Like Silver Glass

Rating: T, for torture, adult content and adult themes; this is a dark drama. Though it does have happy moments, most of it is not a shiny, happy story.

Pairings: We have decided. You will know. We won't divulge the truth now; rather, we'll save it for later.

Teaser: She lost everything… her love, her life, her family… now she's in danger of losing her soul.

Summary: Faith sent Buffy away using her demonic contacts, one that landed her literally in the sea of hell. Trapped, furious, in Dol Amroth, Buffy silently plots the demise of her sister Slayer. But after a daring escape from her prison, she's trapped by the dark foes of Sauron. After months of torture at the hands of her captors, her only salvation comes in the form of the son of the Steward of Gondor…

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. The 'Lord of the Rings' book series belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. The plot is our own.

Notes: Sorry… this chapter was added later than I intended. But my little girl's birthday was yesterday… she turned four! It seems like yesterday that she was just a little sprite… my baby girl is growing up so beautifully. After she went with her grandparents to the cabin… we finally had a day to relax. And melt… it seems to be so hot outside! It was 105 degrees yesterday in southern Minnesota… can you believe it?

All who submitted a review have been replied to... the link is in my profile. We express a great gratitude for you guys for responding so kindly to our sophomore story.

x-x-x

Chapter 3

By Alyson Kay

x-x-x

A cold wind whipped through the rustic wooden carriage as it slowly trudged up another hill. Buffy saw through veiled lashes the steady stream of nothing that drifted past. She was sore from being jarred one too many times in the rickety, creaky old thing. Part of her wondered why they chose this form of torture. The other half wondered why everything looked so vague and unfamiliar.

Two men were talking; but their language was indistinguishable. Despite having her Slayer-enhanced hearing, all she could hear were strange words that didn't make sense. Occasionally she would see a bird or a rabbit, but mostly the journey was painful. She longed for comfort, but knew not how to ask for it.

She still didn't know where she was. She drifted in and out of consciousness, lapsing into dreams of watching her former love die in front of her eyes. She also saw Faith with her knife, taunting her cruelly knowing that she held the trump card despite all of their careful planning.

Part of what unsettled her was the fact that she couldn't feel anything. Well, she felt the air. It was cool against her cheeks and as twilight deepened around her it became downright cold. She shivered in her blanket, almost pleading for sleep to come because facing those horrid nightmares would be far better than surviving the night and freezing to death. She almost preferred freezing to death over drowning. It had been several hours since she was plucked from the ice-cold saltwater and still she had problems feeling her extremities. Numb fingers picked at the ropes binding her wrists together. That was another thing that unsettled her. She knew she was American and she knew that some people from around the world couldn't stand them, but this was ridiculous. If it was some terror killing, they should have just done it already.

The men were talking again. The fire was far away. It sent spirals of grey smoke curling into the frigid night, but even at this distance the warmth was most welcome.

Near dawn, she fell asleep again, restlessly dreaming about Faith's ultimate betrayal.

"She's restive," one of the men commented as they continued their walk to the city, barely visible on the horizon. Both men were aboard the carriage drawn by two horses and though they moved at a brisk pace, it was far slower than what they thought the journey would take.

"Her gaze was haunted," said the second, shuddering as he remembered that cold hazel gaze staring up at him for hours the previous evening.

"She has been through much," the first said, his hushed tone sending chills down his comrades' back. She was turning restless in the back, her head twisting back and forth with a set grimace upon her face. "Perhaps we should—"

"We will comply with our orders," the second man reminded him sternly. "We will get her to Dol Amroth without pausing. The sooner she is investigated the better off those of us who assisted her will feel."

"You are right," said the first, settling back on his bench.

"If she is a traitor, she must be dealt with. Imagine how foolish those of us who helped her would feel if our compassion was turned against us?"

"Our compassion has not been misused," the first man said, watching as she slept fitfully. "She is but a child."

"A child she may be until her story is told," the second sighed, lifting the reins as the horses sped up. "Only time will tell…"

x-x-x

They reached the grand city of Dol Amroth, jewel port town of Belfalas. The cart rose steadily to the gate and waited as the great knights came forward. Once shown their cargo in the form of a sick young woman, they were allowed passage without question. The cart passed up the road and into the city.

Set atop a plateau, the city overlooked the Bay of Belfalas. Surrounded by a gate of stone, cobblestone streets darted in great circles around houses and shops and schools. Though most of Gondor had seen a grave decline in culture, Dol Amroth was one of the few gems left. Guarded by the knights of its Prince, it stood stoic and bold amongst the former splendor of its native motherland.

In the center of the city atop a rise stood the great home of the Prince of these lands, the venerable Imrahil. Four towers stood on each corner and from each rooftop stood a flag, a silver swan upon the water. Here the cart drove up and stopped at the great iron gates that held those who worked within the Prince's estate in and those who dwelled in the city out.

"What business have you here?" one of the knights asked, sweeping over on his steed with his eyes on the two young men and their creaking cart behind them.

"We have brought something of great suspicion to our Prince," the first man replied, sliding off of his seat and moving to the back. Taking an edge of the worn blanket, he drew it back to reveal a young woman sleeping soundly. "She came to our shores not three days ago, my lord."

"Is this so?" the knight asked in a hushed voice. Horrifying stories of wicked men on their native soil tarnishing and burning their beautiful lands came to his mind and he nearly snorted as he saw the young woman curled so peacefully in the cart.

"She came by sea," the man said earnestly. "She has not uttered a word, nor has she spoken her name."

"Is that so?" the knight asked, his tone far more interested this time.

"She is ill, my lord… look at her size! She is hardly a lady yet there is nothing for it."

The knight drew the covers back over the woman and drew a breath. "Bring her into the halls of healing. I will inform Prince Imrahil."

There was a flurry of movement as the woman was brought to a small, connected building underneath great marble archways. Inside was a single room, airy and bright, filled with green and instruments of healing. No sooner had they laid her on a cot did a single figure hurry in front the main estate.

"I came as soon as I could," the woman said, brushing her long, blue gown as she stared at the young woman. "Speak."

They explained their story again as being a young woman who had suddenly appeared in their lands after being washed up from the sea. The only sign of life they had seen from her thus far was when she had vomited amounts of seawater from her stomach before falling silent.

"To see the likes of two men so obviously uncivilized," the woman said harshly, cutting into their story with sharp rebuke. "It would terrify even my own daughter to keep from speaking the truth."

The two men exchanged a glance and both knew what the other was thinking; no reward was worth this treatment from this woman, though she was married to their great Prince.

"No, lady," they both murmured, casting their eyes downward.

"If you harmed her in any way…"

"No, my lady," the first blurted, shaking his head as the second just stood there, barely restraining to slap his palm over his face. "We complied with our orders from the mistress of ports down at the shore…"

"You had better have," the woman said coldly, placing her hands on her hips. "Well? Be gone with you. If you seek a reward, speak with my husband. I am sure he will be willing to dote upon you such treasures as you seek in payment for this… chore."

"But, my lady, we seek no treasures of your house," the first blundered on.

"Is that so? Have I not asked you to leave? Leave now, or else I shall call for the guards!"

As the two men hurried out under the great archway, they began to breathe again once they were clear of the halls.

Inside the halls, the woman turned, the harsh look upon her face softening to a look of motherly concern. She reached with her hand to touch the girl's face. She stirred beneath the touch, but the skin itself burned with a heat she knew should not be there. Turning, she retrieved a pitcher and filled a goblet of water. She knew she should call for the healers of her great land, but she was unwilling to leave this child's side. Her clothes were torn and shredded in places, blood dotting the smooth bodice of her flimsy top. Her hair had more the appearance of Elvish rope, twisted and sticky with salt and seaweed as it fell aside from the cot. A single arm was draped over the edge, lifelessly hung.

She took the girl's wrist and felt for a pulse. Her eyes widened at the speed the girl's pulse was racing. Her experienced hands moved the girl's tattered clothing and found several gashes. The arm that was drawn to her body was discovered to be broken. There were numerous cuts and bruises on her pale forehead. Her lips were bluish, yet her breath was moving still. Pressing a hand to her chest, she felt the passage of air and knew that the girl had labored breathing.

"You are gravely injured, child," the woman said quietly, lifting her hands and examining the girl with a critical eye. As she continued her work, a single figure slipped into the halls of Healing and found the woman at a single cot.

"What's this?"

"A gift from the coast," the woman replied, gesturing to a large table of herbs and various bottles of miscellaneous liquids. "Will you bring me those?"

The young man grasped two bottles and set them upon a table at the girl's bedside. "Who is she?"

"I have not yet heard her speak, much less utter her name," the woman said grimly. "She looks to have been through quite an adventure, has she not?"

"If I had not first seen her breath, I would have thought her to be a corpse," the man replied grimly. "Father requested to visit, but I asked him to let you complete your work."

"That was wise, Erchirion," she replied, glancing up at her son. As her son continued to move about, grinding herbs and adding water to create a paste, she began to wrap the girl's arm. Her greatest pride came from passing her knowledge of medicine and horticulture to her middle-born son. Erchirion, though the soldier Imrahil had raised him for, was also quite skilled with hands of a healer. "Bring that here."

He brought the bowl over and ladled paste onto the linen strips as she used the strip to bind the girl's arm.

"What else can we do for her?"

"We must treat these abrasions 'ere they become scars," she said, rising and moving to the table. Though Erchirion had scattered her things about, she found what she was looking for. "We need to alleviate her breathing or she will suffocate."

"How could someone so small endure such pains as these?" Erchirion mused as his mother moved about behind him. His hand reached forward to touch her face. As he moved, he did not notice that her uninjured hand slowly clenched into a fist. Her entire body began to tense as strange hands moved down her chest and beneath what little remained of her shirt. "These lesions… are they not natural?"

"Is that not an embolism?" she asked, standing by as her son ripped apart the shirt, exposing the young woman's lingerie that covered her upper-body and smooth, bare skin that was faintly golden in color and yet marred with dark bruising from her hips towards her breasts. "Extreme water pressure against the skin," the woman pointed out, her fingers gently prodding at the bruises. "This is not an embolism, but a mere fact of nature. We need to protect the skin should the skin break."

"I will get the bandages," Erchirion volunteered. He rose and then left both women alone.

"I do wish you to awaken," the woman murmured, touching the girl's neck again. It was then that she noticed a slight scar near her collarbone. "What's this?"

"I have brought the bandages along with a pest," Erchirion's muffled tone spoke from behind her. The woman turned and saw that her youngest son, Amrothos, had returned with him.

"I need not your protection, my son," she said, beaming up at Amrothos' most curious expression. Sweeping her long raven hair over her shoulder, she bent down to administer care to the young woman's bruised ribs and severe bruising to her abdomen. After a moment, her body relaxed and her fist unclenched. Despite wishing to burst out and demand answers, she thought it best to just let them treat her. Regardless of her distrust for hospitals, she felt she needed this in order to return her strength. Her Slayer healing skills seemed to have been jarred from her time in the sea.

Together with her sons, she managed to bandage the girl's body, create a medicinal bandage to heal her abdomen, found herbs to help restore her breathing and treated the many cuts and scrapes that marred the girl's youthful face.

Night was falling outside and the only light inside the halls were the small vats of flame that danced throughout the room, casting dark shadows and crimson light. She sent her sons off, wishing to use the time to speak with the girl, but she refused to awaken.

"I know you must be afraid," the woman said quietly, taking the girl's uninjured hand and holding it. "But we must learn who you are if you are to remain within this city. You would not survive another long journey, least of all not to Minas Tirith and unless you speak, that is where you are destined."

The girl's face flickered, as though being roused from a deep, deep slumber.

"I do hope we can speak before morning," the woman continued in a low, urgent tone. "My sons will return then, and they will not speak kindly of a woman who washed up from the sea. Ai, if you are from the south, we must know. You may be afraid, my dear, but it is little compared to what you face come morning." Her eyes watching for a sign the girl was waking up. She did not see one. As she heaved a great sigh, she rose to her feet and pressed a kiss to the girl's brow. "Perhaps come morning you will wish to speak. There are only so many threats you will endure before the knights carry them out."

Turning, she left the room, leaving the young woman behind to sleep.

x-x-x

It was towards dawn when Buffy finally awoke. She resisted the urge to cry out, as her nightmares had driven her to the brink of screaming in agony until someone shook the darkness from her. Instead she found herself in a cool, dark haven. A small lamp on a table on each side of her cot was barely lit, casting red shadows around her bed. Pushing the blanket off of her body with her uninjured arm, she sat up, moaning slightly as her muscles protested their first use since she'd been thrown into the sea. She glanced down at her chest and noticed that her arm was held up with a strap over her opposite shoulder. She flexed the fingers of her broken arm and winced at the shoot of pain that shot across her shoulder blades and up her bicep. No matter what had happened, her broken arm was still broken.

Her legs felt tight and wobbly as she stood up. It was all she could do to balance herself and not fall crashing back onto her cot. Using her Slayer-enhanced night vision, she made her way to one of the arches that led to a grand marble deck that overlooked the city and, beyond that, the sea. She ducked under the archway, forcing her feet to move until she reached the edge and a large, ornate rail. Her fingers clasped the railing as disbelieving eyes stared out at the slight hint of pink near the horizon. But what she did see was house after house with a thatched roof.

There was complete silence.

There were no cars, no honking horns, no sirens or people shouting in languages she couldn't understand. Gone was the civilization she had thrived in. There was nothing she lived on, nothing she strived for. There was just… nothing.

Her eyes searched for something that she could recognize. Even the poorest villages of her world had people and those people had voices. She would give anything at this moment for a wailing child…

But all she heard was silence.

Something tightened in her chest. She felt as though she was unable to breathe. She shook her head slightly as she glanced down. Stunning gardens lined the hill behind the grand estate and to her immediate left was a large tower constructed of stone. Her hand trembled as she struggled to hold onto the railing, but it was difficult when she suddenly felt like everything had been ripped away.

"Faith," she whispered in a voice lost with grief, incredulity and her own dry throat, "what have you done to me?"

Immediately after speaking these words, her throat began to burn. Her uninjured hand crept up to her mouth just as the first sob escaped her chest. It was followed in quick succession by others before she finally broke down. Broken sobs escaped her control and she felt her body screaming in protest as she doubled up. Her tears tasted salty as the dripped down her stinging cheeks. Staring bleakly at the horizon of a world she knew she didn't belong to, she couldn't help but feel completely helpless, hopeless and distraught. She struggled to contain her sobs, but they just kept on coming. She pressed her hand over her eyes, struggling to breathe, but every breath caused such great pain she felt as though she could pass out at any moment.

And there, in her greatest moment of self-pity, was a stranger, one hand on her back and the other reaching for her hand.

"Come," said a gentle, masculine voice. Through her tears, she saw a pale face and a very tall man with long, dark hair staring at her in the darkness. There was but a hint of compassion on his face. He was trying to lead her back inside, to keep her from a world that she didn't want to see. Before he could move her far, she turned and pressed her face into his chest as her heartfelt cries spilled forth.

It was obvious that the man didn't know what to do, other than pat her awkwardly on the back and hold her as she grieved. A moment later, she stepped back, her laughter stuck in her throat as she basked in her own humiliation. Yet he refused to release her, gently pushing her back inside. It was a mark of her own horror and shock that she allowed herself to be led back into the darkness.

A few minutes later, the man was handing her a cup of tea. He had tried to make small talk with her, but she found that she couldn't speak. If she spoke, she would cry and she was not going to cry in front of anyone, especially a stranger. She just held the tea limply in her hands, her gaze focused on some point above his head.

"They will come for you when the sun rises," he said quietly, taking a small stool from the corner and setting it next to her bed. She swallowed hard and glanced down at her tea. "If they know you have awakened, they will come sooner."

She couldn't ask him not to tell the others she was awake. She knew she'd get more answers if she could ask them, but for some reason she didn't feel like speaking.

"I am called Erchirion," the man said, placing his hand on his chest and sitting. "My father is the dweller of this home."

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, setting her tea on the small side table next to her cot. "B-Buffy," she said at last, placing her hand across her chest.

"Is that your name?"

She nodded, pulling her hand away. In the bleak light from the lamps, she saw how cut up and scraped her arm was and quickly dropped it from view, burying her hand beneath a blanket.

"Do not fear this place, Buffy," he said, rising and glancing down at her. Had he made advancement towards her, she would have run away. Instead she sat and blinked up at him. "My father is a fair leader, though strict. He will hear your story come morning. You must tell him who you are and where you are from. If you do not, you may be cast back out to sea." Seeing the frenzied, panic-stricken look in her eyes, he reached down and placed his hand upon her shoulder. "Do not fear my father," he said in what he hoped was a comforting voice. "All will be clear come morning."

After he bade her a good night, he left, disappearing through a door at the far end of the hall. With a heavy sigh, Buffy turned her body and fell back onto the pillows, staring out into the darkness. The pink was spreading across the horizon and with it came the shade of red. Feeling as though this luck was as ominous as her mood, she began to focus her strength, which she knew she would need in the coming days.

x-x-x

Next: Buffy faces questioning, a bleak new reality and the curious meanderings of a fourteen-year-old.

Oh, and we do promise that there are cheerful chapters coming… we just have to get past this stuff first.