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. Now, as the battle for an age is being waged across Middle Earth, will Buffy be able to fulfil her duty? Will Aragorn take up his long hidden heritage? Will the White City survive what is to come? And will the ringbearer reach Mount Doom, or will he be cut down before he reaches his goal?
Author's notes: Well, here's the update and some good news! I got my place in college in the course I want so yay!
P.S – If Buffy was to become a lady of the court, I am holding a provisional vote. Should Buffy take a second name like Aragorn will be Elessar? Let me know what you think!
Review responses:
A-dream-within-a-dream – Thank you! I kind of like Galadriel and Thranduil so I like to feature them in my fics. Glad you like it! Buffy and Aragorn are on the same battlefield now so they will see each other. More interaction after this chapter though! About Éowyn and Faramir, I'm keeping my mouth shut! You will all just have to wait and see! Good luck with your fic!
Arcrose – thanks! Okay, Mr. Monster is a little gift from Sauron. Just to make Buffy's day super crappy. And yes, the wraith Buffy killed is really dead. One down, eight to go then!
Allen Pitt – Maybe not years later… and she is definitely going to need a healer, more than she realises!
Anna aka liit06 – thank you! And killing the monster would be a little too easy don't you think? I never make it that easy… and sorry, no news of Thranduil in this chapter!
Anyanka of the Ocean – Well, there's no fun in being predictable!
Athene Saile – Thanks! And why about the warning? I think if readers have reached chapter 54 then they definitely know to expect anything!
Azraeos – thank you! I'm glad you like it! I was so unsure about the battle scenes because someone pointed out to me that by dramatising the Battle of Helms Deep, I might not be able to top it!
Azzie – Sorry, I don't send separate e-mails out for each chapter. Quite frankly, I would never remember to do it. However, this site does send out alerts if a new chapter is posted to a story. You just have to sign up for 'story alerts'.
Boo – Humans can have magic too. Buffy could perform spells. Whether it is the slayer or just Buffy herself, I don't know though!
Broken Whispers – thanks! And don't worry, Aragorn is now here! And what kind of stories are you after? LotR/BtVS crossovers, Buffy/Aragorn pairings, any BtVS crossovers? But whatever you're after, Moutons and CinnamonGirl are good places to start.
Catgirl Elf Princess – I might but I'm not telling!
Emerald sorceress – thanks!
Goldenshadows – thanks! And as for Boromir, you'll have to find out yourself! And evil cliffhangers are a speciality!
Greg Doroza – Sorry for not replying to your e-mail but it got accidentally deleted when I was clearing some spam! Again, so sorry! So I'll reply to you here instead! Hope that's okay! First off, thank you! Glad you feel the battle scenes are up to scratch! And don't worry; Buffy will get a sort of reprieve soon!
Lady Meridia – Well, Aragorn does anyway! And from a writer's standpoint, two cliffhangers are always better than one!
Lali-chan – hi! Thanks! I suppose the battle in front of the Black Gates will be smaller, with some unforeseen consequences. And I think everyone is dying to see the grand reunion! And Faramir may have lost his father, but he will soon be regaining his brother! So it kind of balances out! The Frodo and Sam bit is staying mostly the same, yes. And actually, I don't think Mr Monster has a mother. And glad to see you've picked up on the dynamic that will soon play out between our intrepid slayer and her dashing ranger! Yes, this is the last chapter of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. At last, it ends. But what will the damage be? And yes, I think Arwen would be much better at comforting Legolas than Gimli!
Light Spinner – thanks! Well, Aragorn makes his grand entrance in this chapter! Enjoy!
Maddie – thanks! And if you have caught up this far, I think you will realize that you got your wish with Denethor!
Telemnar – thanks so much! And by the Valar no, I have none of the sequel written! I do have it mostly plotted out but none of it written. I don't even have more of FK written. Chapters are posted as I finish them.
Reyavie – thank you! No, Faramir doesn't get a break but at least he was spared the indignity of being dragged home by his horse! Also, no attempts to burn him alive this time! A bit of a bonus that! And sarcasm duly noted! And Buffy's a slayer. When do slayers ever get breaks? Especially ones that have annoyed Dark Lords? And yes, Imrahil has no idea what he has gotten himself into!
Starlight - My Chosen Destiny – thanks! Um, there are about eight or nine chapters left of FK. And yes, there is going to be a sequel, provisionally titled 'A Knight's Tale'.
tenshikoneko03 – thank you! And I think you got the monster half right. But seriously, I did have to switch from Minas Tirith. We all have to see how Galadriel and Thranduil are faring don't we? And Buffy may have gotten rid of quite a lot of nuisances; things don't go so well in this chapter!
The Lady Reaper of the Shadows – Well, there's a lot to be said for irony!
Tsuki no Yasha – thank you! Fluff? That's chapter 56 onwards I'm afraid! In this one, they are going to be a little too busy for fluff!
XinnLajgin – thanks! Aragorn arrives in this chapter!
And major thanks to:
Cat, devine-desire, Ellie, HellsFyre, gems7529, General Mac, greeneyes, Jacqueline, Kamui Gaia 07, Maleficus Lupinus, Pawsonscroll, potlood, RedsLover03, Selene, spk, vkky,
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE: DESPERATE COURAGE PART TWO
Glad comforter! Will I not brave,
Unawed, the darkness of the grave?
Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave -
Sustained, my guide, by thee?
The more unjust seems present fate,
The more my spirit swells elate,
Strong, in thy strength, to anticipate
Rewarding destiny!
- Emily Bronte, the Complete Poems (24)
Minas Tirith, Gondor, 3019 TA, March 17.
"Why do I get the feeing that we are in big trouble?" Pippin mused as he stood with Gandalf as the gate shook under heavy pressure from the enemies on the other side of it. "Because I really did not think that it would end this way."
Gandalf looked at him, "Who says it has to end here?" he said.
"The orcs outside?" Pippin replied, "I mean, look out there, Gandalf. Nothing but enemies and…." The Hobbit blinked and then squinted and then blinked again, "Uh, Gandalf?" he said nervously, "What in the name of the Green Dragon are they?" he said, pointing at the water.
Gandalf looked in the direction he was pointing and the breath he was holding came out in a loud whoosh as he spotted ships with black sails approaching the city, Corsair ships without doubt, but flying something that Pippin could not see….
The White Tree of Gondor.
Aragorn had done it! The wizard could not stop the smile that came over his face, "They," he said calmly, "Are our friends, Peregrin Took. Aragorn and the others are here."
"By boat?" Pippin asked in confusion, "Were they not in Rohan?"
"Aragorn took a different road, Master Hobbit," Gandalf said, "Now things go our way. But look yonder! It seems that Buffy and Faramir are in a spot of bother! Follow me, Pippin. You are going to help me give them a helping hand."
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"You know, a guy comes out here of his own free will… I'm thinking that he's slightly crazy," Buffy panted as she ducked under the fiery whip.
Beside her, Faramir snorted, slamming his shield into place, "When a wizard wants you to do something, it takes a smarter man than me to evade his plans." He ground out as he danced out of reach, Buffy's shining blade keeping him from severe burns.
"True," Buffy agreed, hurling a dagger that sank into the Balrog's shoulder, "However, no matter what Gandalf said, you're fighting a Balrog, which usually sends sane men screaming. What does that say about you?"
Faramir gave a hoarse shout as he was sent flying through the air, landing on a pile of abandoned crates, "I am not sure I want to know, but I should hope that it implies that I am dashing, charming and a brave captain."
"Or an extremely stupid one," Buffy said as she landed on top of him courtesy of a direct hit. Rolling off slower than she would have liked, she groaned as she stood up, "Okay, this Balrog is so getting on my nerves!"
As Faramir watched Buffy go flying through the air again, he couldn't help but agree.
But then suddenly, as Buffy was getting to her feet once more, looking more than the worse for wear and Faramir could have sworn that she was swaying as she stood, a rather hefty boulder came flying from the city and crushed the Balrog where it stood.
Covered in dust, ranger and slayer stared at each other for a moment in shock, and then stared at the boulder and the crushed Balrog.
"Didn't see that coming…" Buffy muttered, squinting up at the city walls and waving thanks anyway.
Faramir just kept staring from the flattened Balrog to the boulder that had missed him by about six inches, "Indeed…" he said faintly.
Why on Arda did these things have to keep happening around him?
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Standing on the prow of the first boat, Aragorn strained for the first sight of shining white walls in the distance. They were fast approaching Minas Tirith now, and he could only pray that they were not too late.
Huge grey plumes of smoke could be seen rising from the city as they approached and as they came closer, Aragorn could see the legions of the Dark Lord storming the city, see the gaping holes in the white walls, the caved in great gates, the fires ravaging the city he had sworn to keep standing. He had promised Boromir that he would save his home, save Gondor. And his friends were somewhere within those walls now too, hopefully still alive, he did not want to think otherwise. He could not think otherwise.
Elladan placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, "It will be well, Estel," his foster brother said quietly, "This is your moment. Do not let fear hold sway now. 'Tis time to reclaim Gondor, muindor, and with your army at your back, I would wager that even the Witch-king would waver before them. I hear it is rather hard to kill those who are already dead after all. And the Mountain-king seems to be in the temper for it," he added, shooting the glowering, scowling ghost king a glance.
Aragorn sighed, "Look at that Elladan. Just look at it." he said sadly, "The city is nigh overwhelmed. What if we have come too late? What if we cannot stop them? What if sh---" He cut off abruptly, staring down at the water in consternation.
Elladan just looked at him, "Do not fret so Estel," he said soothingly, "You will see her soon enough. It would take more than you know to take down that lady of yours, especially when she has an Istar with her. Between her and Gandalf, I would not be surprised to see the city turned upside down if it suited them. And they have strong walls to hide behind if need be. Concentrate on the battle at hand. Look, we come close now. We can be seen from this far off."
"Hey laddie!" Gimli called from nearby, as if reading Elladan's mind, "The Elf says we have company ahead!"
And indeed, as Aragorn looked at the shore where the Dwarf was pointing, Legolas beside him, clear sight seeing much more than he, he saw the resident welcoming committee on the docks. Also known as a horde of orcs. "Fantastic," he muttered and then looked at the Elven twins beside him, "Well, since they are going to try to kill us anyway, I think the time is ripe to unwrap the present you brought me, muindor."
Elladan smiled wolfishly, "Ada did say that it might incite a riot or two," he said thoughtfully, even as he signalled for Elrohir to come over, "Given the odds we face, I think any advantage is preferable. Are you ready for this Aragorn? Do you willingly take up your mantle, Heir of Isildur?" he asked more formally, eyes intent on his foster brother.
The ranger in question was silent for a moment, "For better or worse, this is my destiny," he said quietly but firmly, "And I must fulfil it. Raise the banner…"
Elrohir left quietly, under heavy stares from Halbarad and the others who had watched the interplay curiously, and soon returned clutching a black bundle, which he promptly handed to Aragorn. "Accept this gift Elessar, from one who loves you. Our sister has toiled long on this, in the hopes that the beauty of the past may now be known in the present and the future. May it win glory for the race of Men once again."
Deftly untying the cord that bound it, Aragorn unrolled it to see the White Tree and stars emblazoned with silver thread on a field of black. The banner of the line of Elendil, the banner of the Kings of Gondor, lay in his hands, carefully crafted by his foster sister just for this day, to be his standard once more.
Swift work by the twins soon had the standard flying from the ship, furling and unfurling in the breeze, and for the first time, Aragorn felt that maybe he just might live up to his illustrious heritage. The other Dunedáin of course, knew what that standard meant and Halbarad even went so far as to make a little bow, almost mockingly good natured after so many years of friendship. But though the banner brought home the weight of the mantle he was taking upon himself, and signified his family's hopes for the future, his attention soon drifted back to the quayside and the battle at hand.
At his signal, everyone crept out of sight as their ship ghosted up to the docks, making sure that no orc could see them too early and raise the alarm, and crouching down near the side, Aragorn could hear the jeers from the waiting orcs. Beside him, Legolas tried to contain Gimli, who had taken it upon himself to give the orcs a sound thrashing while the twins whispered mocking comments in all too plain amusement. It was the type of nonchalance that only Elves and Dwarves seemed to have in a midst of a battle. He had heard Gandalf talk of the sniping at the Battle of Five Armies and he well believed it. Because only two such diverse races could ever want to taunt each other so much that they nearly forgot who they were at war with. He was only thankful that Thranduil and Glóin were not here or else he would never be able to get their attention!
Lulled by the black sails and the pirate ships, the head orc was in a fury and he stomped over to the first ship. "Late as usual, pirate scum!" it growled, "Wait until this boss hears about this ya maggots! Get a move on! There's knife work here that needs doing and ye'll be doing it! Come on, ya sea rats! Get off your ships!"
Elladan just raised an eyebrow in pure Elrond-esque fashion, imitating his formidable sire with eerie precision, "Well, since he asked so nicely, what do you say to us killing him now?" he said dryly, idly playing with his unsheathed sword, bare steel glinting in the light.
"Oh yes, let's." Elrohir said, backing his brother up, "I am growing rather tired to being stuck on this ship. Corsair design has nothing on Círdan. And since everyone else and their mother seems to be already on the battle field, can we please get there before the Dwarf is old and grey?"
"Hey!" Gimli groused, "You Mahal cursed tree squirrels leave me out of this!"
Elrohir looked at him blandly, "Actually, Legolas is the tree squirrel around here," he said sardonically, "Since he is a barbaric Wood Elf after all. But do let me pass on the compliment to my daeradar, Lord Celeborn. I am sure he would be delighted to hear the opinion of a Dwarf on the matter of his heritage. If you are lucky, between him and Thranduil, you might get away with just being thrown into the Forest River. I hear your kin had a pleasant visit there some years back."
It was not Legolas's turn to stop smirking and glare at the younger twin, "Leave my adar out of this, gwenyn," the prince said warningly, "Or I shall tell my adar exactly who pilfered his stock of Dorwinion during the solstice!"
Elladan glared right back, "You had better not, Greenleaf," he threatened, "Or I shall tell Arwen of some rather amusing exploits of yours…"
"Try it and I shall tell Arwen who dumped her bed into the Bruinen because she told Glorfindel what you two did." Legolas said, smiling devilishly, "Let us see if you can wangle your way out that one."
"You are the one courting our sister, Greenleaf!" Elrohir said, "We get to decide what to do with you. We can hang you upside down from the roof if we wish!"
"Ah," Legolas said, his smirk widening, "You do that and I will not have to send Arwen after you. She will want to kill you herself. As will Erestor for spilling blood somewhere and destroying something or the other. And your adar will not kill me for trying to start a civil war! He likes me. So he will cheerfully let Arwen teach you a lesson."
"Civil war?" Elladan repeated, "Why you sneaky, underhanded Moriquendi brat!"
"Is this how you behave to one who is nobly sacrificing himself for Middle Earth?" Legolas said tauntingly as the twins spluttered in indignation. "After all, who is Lord Elrond going to believe? Me, on this noble quest, or you two, who tried to start a war with the Dwarves last I recall!"
Aragorn stared at the arguing Elves incredulously, along with all of the rangers and no few of the ghosts. Really! What in the name of Elbereth did they think they were doing and why did they have to do this now of all times! "Are you all gone insane!" he hissed, trying to get their attention, but they just ignored him and continued on arguing over who dyed who's hair purple three hundred years ago.
Gimli looked at the sniping in wonder and then shook his head in disgust, sharing a commiserating glance with a seething Aragorn, "Ah! Enough of this!" the Dwarf exclaimed, grabbing his axe and leaping to his feet, "Leave them to their bellyaching lad! We have orcs to kill!" He shot one last look at the blonde Elf, as he hopped down off the ship, followed by Aragorn and no few of the rangers, "There is plenty for the both of us, if you can stop squabbling you bloody squirrels! May the best Dwarf win!"
Simultaneously, three heads swivelled to stare at the departing Dwarf, "Dwarf?" they repeated in unison, and Legolas grabbed his bow.
The Elven trio leaped gracefully onto the docks, faces dark enough to commit murder, "May the best Dwarf win?" Elladan repeated incredulously, glowering at Gimli, "I think not. Prepare to be shown how it is done, you fool! Nobody bests us!"
"Unless it is Glorfindel, or Elrond, or Buffy, or me," Legolas said, cheerfully shooting at the confused orcs, even as the ghosts took their cue to leap from the ships in a flooding wave of eerie green that cut a swath through the orcs into the battlefield proper. The twins glared balefully at him and Elladan seemed to be considering 'accidentally' shooting the prince in the posterior.
Aragorn just shook his head as he ran through a leftover orc.
It was going to be a very long day.
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Dol Amroth, Gondor, 3019 TA, March 17.
Nodding his head mechanically, Boromir manfully endured the lecture he was receiving from his younger cousin, especially since Lothíriel would not take kindly to interruptions. Ever since Arwen had arrived and started to teach the Princess of Dol Amroth how to 'handle men', he had felt like he was – nay, he actually was, an unwilling participant in the two ladies teachings. He felt sorry for his uncle Imrahil. He was not sure whether the prince would be still able to handle his daughter after Arwen was finished with her. He just wished that they did not have to practice on him! Was it not bad enough that trying to survive in Lord Elrond's house in the time surrounding the council, thanks to Lady Arwen's brothers he might add, what with all the pranks that had nearly started another war had been nigh impossible but now he had to survive Lord Elrond's daughter, who in his opinion seemed to be worse than Elladan and Elrohir combined. Demure lady? Only in his dreams! And here he had thought that Aragorn had dropped peace and quiet to take up with a vixen like Buffy. Now, he thought Aragorn had only escaped the frying pan and dropped him into the fire!
When Lothíriel was finally finished with him, he was allowed to slink over to the head of the column of men that he had gathered from Rohan and the fiefdoms of Gondor. And of course, the Lady Arwen.
Apparently, she wanted to come along and so he not only had to deal with her bossing him about in his own homeland but try to protect her too! It was a thankless task and Boromir felt drastically more respect for Elrond for having such… unique… children. After some words with Lothíriel, the Lady of Imladris mounted and positioned her mare right beside his mount. He silently asked for mercy. What had he done to deserve this?
He could feel the weight of her stare boring into the back of his head as he gave the order to move out. He tried to ignore it but it was always there, like an annoying itch and sighing, he turned to look at her, "Yes, Lady Arwen?" he said wearily.
She arched an eyebrow at his tone, "Well, I thought that you would like to know what I have found out about the situation in Minas Tirith, but if you do not want to know. By all means, just ride on…"
He was sure that he was going to grind his teeth into powder trying to be gallant to a woman who was deliberately tormenting him! "Yes, Lady Arwen, I am listening. Please tell me what you know."
Those stunning, annoying, eyes abruptly turned deadly serious, all thoughts of teasing gone from them. "Their need is dire and will be dire again," she said calmly, "The city burns, from without and from within and the siege is breaking the defenders. Very soon now, the city may be lost."
Boromir was aghast, "And what of Aragorn? Where is he? And Gandalf? And Legolas and Gimli? And Buffy? Where are they! They were supposed to help!"
"They do," Arwen said sharply, "They do what they can! Do you even know the size of the army they face!"
Boromir nodded dully, "We are going to be too late, are we not?" he said sadly.
Arwen shook her head, "Not necessarily," she replied softly, "We have a purpose, whether you know it or not. I have not my father's control of foresight, or his experience, but I am nearly certain that the fate of the city rests on the help we bring. We have a role to play, Boromir. This is your chance to fight for your homeland. I know it is not the way of Men, but you must trust me. I do not see often, but with a warning of such clarity… I do not believe that I see wrong on this. And I have had other confirmation of what I fear. My daernaneth has sent me a message. Her mirror has warned her. She says that if we do not hold to this course, disaster will follow. She says that we may be the city's only chance in the end."
"Is Aragorn going to fail?" Boromir demanded, "Is that why you speak such dire warnings? Will my home fail?" His voice was choked at the thought of abandoning his home to such a fate.
Arwen moved her horse closer, despite the stares of the Men following behind, "Do not feel that way, Boromir." she said quietly, "I know my brother and he would walk through fire to save Gondor if that was what it took. The mirror sees things that will come to pass, but it also sees things that can be prevented. The battle is not yet done. The outcome cannot be known until it is ended. Trust that your home, however battered, will stand strong. You are not the only one who knows that something you treasure is in danger. My brothers, my lover, and a girl I have come to think of as a sister, are all out there somewhere, fighting in this war, fighting to save Gondor, and I am not going to have you start doubting. You are not the only one who is scared. But I am trying to get past that. Now, you know what we face. Are you still ready to do this? Because, I will go on without you if I have to!" she finished fiercely.
Boromir spoke after a thoughtful moment, "I am with you. I cannot abandon my home now. And my brother too guards those walls. I will not see him hurt if I could have prevented it. I have no doubt that my father will place him in the utmost danger. He ever undervalued Faramir; never saw what a good man he is. And since I was born, I have taken oaths to defend Gondor to the best of my ability. I admit that I may not like change, but I am no coward, Lady Undómiel, I will go to Gondor's aid and no trick of Sauron's is going to stop me."
She smiled, "That is what I wanted to hear," she said, and after an awkward moment in which both contemplated might be happening at Minas Tirith unknown to them, they settled into a companionable silence as Boromir occupied himself with seeing to both the plan and the men.
As Boromir moved the columns into a swift trot, quick but slow enough to allow the men walking to keep up, Arwen absentmindedly fingered the rolled slip of parchment in the pocket of her cloak.
Staring at the sky, she wished that the stars shone now instead of waiting for the veil of darkness to reveal their light. She could use the warmth that seeing her grandfather, Eärendil, always inspired in her as he sailed the skies with a Silmaril on the prow of his vessel, the brightest star there. She needed strength right now. Because she hoped with all her heart, that for once, her grandmother was wrong. She was not ready… Not yet…
She could not lose him now…
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Éowyn quickly lost sight of both Buffy and Merry after their horses fell. She thought that Merry might have been thrown clear, but she had not the faintest clue as to where Buffy had disappeared to and no time at all to ponder the matter.
Her sword met orcish steel with a sharp clang as she parried, ducked and then decapitated the foul creature. Even as she sliced into an Easterling, another man wrapped an arm around her neck. Kicking the man in front of her in the stomach, sending him staggering back, she slammed her head back into the man behind, hearing him cry out in pain and curse her in his own tongue. As she spun and sliced his innards open with one deft slice, she mentally thanked Buffy for showing her that move. She might have a headache, but it was better than being dead.
Running through the winded man, she took a deep breath as she realised that they were the first humans she had killed face to face. She felt a strange twisting in her stomach, bile rose at the back of her throat. So this was the price Éomer had talked about and Buffy had warned her of. It was not as she thought it would be. She felt oddly detached from the horror of it, her will to survive pushing to the back of her mind as she fought for her life on a field of carnage. This was the place where she could earn the renown she craved, forge a life away from merely minding house and lechery filled stares from the shadows, and yet now that she was here, she could only think of how much more death would it take before the day was won?
Slicing and slashing, she frantically tried to find Merry in the rampant chaos. She did not doubt the hobbit's valour but what if he had been hurt in the fall? She did not think that he had a Rohirrim's experience of getting thrown from horses. She wove her way through the field, fighting who and what she could, and avoiding the huge stomping Mûmakil like the plague. She was not stupid enough to think she could survive an encounter with one of those southron beasts unhorsed.
She froze with a sudden fear as she saw a figure clad entirely in black land on the Pelennor on some monstrous beast. She did not need to be told what it was, even if she had never before had the misfortune to see one of its kind. This was the stuff of tales, a source of nightmares… one of the Black Riders, the Nazgûl… wraiths that were neither dead nor alive but brought death with them. The Dark Lord's most loyal servants… and from the crown on his head, she guessed that this was the Lord of the Nine, the infamous Witch-king himself…
She felt like all her blood had turned to ice at his proximity. He seemed to radiate an air of spine-chilling fear and the black taint of murder. This was not something she could fight…. Not fight and win… Watching him warily, she started to creep back and away before he noticed her but then she spotted something out of the corner of her eye and she froze, heart clenching in fear and terror.
Éomer was there, nearby, still on proud Firefoot, trying to defend the city walls, calling for the Rohirrim to rally to him. He had not yet noticed the danger he was in. Gamling was no more than six feet from him and as he spun his horse around to survey the field, he spotted the Ringwraith bearing down on his king. Eyes round with fear as his horse reared at the sight of the wraith, he frantically yelled at the young king, "Éomer!" he roared, as he turned his horse round into a sharp canter, trying to regain control over his terrified horse, "Behind you! Beware! Flee! Éomer!"
Even as her feet took an instinctive step forward, her brother wheeled about to see what Gamling was on about and the Riders near him danced back in wariness and fear. Firefoot snorted and reared, but Éomer managed to settle the stallion down too late. The Witch-king's heavy metal mace swung out and though Éomer tried to block it with his shield, Firefoot reared in surprise and terror and off balance, fell clumsily. Éomer cried out in pain as he landed hard on the ground, his armour taking the brunt of it, and then his eyes widened as Firefoot fell on top of him, something wrong with one of his legs.
The weight of the horse kept her brother pinned down and his sword had fallen out of his reach…. He was trapped and the Witch-king on his beast bore down on him, intent on death for the young King of Rohan. Éowyn saw in shock that there was no way her brother could defend himself. Firefoot was trying to get off his master, but was failing miserably. He was helpless… Éomer was going to die.
A fierce anger blazed in her heart as her grip tightened on her sword. She was not going to lose the only family she had left! The Witch-king would have her brother over her dead body! Feet taking wing, she raced towards him as the beast slobbered over her downed brother, ready to rip him to shreds.
"So this is what passes for a king nowadays," the Morgul Lord was sneering, "Pathetic. Feast on his flesh, my pet…"
Shoving her way through a crowd of orcs, Southrons and Easterlings who were in her path, she ran in front of Éomer, placing herself between him and the Witch-king, eyes blazing blue fire, "Stand back!" she cried, some hidden well of courage flaring to life inside of her. This foul creature was not going to have him! "I will kill you if you touch him!" she said fiercely.
Her anger boiled as the Witch-king seemed to laugh at her, dismissing her as one would a fly, "Only a fool comes between a Nazgûl and his prey…" he said threateningly, hand on his mace. He seemed to contemplate striking her himself but then dismissed the idea as beneath him. "Kill him." He ordered the fell beast he was seated upon.
"Get out of here!" Éomer gasped from underneath Firefoot, not knowing who came to his defence but unwilling to allow two die instead of one. "That is an order!"
Sharp teeth and gaping jaws descended on her, and in a move remembered from distant childhood and an old friend, she kicked it before ducking, leaving it to gnash on air and as it swung around to assault her once more, her sword flew and sliced a clean strike into his neck, half severing it. The beast screeched an awful shriek that echoed across the Pelennor and tried to crush her with its feet. Darting back, she lashed out again and took its head cleanly off. She jumped back out of range as it flailed in its death throws and then crashed heavily onto the ground.
As it fell, the Witch-king toppled off in an undignified pile and Éowyn took the time to hope for a miracle and to look at Éomer's situation. It was useless. She could not get Firefoot off him on her own. A clink of steel turned her attention back to the fallen beast and to where she saw the Witch-king rising lividly, mace in one hand and sword in the other. She could see no face behind that cowl but she knew that she had just marked herself out for death.
Breathing harshly, she wondered how in Eorl's name she was going to get herself out of this mess. The Witch-king advanced, and she held her sword and shield ready, holding steady even as Éomer urged his defender to flee. She had been afraid too long. Too afraid under threat of Gríma's treachery, under her uncle's decline into dotage under Saruman's hand, afraid as her country came under attack at Helm's Deep. And now, she was tired of being afraid.
Holding her head up defiantly, meeting emptiness with resolute eyes, she stood ready and practically dared the wraith to do his worst. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she demanded and saw Éomer start at her voice, eyes going wide in horror and recognition. The Nazgûl swung his mace – a huge thing of horror. A big ball of lethally spiked metal on a long chain that caught her eyes and made her gulp nervously.
"NO!" he cried as the wraith lunged. Éowyn ducked and parried, dancing to avoid the Nazgûl blade. With every successful dodge, the Witch-king grew more and more angry and finally, she was a second too slow to dart away and the mace crashed into her shield. Éowyn cried out in pain as every bone in her arm seemed to splinter, sending shards of red hot agony through her. Her shield slipped from deadened fingers, her arm hanging limply at her side and her knees buckling underneath her even as Éomer shouted at her to run, trying to draw the Nazgûl's attention away from her.
On her knees, gasping with the pain, she saw the triumphant Witch-king moving in for the final blow, and somehow, she found the strength to push past the pain and grab her sword with her good hand, fingers closing around the hilt, ready to bring it up in defence of her life and that of her brother's, but then she spotted movement behind the Morgul Lord and her eyes widened, her head shaking subtly to try to warn the person off.
The Witch-king came up to her and grabbed her neck while she was distracted. His grip chilled her blood, some sort of freezing cold seemed to emanate from him, and the strength of the grip threatened to snap her neck like a twig. But glaring in defiance, she tried to drive her sword into his gut. His grip tightened and she choked as he sneered at her, "You fool!" he said, "Do you not know that no man can kill me! Die now and see what happens to those who oppose me…"
His grip cut off her air supply and after a few moments, she could see black spots swimming in front of her vision as she struggled in the relentless grasp, but then salvation came….
Behind the wraith, she could see Merry approached, a bit battered and bruised, his little sword in his hand and then he stabbed the Nazgûl Lord in the back of the leg, staggering back even as his blade crumbled to dust and pain shot up his arm, causing him to fall to the ground. Her heart bled for the valiant hobbit while the Witch-king shrieked in pain, his head twisting around as he fell to his knees, to see who had dared cross him.
Gasping in air and panting heavily, Éowyn staggered up, despising the weakness in her limbs. Her fingers locked into a death grip on her sword. She looked at the Witch-king for a moment as she wavered where she stood and then she reached for her helmet and pulled it off. A cascade of long golden hair flooded down her back, and her face was revealed, causing a wretched cry of confirmed horror from her brother. The Witch-king stared at her in shock.
She smiled grimly, "No man can kill you, you say? Then what about a woman?" she said, "Because I assure you that I am no man!"
With a cry of vengeance and triumph, she shoved her sword through the Witch-king's face… And nearly died from the pain of it. She fell to the ground, agony coursing through her, but even though it felt like acid was in her veins, some darkness closing its grip on her, but she at least got the satisfaction of being able to see the Witch-king die. It seemed like he just crumpled in on himself, leaving nothing behind but a pile of rags and a shrill cry on the wind.
Merry looked at her in shock before seeming to faint. And after a moment, she turned to look at it Éomer, who was calling for her frantically. She managed a small smile for him before the darkness overtook her too, leaving him to desperately try to reach her.
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Lothlórien, 2969 TA, Narvinyë (January)
Galadriel arched an eye at Glorfindel, blue eyes pinning him in place, "After all these years, why do you ask me of a prophecy you foretold would come to pass?"
Glorfindel shrugged, "Mayhap because I am curious, or it may be because the twins have been wondering whether they count as a man. I would not want the Witch-king as the target of their hunt. You know very well that Elrond would skin me alive for giving them the idea!"
She gave a long suffering sigh, "Come, let me look into the mirror. I will try to see what I can and if that does not work, send the twins here. They are overdue a visit anyway. But why the interest in the Witch-king now?"
Glorfindel met that stare unflinchingly, "They have reason to believe that it was the Witch-king who ordered the attack on their mother."
Instantly, Galadriel's eyes narrowed, nearly becoming brighter and more intent than he could bear. He really wished that he had not been the one to have to tell her that. Sometimes, he thought she was scarier than the Balrog that killed him.
Galadriel drifted over to the mirror, and almost instantly images flared to life, and a small glow surrounded one of her hands. He knew what it meant. After many minutes of patient viewing, she looked at him. "He will not die by the hand of Elf or man," she said, "But something that he disregards. Someone he thinks insignificant. And in doing so, he will lose something he stole long ago."
Glorfindel blinked, "I do not suppose you have a translation please?"
She smiled enigmatically, "Think Buffy. Think two of such mettle," she said cryptically, "Do not fret. I think the Witch-king will get what he deserves…"
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Pelennor Fields, Minas Tirith, Gondor, 3019 TA, March 17.
Her breath came in harsh pants as she staggered on, it hurt even to breathe. Her arm pulsed with pain from the bow-work used to take care of the dragon. And she was sure that her bruises had bruises. It was only will that was keeping her on her feet but even she had had to admit that she could not take any more. The Balrog was dead, and the Dragon would not be bothering anyone now that its own side had killed it. She had done what she had set out to do. The real nasty slayerly threats were taken care of, she could now hopefully go back to just bossing people about. All she had to do was make it into the city on her own. Easier said than done.
Faramir and quite a few of the Gondorian cavalry were in front of the gates now, trying to keep anymore enemies coming in and overwhelming the upper levels. If she could just reach them, she would be safe enough. It might be humiliating if she tripped or fainted in front of them, but hey, better in front of them than in front of a pile of orcs. She had a feeling the Witch-king would be all too happy with her head on a pike anyway. Besides, reinforcements were here, she could safely go back to the city and not feel guilty about abandoning anyone. Aragorn was here with his all invincibly scary ghost army led by some pretty cross looking transparent people. And she had seen Aragorn on the battlefield, beside the twins of all people (Where in Arda had they come from anyway? And if they were here, why wasn't Glorfindel, who they could have really used to deal with the ever so friendly Balrog buddies!), hacking their way through some of the stupider foes. She thought it was okay to think that things were in capable hands.
And so she staggered onwards, feet dragging, hugging her injured arm close to her chest and tried to avoid most of the fighting. She really could not afford to die right now. She had a feeling Gandalf would only resurrect her just to kill her again if she handed Narya to Sauron. Going round a downed Mûmak, she stopped as a fell shriek echoed across the field, accompanied by a flash of light and Buffy turned to look in shock, "What the hell was that?" she wondered aloud.
Taking a step forward, she froze as she saw someone round the other side of the Mûmak – more precisely, the one who had whooped her ass.
"Apparently, I have no luck!" she muttered and tried to backtrack in the hope that it had not spotted her but typically, that was not to be. That would have been too easy.
"I think it is time for you to die," he said, brandishing a wicked looking blade.
"If it's all the same to you, why can't you be the one to die?" Buffy said, "That might make the line more original."
"No more talk," he snarled, lunging at her, Buffy jumped out of the way and took off at a dead run with all the slayer speed she could muster. Oh where were those non-killable ghosties when you needed them!
A heavy weight barrelled into her, knocking her to the ground and damn near crushing her with its weight. Giving a feeble – for her anyway – shove, she managed to dislodge the weight and just about managed to roll to the side quick enough to avoid a little decapitation. With muscles like water and protesting their abuse heavily, she staggered to her feet, wobbling more than a bit, to face her foe.
Her head came up in characteristic defiance, even if her stance screamed 'I am going to fall down' more than its usual 'I have the power to kill you and I am so going to do it'. "Okay, since you seem determined to be rude, how about we just get this over with buddy?" she drawled, "If you're going to try and kill me, just spare me the dramatics. I have seen so much better."
He bared his extremely sharp teeth in a snarl, and she found herself once more falling back to avoid a flurry of deadly blows. She kicked him in the groin, and it did not even faze him, she slammed the blunt of her sword into his side and it did not even faze him. He punched her in the face, causing her to stagger back a few steps and nearly fall. Then he followed it up with a blow to her gut that had her doubled up wheezing for breath.
Hearing the tell tale whistle of steel through the air, she threw herself to the ground to avoid being hacked into and grabbing a fallen orc's scimitar; she threw it at him and watched him nimbly avoid it. What the hell was this guy! This was just as bad as being thrown about by Glory! Spinning into a roundhouse kick, she landed a direct hit to the head before she was sent flying over his head, to roll in a painful ball to the ground. "Didn't anyone teach you that it is not nice to throw people about like that?" she said, lunging and letting fly with a confiscated shield, which smacked him in the side. This time he staggered. Well, at least it was some reaction. That had to mean he wasn't going to make mince meat out of her like Glory. Because she so did not have that hammer with her at the moment.
She brought up her sword to block a blow to her injured arm and at an unexpected opening; she spun around to stab her sword into his side. Unfortunately he beat her too it.
Feeling a wave agony flooding her, she looked down in disbelief to see cold steel sticking out of her middle, blood dripping down to stain her clothes and form a puddle of crimson on the ground. No one had ever done that before. No one had ever succeeded anyway.
Grinning maliciously, he twisted the blade in her before pulling it out, allowing her to crumple to the ground, exhausted beyond measure and too wounded to even try to get up and make a break for it.
He loomed over, ready to finish her up when suddenly, two luminous green shapes took him on. She saw blood being spilt before he learned that he could not kill that which was already dead and with one last glance at her lying there, fled the field, with the two ghosts chasing after him.
Lying on the ground, in a steadily growing pool of her own blood, Buffy stared up at the sky. It seemed too bright, too blue, for such a dark day. She tried to get up, but could not even find the strength to sit before collapsing back on the ground, panting harshly.
Her hand clutched at the Ring of Barahir under her tunic, "I guess I'm going to break my promise after all," she said, choking on the words.
It seemed her end had come at last.
Alone.
The way all slayers died.
She decided she hated that most of all.
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Breathing heavily and covered in blood thankfully not his own, Aragorn killed the orc in front of him and then looked around perplexed at the quiet. There seemed to be hardly anyone left to fight. Nearby, Elladan wiped at a streak of blood on his cheek, "You know," he said conversationally, "I think we won."
Surveying the field, Aragorn had to agree. Most of Sauron's remaining forces were fleeing as fast as their feet could carry them. It was over. The Battle of the Pelennor Fields was finally at an end.
He looked at the White City, battered and smoking, but still standing. One goal accomplished at least, but he could not be entirely happy about it. Halbarad, who had been his friend since he joined with the Dunedáin, had died today. It was a hard price to pay, even if he knew that it had been a very real possibility when he had led them here.
The Dead had finished off inside the city, swarming through the seven levels. They had been the reason that the day was won, he could not deny it. He knew he should be happy or at least relieved, but something nagged at the back of his mind. He did not know what but it would not leave him be. It left him in a state of disquiet; one that his friends did not fail to notice.
"Are you alright, laddie?" Gimli asked as he inspected his axe for nocks, "We won, Aragorn. You should stop brooding like an Elf."
Three sets of Elven eyes bored balefully into the Dwarf, about to rip into him, but Aragorn only sighed. "We won the Pelennor, Gimli. For now. We did not win the war. Not yet."
"Cheerful speech, Aragorn," Legolas said, arching an eyebrow, "How about you try not to scare your men?"
"Quiet Greenleaf," Elladan said, "Look, Aragorn, I think they want to talk to you." He said, pointing at the approaching ghost army.
The ghosts formed a thick ring around them as the King of the Mountain approached Aragorn until they stood face to face. Their gazes met levelly. "Release us." The ghost said simply.
Behind the ranger, Gimli harrumphed, his hands tightening on his axe, "Bad idea, laddie," he said, "Very handy in a tight spot, these lads, despite the fact they are dead."
Elrohir whacked him across the head, "Ever hear of honour, Master Dwarf?" he said.
Elladan gave him an additional thwack for good measure, "Aye," he agreed, "It seems that only Dwarves want a bunch of vengeful ghosts following them about? Does that mean the rumours are true about what goes on in those caves of yours? Quite scandalous, Master Gimli."
The Dwarf spluttered in indignation, his face turning an unattractive shade of red, "Now you listen here Elf!" he started.
The King of the Dead merely looked at Aragorn, eyes narrowed, "You gave us your word…" he reminded him sternly, grip tightening on his weapon.
Aragorn nodded in reply. He would not bind them to Middle Earth in unending torment. He would not fall to Isildur's greed. "I hold your oath fulfilled." He said, "Go, be at peace. I release you."
The ghost spared closed his eyes in relief and spared Aragorn a thankful look that assure the man that he was doing the right thing. After all, some things could not be caged. He knew that well.
Aragorn watched the dead shimmer and then vanish, as if blown away by the wind, leaving nothing behind but a stir in the air. Looking at the friends surrounding him, he turned around to face the city, "Come," he said quietly, "The battle may be over, but there is still much to do."
As they walked towards the splintered gates, Aragorn found himself searching for a familiar glint of blonde hair.
Where was she?
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A/N: Well, that was the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. Finally at a close. And the King has officially Returned. Please let me know what you think! Please READ and REVIEW!
Next chapter: The consequences of victory… Aragorn finds a disaster awaiting him… Sauron's malice is felt all the way from Mordor… And the War is not over yet….
Elvish:
Estel - Hope
Muindor – brother
Istar - wizard
Dunedáin – Men of the West
Daeradar – grandfather
Adar – father
Gwenyn – twins
Daernaneth - grandmother
Undómiel – Evenstar
Narvinyë - January
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Bruinen - translated: Loudwater. The river bordering the valley of Rivendell. It is under Elrond's sway and he can make it flood at need.
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 Amroth - the royalty of Dol Amroth are believed to have an Elven foremother in their line. Stronghold of Gondor on Belfalas, named after Amroth King of Lórien (deceased.).
Dorwinion – Wine that King Thranduil is supposed to favour. Quite a delicacy.
Eärendil - Elrond's father. Now sails the sky with a Silmaril. Can be seen as a star in Middle Earth.
Éoherë - term used by the Rohirrim for the full muster of their cavalry.
Gríma Wormtongue - Counsellor of King Théoden and agent of Saruman. Lusted after Éowyn of Rohan.
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.
Lothíriel - daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, wife of King Éomer of Rohan and mother of Elfwine the Fair.
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.
Moria - 'The Black Chasm', later name for the great works of the Dwarves under the Misty Mountains. Called Khazad-dûm in Dwarvish.
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.
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.
Ring of Barahir - Heirloom of the House of Isildur.
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