelennor Fields awash with blood, the guarded city tumbling to the ground, and her own blood staining the grass. She had felt it before, before Angel turned into Angelus. She had been warned again now, and this time she would heed it.
She had barely leaped over the walls, dropping down many feet into the flaming first level, when she saw the figure moving in the blaze.
The first crack of its whip was swiftly sidestepped, barely fazing at her at all. She was beyond caring, as she wilfully stepped into the cold place in her heart where a slayer roared; the assassin of the undead unleashed at last. For once in all her years as a slayer, she was giving it free rein, without concern as to whether she would be able to step back again. Wilfully or not, she had killed a man, and now to save a city, she would have to kill many. Whatever the outcome of this day, she would be changed.
She had been cold before, when she thought Aragorn was dead before the Battle of Helms Deep. She had been filled with a strange cold rage, one that would have allowed her to slay anything in her path in cold blood. It was a weapon, one that she had never liked, one that stepped too close to a slayer's origins, her demonic origins, but one that she would have to employ now.
She could not handle it on her own. She admitted it now. She could not handle it on her own. But somehow, she had to try.
Eyes colder than glaciers met the Balrog's as she thought of what this monster would do if it got half a chance. Created by the Dark Lord Morgoth in the First Age, from Maiar that he warped and changed, the Balrogs had been a plague on Middle Earth. They knew no mercy, dealt only evil and revelled in razing cities to the ground.
She would show them none in return.
She did not even bother to draw her sword as she let Narya's eerie calm envelope her, feeling the glow surround her like she had seen Galadriel do, letting the Balrog see who he was facing.
The Balrog paused and then lunged. The knife was already in her hand. The runes on the Elven blade glowed like molten fire as she sent it flying through the air. Her aim was true and it pierced the Balrog's chest, the power infused it in by Narya making sure that the Balrog did not escape the deadly metal.
After a second, the Balrog staggered back a step and fell over. She stepped over the body calmly. And looked at the orcs who stared between her and the Balrog. "Tell the Witch-King that the slayer is open for business," she ordered. They took another look at the Balrog and the smarter ones left. Only the stupid remained.
Her sword in hand, she cut a path through to the gate, trying to hide the small trembles of tiredness that plagued her.
There could be no sign of weakness now.
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Manning the gate on the level above from Buffy, the gate that had yet to fall was taking a beating. The Nazgûl swooped overhead intermittently, carrying away Men with every pass, and terrifying all. Faramir was in charge of this gate, while Imrahil held the one on the next level up, where the trebuchets and catapults had been moved.
He had seen Buffy, moving swifter than he could see, only making out a short blonde blur with a distinctly feminine cast as they leaped over the wall and landed on their feet like a cat.
He knew not where Mithrandir had found her, this she-warrior that rumour said was the Heir of Isildur's lady, and to him, seemed a peculiar mix of insanity, will and wit. 'Twas never easy to know where one stood with her, even in his short acquaintance with her; half of the time she was sarcasm itself, and the other she was as serious as a wizard. In fact, he had almost been tempted to ask whether there was such a thing as female wizards since Gandalf had arrived. He had never seen a woman that threw herself into battle and not with such aplomb; - she insulted orcs as she killed him for the Valar's sake!
But still, he had no time to spare checking out what harebrained scheme she concocted this time, even if she did carry the Ring of Barahir, - not when they were in the direst battle in Gondor's history. Even when the Men of Gondor and Arnor had marched to Mordor under Elendil's banner in the Second Age, they had laid siege to Barad-dûr. Never had the Shadow laid siege to Gondor, and not in such numbers.
A great shriek split the air, causing men to wince in pain and tremble even as Faramir roared, "Nazgûl!"
Men skittered back, half of the bows swinging away from the gate to point at the sole Nazgûl that was attempting to land on their side of the gate. Faramir held his sword up and thirty bows sang, arrows flying through the air to pierce the foul Ringwraith. Most of them hit, but not one of them fazed the Nazgûl, who ripped them out almost contemptuously.
Faramir stood his ground, "You will not enter this city," he said grimly.
The wraith only laughed at him, and drew its sword. Its fell beast snapped and roared, head swivelling as it searched for fresh meat. Faramir took a step forward, "You will leave," he demanded.
The Nazgûl sneered at him and its beast took a lunge at him. Faramir's sword swung and took a gouge out of its neck. Bellowing in pain, it pulled back and the wraith was forced to grab the reins as it thrashed its head. It glared at the man through its hood. He could not see any face or eyes beneath, but he felt the weight of that malevolent stare.
Suddenly, the beast moved forward and Faramir barely ducked as the Nazgûl blade whizzed by his head, hearing the horrified cries of his men, and knowing that he stood in the way of any arrows that might have driven the wraith back. Bringing his own blade to bear, he met steel with steel, knowing that no man yet had been able to kill a Nazgûl. He was not like Boromir, he had been a scholar before he had been a soldier, and he had read enough about the Ringwraiths to chill the marrow of his bones. Maybe Mithrandir could stand against a Nazgûl and win, but a simple man could not.
Ducking another swipe, he dived underneath the Nazgûl's reach and skidded along the stone ground alongside the beast. Even as his momentum carried him along, his sword was out and carved a line in the fell beast's side for every inch he moved. The beast roared and thrashed and the sudden movement threw the wraith forward, nearly unseating him. The beast continued to thrash, but the Nazgûl was not finished with Faramir. As the man was clambering away from the beast, it lashed out with its blade and neatly sliced open his arm. Faramir gasped even as he jerked back out of its reach as it once more took off into the sky.
The wound burned fiercely, and yet seemed colder than the deepest snow. His vision swam and for a moment he swayed in the grasp of the men that had rushed to his aid. Shaking his head to clear it, he stood on his own and gestured for them to get back to work, back to the gate.
There was nothing they could do for the Black Breath.
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Buffy hated it when she miscalculated.
As she bolted to the streets of the lowest level, with what had to be about fifty orcs and a dozen Haradrim on her tail, she had to admit to herself that maybe, just maybe, it was not possible to hold the passage on her own. The rational side of her said it was bloody impossible, as Giles would put it, and even the Slayer voice seemed to be saying 'way too many'! After all, it was in no way fair that they got elephants – elephants! – and Gondor got… well, nothing.
Knocking over a pile of carefully stacked boxes, she got some pleasure that first of all, they should trip up her pursuers and second, that she was way faster than them. On the lookout for a handy place to try to rejump the wall without getting shot, because the defenders were not going to open the gate for anybody at this point, she failed to see the small problem that Faramir had just unwittingly set her way.
The shadow on the ground was the first warning she got and even as her head shot up, she was diving back. With a loud thud and an awful shriek, the fell beast smashed into the ground, blood pouring from its neck and side from what the Slayer could see. Its Nazgûl rider landed in an ungainly pile atop of her and Buffy wasted no time for one solid push threw the wraith off of her and against the opposite wall.
Seething in anger at being challenged again, it got up smoothly, sword in hand, not sparing a glance for its dying beast. Buffy nodded to herself, "Yep, someone really doesn't want me to survive this." she muttered under her breath before she flashed a dangerous smile at the Nazgûl, "I'd ask if you felt like just going our separate ways, but then I remember that you are a wraith, and therefore just want to kill me, right? I don't suppose we could take this duel to the death somewhere else maybe?"
It snarled and advanced, "I will peel your skin off and feed it to the orcs," it sneered.
Buffy cocked her head to one side, "That's your best insult?" she asked, "I've done better in my sleep. And just so you get the message, mister, I have died way too many times to fear it now."
The Nazgûl looked at her strangely, "So you are the one…." it hissed, "Serve the Dark Lord and your life will be spared. You will be exalted above these mortals."
Buffy pretended to think about it, "Gee… what an offer!" she said and then with no warning, charged at him. The wraith reared back as her blade sank into its abdomen and did not turn to dust. "You just can't beat Elven blades, can you?" she said teasingly, and then parried a blow from his Nazgûl blade. She flipped over his attempt to kick her feet out from under her, he avoided her attempt to spear him to the stone wall and so they danced around each other, swords out, each waiting for an opening.
However, after minutes where the clash of steel and the grunts of the combatants was the only sound apart from the roar of flames, Buffy got her chance. As he swung to try to take off his head, he left his right side open and her blade sank into his shrivelled heart just as his sunk into her shoulder. Both cried out but Buffy recovered first, and as flames swept along her blade, she yanked it out and took off his head.
A shrill, dying shriek pierced the air; a ghostly mist rose up from the black figure, pushing her back and down, clutching her bleeding shoulder on the ground as the mist dissipated and left only black garments on the ground, with no substance between them at all.
The sound of orcs behind her, only kept at bay by the Nazgûl, jolted her to her senses. She staggered to her feet, gripping the wall with her good hand for support. Picking up her sword with deadened fingers, she sheathed it as she ran through the streets, circling back around to the second level gate.
A figure above her cut out the little light she had, and the smoke from the many fires choked her, as it opened its mouth and let out another great ball of fire, throwing the alleys ahead of her into a mist of burning and charring rubble. Totally impassable. Drawing her cloak tight around her, and holding the cloth in front of her face to try to breathe properly, she picked her way through the maze of fire, knowing that only death at the hand of a horde of orcs, Easterlings and Haradrim awaited her if she went back the other way, she struggled on.
Her eyes watered from the smoke, the haze and flames stealing her sight, the thunderous ever on going beat of the drums, the roars of enemies and defenders, the regular smashing of stones into city and fields, deafened her. Moreover, her exhaustion was growing palpable. When was the last time she had slept? Or ate? Or drank more than a sip?
Blindly going on, hearing the closing sounds of pursuit behind her, she at last saw the gate to the second level. Made of wood and steel, it was being bombarded and battered by a good three hundred or so of the enemy and already showed signs of splintering. It would not last another ten minutes. Buffy sighed, and grabbing her bow, nocked it and too aim. The first few fell easily, caught unawares, the next few, spotted her quickly and charged. Buffy dodged and circling round a half burned house, bolted up the path they had cleared and leaped onto one of the ladders they were throwing up against the wall. Hauling herself up with one arm, she threw herself over the wall before cutting the ropes anchoring the ladder and sending it crashing back to the ground.
Leaning against the wall, breathing hard, she caught Faramir's blatantly incredulous stare, "Sorry I'm late," she said with a small grin that quickly morphed into a grimace as she stood up, "I had a little Nazgûl trouble."
He eyed her dishevelled state, "What did you do?" he asked slowly.
Buffy clapped him on the shoulder, "Oh nothing." she said airily, "I just made him an offer he couldn't survive."
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After hastily telling Faramir to be ready to retreat to the third level, Buffy pounded up there herself, heading for the catapults. She had just about enough Wizard's Fire left to load one more catapult. Maybe. And she definitely had a use for it.
Storming past Imrahil and company with a face like thunder, she unceremoniously knocked two Gondorian soldiers off one catapult and smearing some tar on the already loaded boulder, she dumped the rest of the Wizard's Fire onto it. Taking aim at the big flying dragon with an expert eye, she waited until the opportune moment and then with cut the cords on the catapult.
The boulder flew through the air and struck its target. The dragon roared as the stone slammed neatly into its middle and Buffy saw narrowed eyes widen comically for a moment before the boulder met fire and blew up, scattering dragon kibble across the ground below.
For a second, fighting stopped on both sides as they saw the dragon meet its end. The other dragon roared dangerously at the loss of its comrade. Buffy handed control of the catapult back to the stunned soldiers, "A word of advice," she said as she walked away, "Learn to improvise. It tends to save your butt. What are you looking at me like that for? Don't just stand there! Go kill something!"
After that display, Imrahil was really beginning to wonder if Gondor would ever survive Buffy, the return of the King or not…
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Éowyn was not the only one gaping as the Rohirrim crested the hill and got their first look at the Pelennor Fields and the siege of Gondor. Her brother's face was sober as he took in the destruction. The lower levels of Gondor were in flames and the city itself was surrounded by tens upon tens of thousands of orcs.
Éowyn did not see how anybody could win this battle. They were outnumbered by at least ten to one. In front of her, Merry held his breath, "By the Green Dragon…" he whispered, "So many… What are we going to do?"
Éowyn was wondering much the same thing, but she mustered her courage. She would not falter at this final hurdle. She had come here to fight, and fight she would. "We fight." she said simply, "We do what we came here to do." She hugged the hobbit closely, "Courage, Merry. Courage for our friends." she whispered in his ear.
At the head of the line, Éomer rode out, Gamling, Grimbold and Elfhelm beside him. Éomer was speaking and she could barely hear him even though she was not that far away. "Elfhelm, take your éored down the left flank." she heard him order, still unused to having to think of himself as king instead of Third Marshal. "Gamling, follow the King's banner down the centre. Grimbold, take your company right. Cut down everything in your path. Scatter them and drive them towards the river. Mordor shall not cow us!"
Looking at the scared and grim faces of the riders, he sped Firefoot into a canter, riding along the lines of the Rohirrim, knowing that their courage hung by a thread as they watched the legions of Mordor make ready for them, "Arise!" he shouted, "Arise Riders of Rohan!" he bellowed, and Éowyn and Merry had to duck their heads as he rode by, in fear that he would recognise them. "Arise! Today is the day we fight! We shall not be cowed by this host of Mordor! We are free men! We shall not let the Dark Lord win! Spears shall be shaken! Shields shall be splintered! Nevertheless, we will fight! For a red day and a red dawn! Ready your spears!"
Éowyn looked at Éomer in surprise. She knew that he had not expected the crown to come to him, but as he spoke, as he bolstered the men's courage, he had been a king. A true king. Théoden King had left a good successor, whether that successor knew it or not. She hoped she lived to tell him so. She could not tell him now. She was quite sure that even on the crest of the Pelennor, if he found out she was here, he would still try to turn her aside or tie her to a tree or some other such nonsense.
She looked at Merry and marvelled at his courage. He was half the size of a man and yet seemed to have more courage than ten. She leaned towards him, "Whatever happens, stay with me." she said softly, "I'll look after you. Stay with me."
Merry gave her a quick grin but she could see his nervousness, even as Éomer held out his sword. "Ride now!" her brother cried, drawing rein in the centre of the field, "Ride now! Ride! Ride for ruin, and the world's ending! Ride! Forth Eorlingas!"
Éowyn shared a last glance with Merry and steadied her hold on her spear as Merry drew his sword and then they and every rider was galloping forth, streaming towards the Pelennor Fields, and to battle.
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Éowyn and Merry leaned down low on their horse as they slammed into the lines of Mordor, shields up to protect them from glancing blades and arrows. Her spear ripped through the orcs as she thrust it wildly and Merry helped her out by stabbing anything that came too close.
The foul stench of the orcs and men became very apparent at such close quarters and here it was also mixed with the inexplicable smell of death. Her nose wrinkled, her stomach heaved, and Merry did not seem much better. So this was the battles that Éomer had warned her about. Well, she was not running; she was holding her ground. Around her, she heard the marshals and her brother barking out commands to the Riders, and she barely ducked in time as a barrage of arrows came at them from the orcs.
In her mind, it was all a jumble of men and horses and orcs, mixed with screams and shouts and the clash of metal on metal. Nowhere did she see the ordered ranks like in tails. Instead, it was every man and orc for themselves while following their captains' shouts. However, it was exhilarating all the same. The Rohirrim tore through the orcs and saw them run in front of them to get away, the green and white banner of Rohan being carried throughout the Pelennor. She heard Éomer roar, "Drive them to the river! Make safe the city!" above the din and saw how the riders forced their enemies before them, until they were scattering and wheeling and then the Rohirrim rode past the walls of Minas Tirith as they gathered there around their king.
Her sword slashed at nearby foes, with Merry's Westernesse steel flashing beside her, and she wheeled her horse around at the city walls and turned to face the expanse of field.
While she looked towards the river, Merry tugged on her arm. She looked at him questioningly, nothing his very wide eyes. "What?" she asked.
"Éowyn?" he said nervously, "What in the name of the Green Dragon are those things?" he asked, pointing into the distance where a row of great lumbering shapes, as big as houses, stomped towards them.
The White Lady of Rohan just stared for a moment with eyes as big as the hobbits, "I do not know Merry," she said faintly, "But somehow, I do not think they are anything good."
Merry nodded vigorously, "It is times like these that I wish Gandalf was here." He eyed the Mûmakil again, with no little trepidation, "Definitely."
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By this time, in Minas Tirith, the third gate was taking a battering and Buffy, Gandalf, Faramir, Imrahil and Pippin stared at it in dismay. Buffy looked sideways at Faramir and Gandalf, "Remind me to see what deal Gimli would do on decent gates," she said, only half joking, "Because this is ridiculous."
"It is called a battering ram," Faramir supplied helpfully.
Buffy just glared at him, glad to have any chance to take her mind off the pain in her arm, "Well, duh." she drawled, "I'd never have known. And here I thought it was a big fluffy bunny! Okay, has anyone got any ideas besides leaving the Rohirrim to their own devices?"
"Éomer knows what has to be done and he was an excellent Third Marshal, he will be an excellent king." Gandalf said, voice tinged with slight annoyance at Buffy's constantly impatient attitude. In his opinion, all of the slayer's limited patience had disappeared since her arrival in the city and the longer they were here, the worse her temper seemed to get. He could excuse a certain amount of it for battle nerves but such a thing seemed almost ridiculous to contemplate in a slayer, and especially one that had been a lieutenant in Gondor's army many years ago.
But cranky she was.
Buffy had to do something. She knew she had to keep active. Because if she gave in to the pain, she was not going to be much use to anyone. Once the battle fervour dimmed, exhaustion set in ten times as hard. She had no intention of letting that happen until Minas Tirith was safe.
She could see the Rohirrim rip through the ranks of Mordor but she could also see the Mûmakil that they did not. And they were really not like the elephants of her world. For one thing, they were weapons, had trunks longer than cars, and were bigger than most houses. They could destroy the Rohirrim. She was not built to wait and watch, that was better left to people like Elrond and Galadriel, who had the patience for it. She was not one to sit out a fight when she did not have to. And she itched to go do something, well anything. They had one Istar, two lords and a hobbit to take care of things here. Why should she have to stay and wait for the next gate to fall when she could be out there killing orcs? It ruined her clothes but anything she could do to help relieve pressure on the upper levels would be most welcome.
And what about the monster? She had not seen it in a while and she did not like letting something that dangerous walk about without her even knowing where it was causing mischief and trouble. The Balrog was out of the Rohirrim's way, busy cutting up the first and second levels, and the dragon was wary of coming too near the catapults lest it go the way of the other one. In theory, it was pretty quiet. To her, it was dangerous. She never liked the baddies plotting behind her back.
And she could not let Éomer and Éowyn take the fall for a creature that was only here because of her. She would not allow it to hurt her friends. No, it was her problem, - she had to be the one that dealt with it.
Debating what to do, what to risk, what to chance, she leaned against the stone rail and looked towards the river. As she did, it was almost as if she had stepped out of her body for a moment. On the horizon, she saw ships with black sails docking but when she blinked, she was herself again and there was not even a hint of a sail anywhere near the river. What in Arda's name was that? she wondered. Okay, this was not the time to start seeing things.
Looking at the wizard, deep in discussion with the other three, she knew what she had to do. She had to find that monster before it could make a serious dent in the Rohirrim lines, and if Éowyn was out there, she probably could use some back up.
And it might get rid of the creepy feeling she had that something was about to go very wrong very soon…
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Knowing that death waited for the unwary on a field of battle so large, Buffy stuck to the shadows as she descended down to the first level. The flames that barred her sight also barred the orcs and men's view of her, allowing her to stealthily creep by pockets of them unseen. She was almost thankful that she was soot covered. It worked well for camouflage.
She clung to the wall as she made her way to the great gates, mentally going over how crazy this whole idea was. But then a little voice reminded her that she had promised Boromir that she would guard the White City, and another pointed out that Sauron would like nothing better than to see Minas Tirith burn to a crisp, preferably with everyone still inside it.
Slipping out like a pro, she swiftly located a riderless horse from one of the downed Rohirrim, and awkwardly clambered up onto the large stallion. Seriously, without being a slayer, she would have needed a mounting block to get on a horse.
Wheeling the skittish mount around and out of the firing range, she took a second to study the nice big herd of Mûmakil heading her way. She looked at the horse, who also seemed to be staring at the great big stomping beasts with the nasty pointed tusks, and then shook her head, "Elephants. Great. Got any mice or peanuts?" she said, rummaging in the saddlebags, "Apparently not."
Hazel eyes also scanned the galloping whirl of riders for the slender figure of Éowyn, but all even she could make out was a mass of green and steel and horses. She could pick out Éomer easily enough with his armour but his sister had needed to blend in and it seemed that she had made an excellent job of it. To make matters worse, the last dragon was flying overhead, incinerating anything it felt like. The only good thing about that was that it did not seem to be discriminating between the good guys and the bad guys. The bad thing was it was getting a little hard to avoid getting fried in the chaos. And she did not have a clue what to do about it.
Spurring the horse onwards, she drew out her sword and killed anything within its reach as she rode out into the middle of the field. Behind her now, she could hear Éomer trying to rally the troops as the Mûmakil drew closer.
The Rohirrim spun around to hug the city walls as the Mûmakil came at them, urging them to reform the line, and throwing in a few swear words for good measure. She was impressed. She did not think some of them were physically possible.
Buffy ignored him, staring at the great bulk of the Mûmakil. Okay, now she knew this was going to be hard. One big foot could crush her nicely. Gritting her teeth, she forced the skittish horse onwards and under one of the great Southron beasts, her sword flashing out to hamstring its knee. It really did not like that and she barely made it away before sharp tusks gored her.
Another slash by a golden haired rider with a passenger brought the Mûmak down and Buffy grinned suddenly. "Éowyn!" she called out over the rabble as riders blasted by her, dodging and weaving, "Over here! Merry? Is that you!"
The Shieldmaiden fell into step beside her, recognising her easily this close, "Buffy!" Éowyn called out even as Merry's sword flashed again.
"Nice to see you're still alive," Buffy said as the two dodged another swing of tusks, "Let's hope it stays that way. Watch out! Elephant!"
The two women tag teamed another, by slicing it at the knees and felt no small satisfaction as another Mûmak went crashing to the ground. Knowing that Éowyn did not want to attract Éomer's attention, Buffy called out at the nearby Rohirrim, "Hey you! Stop trying to get yourselves crushed and slash their knees! Cut their hamstrings! Bring them down!"
Some heeded her but others followed Éomer's example of taking out the driver, after a most impressive shot from the young king that caught Éowyn and Buffy's attention. 'Twas the reason they did not notice the danger on the other side, until the Mûmak nearly fell on top of them and their horses reared.
Landing hard on the ground, the breath knocked out of her, and her injured shoulder screaming in pain, Buffy rolled over onto her back just in time to see one gigantic foot heading right for her. The Mûmak lifted its foot to crush her and she knew she could not roll out of the way fast enough. So she did the only thing she could; she used brute strength to grab the thick limb and halt its downward procession, pulling so hard that she snapped the bone. The Mûmak roared but it bought her time enough to roll to the side and stagger up before it fell under the weight of its broken limb. The resulting impact knocked her flat again and in the gloom, she could not even find her sword. Merry and Éowyn were nowhere to be seen either so she had to struggle on without them. Finding her sword a good twenty feet away, she punched an orc in the face; roundhouse kicked another and then managed to get a hold of the blade.
Only to feel something very hard and very painful slam into her back and drive her to her knees.
Spinning around, she barely got her sword up before a nasty blade tried to take her head off. Getting a good look at her attacker, she groaned. Well, at least she had found Mr Monster before anybody else did.
Throwing a kick his way, she found it blocked and then she was the one sent flying as monster punched her in the chest with enough force to nearly dent the Mithril shirt she wore underneath her tunic. It brought down its sword towards her neck but she swept its feet out from under it even as she leapt painfully to hers. She thought she would have bruises for a month.
The fight escalated to an all out brawl between the two of them as Buffy fought to stay alive. The monster was faster than her, stronger than she was and seemed more intent on killing her than banter. It was all she could do to keep its blade away from anything important and her arms already suffered several slashes as well as a deep cut on her thigh.
Her breath was coming hard, her reaction time was slowing down, her arm felt leaden and she could honestly say that she was terrified. She had never thought that dying was peaceful, but this was horrible. She felt like she was a rag doll being tossed around.
Kicking it back five paces, she held up a bloodstained hand and Narya glowed on her finger. "Sorry, but I don't feel like dying just yet." A ball of fire flashed towards it and enveloped it. Buffy breathed a ragged sigh of relief, even as her knees threatened to crumple under her. Okay Aragorn, this would be a really good time to bring reinforcements, she thought woefully but then a sudden sound made her swing her gaze back to the monster.
Which besides looking a little charred, seemed to be very much alive.
Mouth dropping open in shock, she took a shaking step back as it took one step forward. But then its dark eyes swung over to the riverside even as a cry, almost a cheer, went up amongst the orcs. "The sea-rats are here!" she heard one shout.
And when she looked, she saw trouble. Ships with black sails were coming up the river, nearing the port. And the only ships that had black sails were the Corsairs - pirate ships. Things had just got a whole lot worse.
The monster seemed to weigh up his options, as Buffy tried to stop looking like her own legs would not support her. And then it laughed, "I will come back for you later," it growled, "And here I thought you were supposed to be a challenge."
Buffy could only look at it in dismay as it walked off.
What the hell was she going to do now?
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Fire lit up the forest from a mile away, the smoke seen as far away as Esgaroth.
The trees were burning, trees that had stood since before Oropher's, Thranduil's father's day, and he felt that it was a great evil that he should live to see all that he had loved burn to ash. His people fought valiantly, but they were outnumbered and the weapons of the enemy were poisoned.
Day and night, they had fought, but slowly and steadily, his people had been forced back to their domain and then the orcs had followed them in. It made his blood boil to have these creatures of the Shadow invade his lands, pillage what was theirs and destroy what they had worked so hard to protect. The Elves of what was the Greenwood had spilt their blood in defending their wood, as they did now, but still they were driven back.
For the first time in months, he was glad that Legolas had escaped his snares, even if his destination was Mordor. If his son had been here, nothing would have persuaded him to give way and he was all that Thranduil had left. As it was, each scar the wood bore burned in his heart but it would be small pain compared to losing his only child. Now if he could just guarantee that Legolas would have a father to return to because he was definitely going to teach that rascal of a son of his how to respect his elders.
Another half hour of fighting passed before the Elvenking spotted what he had been waiting for; a weakness in the enemies defences. Without pausing, he pushed on and led a charge and to his relief and delight, the orcs were pushed back. The royal guards closed around him then, trying to keep him away from the worst of the fighting as if he did not see what they were doing. He hated people coddling him just because he was a king.
Wiping black blood from his face in disgust, he hacked through another crowd of orcs, orcs that were turning and fleeing under the Elves' pursuit now and with a shout, he gave chase. He had Dol Guldur on the run. He was not going to let that orc infested hole get a chance to regroup.
As he caught and started to fight the orcs, he heard the panicked shouts of his guards and at their shout, his head jerked upwards even as the orcs scrambled away.
The burning branch above his head cracked ominously and with little more warning, it started to fall. It must have been thicker than his waist and that was his last thought as it slammed into him, crushing him to the ground….
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A/N: So? Opinions please? I'm still worried that the battle scenes aren't going to be up to scratch! Please READ and REVIEW!
P.S – I'm thinking of writing a few more snippets for my Drabbles Series. So I'm in the market for suggestions. Is there anything in particular you guys want to see? Just let me know and I'll see what I can do!
Next chapter: More Arwen and Boromir…. Buffy's vision comes true… Aragorn's grand entrance… Dragon trouble… And Éowyn's moment in the spotlight…
Elvish:
Edhil - Elves
Dagnir – slayer
Istar - wizard
Mithrandir – the Grey Pilgrim
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Caras Galadhon - City of the Trees. The city in Lothlórien where Galadriel and Celeborn reside.
Celebrían - Galadriel and Celeborn's daughter. Wife of Elrond. Mother to Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen. Sailed West in 2510 after being attacked by orcs in 2509.
Dol Guldur - 'Hill of Sorcery'. A treeless height in the south-west of Mirkwood, a stronghold of the Necromancer before he was revealed as Sauron returned. Houses three Nazgûl, led by Khamûl.
Éoherë - term used by the Rohirrim for the full muster of their cavalry.
Eregion - an Elven realm of the Second Age. Celebrimbor forged the Three Elven Rings here. Sauron laid waste to the city and its people, taking all the rings of power, and killing Celebrimbor and using his body as a banner.
House of Eorl - the House of the Kings of Rohan. Named after Eorl the Young who first settled in Rohan, and was their first leader.
Imrahil - Prince of Dol Amroth at the time of the War of the Ring. The line of the Princes of Dol Amroth is said to be of Elvish descent, a foremother being a Silvan Elf and a handmaiden of the Elleth Nimrodel of Lórien. Father of Lothíriel. Denethor's brother-in-law. Uncle to Faramir and Boromir.
Istari - the Maiar who were sent from Aman in the Third Age to resist Sauron. Sindarin: Ithryn.
Mithril - 'true-silver'. Also called 'Moria-silver'. It was the foundation of the wealth of the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm. It was worth ten times the price of gold, and is now considered priceless, because there has been no supply of it since the fall of the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm in 1980 TA.
Morgoth - the Dark Lord of the First Age. A fallen Vala, he destroyed the Two Trees of Valinor, Laurelin and Telparion, and killed Fëanor's father, the King of the Noldor. He decimated the armies of the First Age until at last a host from Valinor came to Middle Earth, and waged war on him for forty years before he was thrown down. Is not dead but trapped in the Void.
Narya - the Ring of Fire. Set with a ruby stone. One of the Three Elven Rings. Originally given to Círdan, it was passed onto Gandalf when he arrived in Middle Earth during the Third Age. Now held by Buffy.
Nenya - The Elven ring of Water. Galadriel is its Keeper.
Númenor - Land of the Star. Translated 'Westland'. When Elros Half-Elven, Elrond's twin, chose to be of the Race of Men, the Valar granted him an island to rule over. It was prepared by the Valar as a dwelling place for the Edain after the First Age. Elros, granted a longer lifespan because of his Elven heritage, and the rest of the Edain who followed him were long lived as well, became Elros Tar-Minyatur, first King of Númenor.
Pelennor fields - 'Fenced Land'. The 'town lands' of Minas Tirith. Guarded by the wall of Rammas Echor.
Vilya - the Ring of Air. Strongest of the three Elven Rings made by Celebrimbor. Borne by Elrond.
Yávien - The name of Legolas's mother and Thranduil's queen. in this story. (fictional of course). Translates to 'Autumn'. She was slaughtered by orcs who recognised her as Thranduil's Queen, and her body was dumped back in the forest for the Elven patrols to find, as a message and a warning for Thranduil.
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