I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or The Lord of the Rings. They belong to Joss Whedon and John Tolkien respectively.
Cast Adrift
When Xander makes the ultimate sacrifice to save Buffy and Dawn, he loses almost everything that he is, was and would have been. Can he find a new life in Middle-Earth? Will he ever ever regain all of who he once was? Will he ever go home again? Will he want to?
June 12th 2001
Construction Site
Xander moved swiftly to the platform that held Dawn, hoping that Buffy would remain focused on Glory for just a little longer. Spike had failed to keep the portal from opening, and so a person with Dawn's blood was required to close the expanding tear in reality. Xander was determined that the person in question would not be Buffy or Dawn.
Most people dismissed Xander Harris as a fool. The Zeppo. The ordinary guy that stood on the shoulders of giants. The son of the town drunks. The useless one. He had heard them all. They thought him an idiot because of his poor grades. Xander was not an idiot. The monks had said that Buffy had been used to create Dawn. As far as Xander was concerned, that was an incomplete picture. Dawn was too different from Buffy in looks for them to be made from the exact same DNA. Borrowing Dawn's hairbrush had confirmed what he had already suspected. Dawn was his daughter.
Doc squealed like a pig as Xander pumped a clip into the demon. The demon was dangerous, certainly, but he was not immune to the handgun Xander had 'requisitioned' along with the anti-tank weapon so very long ago. Xander dropped the pistol onto the ground and carefully staunched Dawn's wounds. He wouldn't need the weapon where he was going.
Dawn was babbling wildly about needing to sacrifice herself to close the portal. Like hell. "No you don't."
Dawn's lips stopped moving as she tried to process what Xander had just said. "What?"
Xander caressed the side of Dawn's face softly, wiping away her tears. "You don't have to sacrifice yourself to stop this. When the monks created you they gave you parents. People of your blood."
Dawn's mouth fell open briefly before she shook her head. "Mom is dead and Dad is God only knows where, Xander."
Xander smiled, his face tinged faintly with sadness. "You weren't created from them, Dawn. As odd as it is, they're your grandparents, not your parents."
Dawn's eyes widened. "You're not going to let Buffy do it, are you? You can't!"
Xander grinned sheepishly. "No, I'm not. Luckily for us, Buffy wasn't the only one whose DNA was borrowed to make you be."
Dawn's eyes practically bulged as she finally understood what Xander was implying. "No, Xander, you can't."
"I can… I am… and I will. Tell Buffy and the rest that I'll miss them. I love you, Dawnie." And with that Xander took a running leap off of the platform.
When the portal cleared up there was no sign of a body. Xander was gone.
December 12th 3011 (Third Age)
Dimholt, Rohan
Théodred, son of Théoden and Second Marshal of the Riddermark, grimaced in pain. The cut across his forehead burned fiercely as he slashed his way through the swarm of orcs that had ambushed his éored.
The orcs were getting bolder and bolder these days. Rumour grew of the power of Sauron having been restored in Mordor. The orcs had even managed to snatch numerous black horses from Rohan's own prize stock. Théodred spun and beheaded another of the hated orcs.
The orcs were finally retreating, heading towards Harrowdale and the Paths of the Dead, presumably hoping that the Rohirrim would lack the spirit to follow them into such cursed land. A foolish hope. The band of orcs was killed to the last orc, almost on the doorstep of the Paths of the Dead.
Théodred's eyes narrowed as he beheld the dark door that was the entrance to the Paths of the Dead. He had no interest in trying that road. He remembered the lessons of Baldor the Hapless who disappeared into the Paths of the Dead, never to be seen again. No, Théodred's attention had been captured by the naked human body that was lying across the entrance. "Grimbold."
Théodred's aging second joined him. "Yes, my lord?"
Théodred simply pointed at the body on the ground. "Assist me, if you would?"
Grimbold nodded silently. This was why people respected Théodred, and his cousin Éomer for that matter. They were willing to get their hands dirty, even on a relatively risky venture like treading close to the Paths of the Dead.
The two marshals crept up to the body and were rather shocked to discover that the man was still breathing. He was scraped up, bruised and terribly cold, but he was alive. Théodred's head shot up. "Bring blankets and start a fire… quickly!" Then he proceeded to haul their erstwhile guest away from death's door, so to speak, with the assistance of Grimbold.
December 14th 3011 (Third Age)
Dimholt, Rohan
It was two days later that the stranger awoke, he was a little cold and he ached everywhere, but he had awake, which was a great deal better then his rescuers had been expecting.
Théodred sat next to the young man, who was now clothed much more appropriately. The man shivered slightly and then managed to speak. "Who are you? Where are we?"
Théodred considered demanding that his questions be answered first, but the genuine worry in the other man's face held him back. It cost him nothing to introduce himself first. "I am Théodred, son of Théoden. You are currently in the forest of Dimholt, on the borders of the Kingdom of Rohan. And you are?"
The younger man opened his mouth as if to introduce himself, but then seemed to reconsider. The man adopted a truly puzzled expression. "I feel like I should know and yet I do not. How is that possible?"
Théodred frowned deeply. Loss of memory was not unknown to the Rohirrim. More importantly, men of the Riddermark were very adept at sorting truth from lies. The young man before him genuinely did not remember his name. "Do you recall your country? You are too dark of skin to come from Rohan."
While the stranger in question was not as dark as some, the Rohirrim were exceptionally fair of skin, surpassed only by the elves. Likewise, dark hair was very uncommon in Rohan. Only Gríma, son of Galmod, was so dark of hair and his blood was believed to be mixed with the Dunlendings. It wouldn't surprise Théodred one bit to learn that the treacherous little rat was of Dunlending blood. He was already eyeing Théodred's sixteen-year-old cousin Éowyn with far too much interest.
The stranger shrugged. "I haven't a clue. All I remember is waking up here. I have… flashes of battling against monsters with terrible faces, but its all just as if it's in the corner of my eye. I can just catch glimpses of it, but nothing solid."
Théodred sighed heavily. What a dilemma. On the one hand, the man was being totally honest. On the other, the fellow could be just about anyone. All Théodred knew was the man was not Rohirrim. Strangers were not well received in the Riddermark in these darkening days. That left two options. The first was the rather unpalatable option of abandoning a man with no memories to the whims of fate, perhaps pointing him towards Gondor. The other, more difficult option was to put the man under his personal protection.
Théodred chewed his lip. There was really no choice in the matter. He had not just brought this man back to health only to abandon him. "From this day forward, until such time as you recall your true identity, you shall be entering my service. Your name is now Iskander. Grimbold!"
The aging marshal looked up. "Yes, my lord?"
Théodred jerked his head towards Iskander. "See that Iskander is supplied with a sword and a bow. Then see about getting him a horse. I believe we lost Lyre to the orcs. Did his mount survive him?"
Grimbold nodded. "Aye, my lord. The mount survived. I'll see to the lad's weapons. Would you like me to see to training the lad?"
Théodred shook his head. "Nay, Grimbold. You're doing enough. This man is to be in my service and so he is my responsibility. I will train him."
Grimbold offered a half-bow. "As you say."
And thus started the beginning of a new life for Iskander, formerly Xander Harris of Sunnydale…
Anyone who'd like to pick up this plot, drop me a line via the reviews and it'll be yours.
And so we have the August 22nd entry...
Jasper