Without

By CinnamonGrrl

Part 31

It took the group a long time to decide that one of them was going to dive into the water and see how safe it was for the rest to do as well; it took even longer to decide which would be the one to do it. In the end it was agreed that Buffy would do it, not because it made the most sense, what with her being able to come back to life if she died, but because she shouted the loudest.

And so, with a last kiss from her husband, a last hug from her sister, and quite fierce frowns from everyone else, she released her hold on Legolas and allowed herself to fall. Arms outstretched, eyes closed, it was a glorious feeling: air rushing past her, her body weightless, and then she remembered she had to dive or else hitting the water would hurt. She arranged herself into a diving position and braced herself for a shock of cold, but was pleasantly surprised to find the water was rather warm and pleasant, if somewhat mineral-tasting and cloudy.

With a few kicks of her powerful legs, she resurfaced and waved up at the group far above whom she knew had been waiting anxiously before making for shore. The current was insanely strong, coming as it did from the enormous waterfall at the far end of the long cavern; it kept trying to force her downstream and she had to thrash her arms with all her might to make it toward the shore. She was just about to heave herself onto the narrow strip of land when hands came out of seemingly nowhere and reached to lift her up.

“Thranduil!” she gasped. “You’re…” He was soaking wet, summer-wheat hair cascading in long ringlets over the broad shoulders to which his sleeveless tunic clung like a second skin, revealing the hard contours of a flawlessly sculpted chest. Droplets of water sparkled in his sable lashes, framing his eyes like diamonds around emeralds, and as she watched, a single bead of water rolled sinuously down his throat to rest in the hollow of his throat.

Why couldn’t he be balding and paunchy like a normal father-in-law? she wondered. Aloud, she finished her sentence. “You’re ok.”

He shot her a look that plainly declared, “I’m far better than merely ok, you fool,” but only said, “Yes, as is Radagast. I do not know about the vampire; he was gone when I awoke.”

“Where is Radagast?” Buffy asked.

“Pouting,” Thranduil replied. “He was not especially pleased to have a swim.” He smiled. “A pity; I found it refreshing in the extreme.” He led her around a jagged outcropping of rock where the wizard was sitting in an untidy heap, trying in vain to squeeze out the skirts of his robe. The ends of his moustache quivered in indignation as he lifted his head and spotted them approaching, but he said nothing.

In short order they decided that the others had to come down; Buffy and Thranduil would help them to shore if they required assistance. Back on the shore, they motioned to the others and one by one the rest of the company descended with mighty splashes into the water. Legolas and Haldir went first, both managing quite well to combat the current, and then Arwen and Elessar with only a little more trouble. Dawn and Boromir did indeed need assistance to get to shore but with all the rest helping it was no trouble at all.

Gimli struck the water like a dead weight, immediately beginning to sink until Buffy and Legolas dragged him up and hauled him to land, spluttering the entire way about how undignified it was. They chalked his surly mood to having to wake from his happy dream, and left him to wring out his beard in peace as Corinne, the last to jump, plummeted to earth.

The first thing Corinne realized was that the water felt more like a warm embrace than a shock to the system; the second, and infinitely more distressing, was that she was breathing. Breathing and not drowning, that is. Running her hands over her face and neck, she found that little flaps had formed on either side of her throat.

“Oh, good,” she said sourly, “I have gills. Perfect.” Her voice was echoey and vibrated in the water that caressed and undulated around her, and she found that she was, instead of rising as most people are wont to do, dropping like a stone to the bottom.

Above, she fancied the others were searching for her, but with low visibility, strong current, and their inability to match her newfound breathing apparatus, it wasn’t looking good for them. She tried to leap up, to swim toward the surface, but her feet were as if rooted to the riverbed. She sighed, feeling the swish of water through her gills, and tried to figure out what she was supposed to do now. She wished, not for the first time since breaking the cartouche, that she could have kept her ability to think to Haldir. It would have come in handy right about now.

“Greetings,” said a voice from behind her, and the water around her cleared to crystal purity. Corinne spun clumsily to find a short, dumpy man with myriad braids in his dark hair standing before her. In each of his chubby hands he held a curvy vase, and delicately tinted gills fluttered on either side of his neck. Behind him, and coming swiftly to surround her as well, was a host of marine life: crocodiles, frogs, fish, eels. All eyed her with wariness, as if they forbore her presence only because they humored their lord.

“Hi,” she replied uncertainly. “Do I have you to thank for the gills?”

He nodded and beamed at her. “It was indeed my pleasure,” he replied, juggling his vases briefly to free one hand so he could shake hers and revealing that he happened to be sporting quite the loveliest set of breasts Corinne had ever had the good fortune to clap eyes on. High and firm, perfectly round, and capped with pretty pink nipples, they were every woman’s fondest wish and every man’s wet dream.

“Wow,” she murmured before she could catch herself, then blushed as the catalogue of her mind flipped to the entry containing ‘man with breasts’. This, then, was Hapi, god of the Nile and, by extension, of fertility and fecundity.

“Always I receive this reaction,” Hapi said, and dimpled at her. “I find it amusing.” He juggled the vases once more until there was one in each hand, decorously concealing His bosom, and Corinne found she could look at His face once more.

“Sorry,” she said, embarrassed, but He waved her apology aside.

“There is no time,” He told her. “You must know that not all of the Netjeru side with Aker and Heka and the others; Seshat certainly does not, nor do I. We will do what we can to help you but fear it will not be much. Only know that in Seshat, in me, and in Her-Wer you have allies.”

Eyes wide, Corinne nodded.

“The vampire is being courted,” Hapi continued. “Heka will try everything He can to win the vampire over; offer him anything and everything his unbeating heart might desire. Is he to be trusted?”

Corinne thought, and thought hard. She hadn’t known Spike for long, only a few days, but in that time he’d saved her life time and again. She recalled his reaction when she’d mentioned Dawn and Mercas, remembered how gleefully he’d fought with Buffy until collapsing into tears of joy that he was with her again. He might not be completely reliable, but he’d die before doing anything to harm the Summers women; she knew this with utmost certainty.

“Yes,” she said at last. “Yes, he is.”

Hapi nodded. “For all our sakes, I hope you are right,” He replied with a sigh. “For the future of all Arda and Aman rests on his shoulders.”

It sounded distinctly ominous, and Corinne said so.

“Would you rather I lie to you, scholar?” He asked with a faint, tired smile.

She felt her shoulders slump. “No,” she admitted. “I’m just really ready to wake up from this bad dream now.”

Hapi smiled at her again, and tipped the vases toward her. Automatically she held out her hands, and four petals spilled out, two from each vase.

“Lotus petals?” Corinne inquired, frowning.

“To ensure what is already possible,” Hapi told her mysteriously, stepping back. “You must go back now; your friends are… concerned.” She read that to mean they were beside themselves with frantic worry, and thrust the petals into her back pocket with the palm frond Seshat had given her a few days ago. “Once you are with your companions once more, you must go beyond the waterfall.” He motioned to the animals around them. “My children will bring you to them.”

“Um… thanks,” she replied uncertainly as two enormous crocodiles came forward.

“Put your arms around their necks,” the Nile god directed, and waved his vases at her cheerfully when the beasts began swimming forcefully upward. Clasping them tightly, she could only nod farewell, and then they were hurtling away.

The water became murky once more, and she clung to the crocodiles as they seemed to slip between the currents rather than against them to speed toward the shore. Then with a lurch, they hauled themselves from the water, dragging her along with them onto the black sand. A shout sounded in the distance, but Corinne couldn’t be bothered to try and put a face to it—she hadn’t lost her gills yet and was gasping harshly.

“Corinne,” cried a voice, and Haldir dropped to his knees beside her, gathering her into his arms. “Corinne, doll-nîn,” he whispered, his voice rough, trying to still her she began to convulse, her body starving for air. Then he caught sight of the madly wriggling gills on her throat and drew back a moment.

The crocodiles, which Haldir had pushed roughly back, came forward once more. He growled at them, reaching for his daggers, but they merely grasped mouthfuls of her clothing and dragged her back into the water, too strong for him to prevent. Once submerged once more, Corinne stilled and her panic receded.

“Thank you,” she said to the crocodiles, who seemed to nod before leaving her. Haldir was trying to hoist her out of the water again, but she slapped at his hands until he released her. His voice, above the surface, was muffled but she could tell he was speaking to the others before she began having trouble breathing, again. Hands to her neck, she discovered the gills were shrinking, and with a gasp she raised her head from the water.

Sputtering, she cleared her lungs with a bout of hacking that made her eyes water. “Holy crap,” she exclaimed hoarsely as she collapsed into Haldir’s arms, exhausted. He lowered her to the sandy shore but did not relinquish her, and she sank gratefully into his familiar embrace, face pressed against his shoulder as the others crowded round. “Met another god,” she told them. “Hapi, god of the Nile. Wanted to let us know he’s on our side, and so are a few others.”

Corinne met Buffy’s gaze, then Dawn’s. “Heka’s got Spike,” she told them. “He’s trying to bribe him to fight against us. I told him that Spike wouldn’t do that.”

“That’s right,” Dawn said at once. Buffy just remained silent, but her eyes gained a faraway look to them that bespoke memories flooding to the forefront.

“What do we do now?” Boromir asked, his arm looped around Dawn’s waist.

“Hapi said we have to go through the waterfall,” Corinne mentioned, pushing a hank of wet hair off her face and enjoying the feel of Haldir’s arms around her once more even as she wondered when he’d remember he didn’t want her anymore.

“Why? What is there?” Elessar queried, staring at the waterfall in the distance as if she could see past it to what lay beyond.

“I don’t know,” Corinne admitted. “He just said we had to go.”

“And we believe him, why?” Buffy demanded. “Haven’t felt a whole lot of love from the gods here.”

“Well, Seshat was good to me,” Corinne ventured.

“She still dumped you out on Iw-n-sisi,” Dawn pointed out.

“I do not see that we have much choice,” Radagast said. “We cannot go back the way we came.” He gestured at the cavern around them. “There is nowhere else to go.”

“So, we go, and stay on our guard and not trusting anyone,” Buffy said. “After the misery that has been this entire trip, I can’t say that’ll be a stretch for me.”

They had to scramble between two jagged boulders to squeeze behind the falls, but once they did they found themselves in another corridor, not unlike the first, but this time there were no minotaurs, no sirens, nothing.

“We must not drop our guard,” Elessar told them after nearly an hour of walking without incident. “They but try to lull us with this peace.”

“Give the man a prize,” drawled a voice, and they all spun around to find Spike lounging against the fall, cigarette dangling negligently from his fingers. “They didn’t just make him king because of his stubble collection, hey?”

“Spike!” Dawn exclaimed, and rushed over to hug him. He gave her a lazy one-armed hug, smirking over her head at the rest of them.

“Been having fun since last we were together?” he asked, eyes glinting in the torchlight. There was something… off about him, Corinne thought, and from the look on Buffy’s face, she felt it too.

“Yeah,” the Slayer replied flatly. “Loads of fun. Where’ve you been?”

“Had to see a man about a horse,” Spike replied enigmatically, a note in his voice that made even Dawn pull away from him and study his face.

“Spike, what’s going on?” she demanded.

He tossed his cigarette butt with great nonchalance over his shoulder and ambled a few steps away from her. “Nibblet, who am I?”

She frowned. “Huh?”

He smiled then, a rather melancholy smile, it seemed to Corinne. “Just ask yourself that.” Then in a dizzying blur of speed, his hand whipped out to grasp Corinne’s upper arm and her last sight was of Haldir’s face, both stern and alarmed, as she and the vampire disappeared from the corridor.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she shouted as soon as they were corporeal again. “What in the hell are you doing? Buffy is going to eviscerate you when this is all over, you know.” They were in a small chamber, the walls on three sides more elaborately carved stone, and the fourth wall seemed to be made of glass or crystal—Corinne could see through it to the huge room on the other side.

Spike grinned at her, but it was strained. “Shut it and listen to me,” he said, sidling close so he could speak directly into her ear. “I have to prove that I’m on their side, and committed to laying the smackdown on you lot. I took you because you can’t fight, and you’ll actually be somewhat safe here when the battle starts.”

She blinked. “What are you talking about, Spike?” she asked softly. “What do you have to do? More importantly, what do I have to do?”

He sighed. “We have to pretend I’m havin’ my way with you. And…” He hesitated. “I’m going to have to give you at least one or two marks, so it’s believable. If I don’t, we’re both dead, and so’re the rest of them.” He cocked his head to the side, listening. “They’re coming, we’ve got to do it soon.”

“Great.” This just kept getting worse, didn’t it? The impulse to fall to the ground and weep rose strongly in Corinne, and she closed her eyes to rally her courage. “Ok, do it.”

His murmured advice to yell loud was unnecessary; the pain of the blow on her cheek was quite sufficient to make her cry out.

“Corinne!” shouted a faint, female voice. “Oh, God, Legolas, they’re hurting her.” It was Buffy, and she was coming closer.

“Here we go,” Spike said grimly, and timed it so his next blow, though as light as the first, landed precisely atop it just as the company skidded around the corner into the room. She went with the motion and allowed her body to be knocked sideways so she tumbled to the floor at his feet

“Ow,” she said distinctly, cupping her cheek tenderly and glaring up at him, her anger not entirely feigned.

“Spike, you pig,” Buffy seethed, flying to the glass and pounding on it with clenched fists. “Let her out of there or I swear you’ll wish I only staked your pathetic ass.”

There was a minute flicker in his crystalline eyes; only someone who knew what he was up to would have picked up on it. And then he was laughing. “Big words from a tiny Slayer,” he replied at last, grinning mischievously before reaching down to haul Corinne to her feet. At Buffy’s side, Haldir clenched his teeth so hard the muscles of his jaw could be seen working.

“Ow,” she repeated, trying to yank away from him. He backhanded her a third time, so confident in her acting ability that he barely touched her. Still, she fell over, hair falling messily over her face as she forced a tear to her eye. “I thought we were friends,” she said, voice full of reproach.

With a final grin at the others glaring balefully from the protective barrier of the glass, he strolled over to her. “Friends,” he repeated. “Yeah, we’re friends.” He dropped to his knees and wrapped his hand around her neck, thumb caressing her throat. “And we’re gonna be even better friends, real soon.”

A dull pounding made Spike look toward the glass; Gimli was slamming his axe with great determination against it, his face a study in resolve. Spike pushed his thumb harder into her throat, and her breath caught. “I suggest you stop that, dwarf,” he said. “Or I kill her right now, before I get to sample her wares.” He grinned lasciviously down at her and she was hard-pressed not to burst into anxious laughter.

That would be what’s known as an inappropriate response, she chastised herself when she saw the stricken faces on the other side of the glass. Spike’s face pled with her to step up the act, so she began to gasp and thrash in his grip as if beginning to suffocate. Predictably, Gimli lowered his axe, though his eyes burned with no less fury.

With a sudden wrench, Spike tore Corinne’s shirt off her. At least I wore my best bra, she thought irrelevantly, and lashed out with her feet. One caught him in the stomach, and he reeled back for long enough to allow her to dart up and across the chamber, but there was nowhere to go—no door, no window. No escape.

Before she had taken two steps, Spike had caught her, grabbing her and throwing her to the hard floor before dropping down onto her, hands roughly pulling her legs around his narrow hips. She reach out to claw at his face, push at his shoulders, anything, but he trapped her wrists in a crushing grip and yanked them over her head. Over the rushing in her ears as her heartbeat pounded, she heard Haldir bellowing her name.

“Don’t do this,” she begged, hating herself for begging at the same time she hoped he understood what he meant. Spike gave an infinitesimal nod and turned to look at their frantic audience.

“Much as I love the idea of having you fine folk see exactly why I’m the Big Bad,” Spike said, gyrating his hips lewdly into the V of her thighs, “the schoolgirl here doesn’t want to share such a private moment with you lot. And I find myself feeling… generous.” He grinned down at her heaving breasts, spilling over the lacy cups of her bra. “Among other things.” He punctuated his words with another raunchy bump-and-grind as the glass began to cloud and grow opaque, and Haldir flung himself once more against the barrier, hacking at it with his knives in a fury.

“I will flay you,” the elf promised, his voice almost too soft to be heard. “You will beg me to end your torment.”

Then it was solid rock between them, and nothing more could be seen of the other side. “Oi, Heka!” Spike shouted. “I want some privacy, so you lot can just sod off.”

Laughter echoed through the chamber. “As you wish,” came the disembodied voice of the god, and the torches winked out, leaving them in complete darkness.

Gingerly, Spike lifted himself off Corinne and removed his duster. Under it he wore both a shirt and t-shirt, and he took off the red oxford to settle it over her shoulders. “There,” he said, somewhat shakily, and she understood the great price he’d paid to have Buffy look at him like that. As if he were a filthy monster she wanted to crush under her boot like a bug.

She slipped her arms into it, buttoning it up to the neck before rolling its long sleeves to her elbows, moving very precisely in the pitch-blackness that surrounded them, feeling soothed by the rote motions. “How long do we pretend we’re at it?” she asked.

“As long as possible,” was the reply. “Because as soon as they think we’re done, they’re going to attack, and I want to buy Buffy and the rest as much time as I can.” He laughed, a short and humorless sound that echoed roughly off the walls. ”This isn’t going to be pretty, pet.”

There was a click as he snapped open his lighter, and his face was thrown for a moment into sharp relief by the flame as he lit his cigarette. He closed it again with another snap, and there were plunged once more into darkness as the pungent smell of the smoke swirled around them. “Not pretty at all."


Part 32

Spike spent much of their brief time together going over the exact way to snap a person’s neck. Corinne, for her part, explained how he had to get the gods’ talismans away so they’d be vulnerable before she lapsed into a guilt-ridden silence, the image of Haldir’s stricken face before her eyes.

“Do you think they’ll forgive us for the deception?” she asked softly.

Spike was silent a moment. “The Nibblet will,” he said at last. “Buffy will, after Dawn nags at her a while. Haldir… might.” He heaved a sigh. “This is the price for looking at the big picture, pet. Sacrifices have to be made.”

“What if they don’t forgive us?” she asked, appalled at the idea. “Ever? What then?”

Spike chuckled mirthlessly. “Then we set out together, two outcastes.” He took a last drag from his fag, the tip glowing brightly in the gloom, and stubbed it out on the floor. “You good for anything besides studyin’, she-Giles?”

“Not really,” Corinne said glumly. “You good for anything besides killing things and making snarky comments?”

“Not really,” he admitted, equally glum as his cockiness slipped for a moment.. “Those have always been my greatest strengths.”

She slumped against the wall. “We’re doomed.”

The torches flared to life at that point. “Perhaps sooner than we’d anticipated,” Spike murmured, getting to his feet. “Remember, I’ve just given you the business, you’re shattered and broken.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled. “Emotionally traumatized, warped forever, and—holy shit!” she interrupted herself with the exclamation of surprise because, materializing before her, was not only Heka and Tayet, but the god Himself, the one who’d started it all: Aker.

He was built as massively as the minotaurs, but His skin was covered with a fine yellow pelt, like a lion’s. His face was an odd blend of human and feline features, especially in the flattish nose and thin-lipped mouth. A large medallion, of a red disc with a thick chain round his neck, gleamed dully in the torchlight. Thick, shaggy golden hair coursed over His brawny shoulders in a gleaming river that vied for brilliance with the speculative sheen of His black-rimmed tawny eyes, alarmingly feral as He bared pointed teeth in what she supposed was meant to be a smile.

“Corinne Williams,” Aker rumbled, His voice coming from His chest like an eruption from a volcano: deep, ominous, and infinitely worrisome. “You have caused me great anxiety.” He said it almost playfully, and she half-expected Him to wag a finger at her in admonishment.

“My apologies,” she said flippantly, not sorry at all. “I feel terrible, helping to thwart chaos and mayhem like that. Can you ever forgive me?”

In a flash, Aker had reached out and grasped a handful of her hair, lifting her to dangle a foot off the floor. Pain rocketed through her scalp and she reached up to try and free herself or at least alleviate some of the agony. “No, I don’t think so,” Aker murmured over the wails Corinne emitted.

“Oi, Lion King, how about you let her go?” Spike suggested, thumbs stuck in the loops of his belt as he watched from the side. “I don’t fancy my bird being snatched bald, if it’s all the same to you.”

Aker flung Corinne from him so she slid along on her butt and hit the wall. “As you wish,” he replied coldly. “I do not understand why you wish to keep her intact. Drain her and be done with it.”

“I like when they fight,” Spike replied with a rude grin at her as she rubbed her scalp with her fingertips, trying to alleviate the pain that still shot through her.

Aker gave a surprisingly delicate shudder of distaste and continued. “All is prepared? They suspect nothing?”

“Nope,” the vampire replied cheerfully. “Just that I’m fighting with you lot now, instead of with them. They don’t know—“ he made a great show of glancing nervously toward the wall, as if afraid to have their plans overheard “—how I’ve told you all their weaknesses.”

“Excellent,” Aker replied in his growly voice, and turned to the wall. Immediately, it faded to transparency once more.

Buffy and company were in varying stages of rage: She stood stock-still in the middle of the floor, eyes shut as she breathed rhythmically, clenching and unclenching her fists, totally ignoring how Dawn was trying desperately to entreat her sister to forgive Spike. The vampire forced a carefree grin to his face, but Corinne could see the bleak expression in his eyes—it was killing him to see the Summers women hurting over his actions, no matter how necessary they might be.

Arwen’s face was as beautiful, flawless, and hard as a diamond as she inspected her arrows beside Thranduil, who could not quite hide the admiring glances he sent her way, much to Elessar’s displeasure as that king sat cross-legged beside Boromir on the floor and sharpened his sword. They weren’t the only ones sharpening: Legolas and Gimli were giving their own weapons a thorough going-over, and Haldir in particular had a look of great enjoyment to come as he ran the whetstone over the already-deadly edges of his long daggers.

Radagast alone seemed separate from the barrage of emotion, apparently waiting for the wall to disappear once more, for he didn’t seem at all surprised when their opponents and Corinne became visible through it. Straightening from his slouch against the wall, he leaned on his staff and called the others to attention. One by one, they turned and got their first glimpse of the god that had tormented them for so long.

Aker stood proudly and fearlessly before them, but Corinne suspected that had much to do with the impenetrable wall between him and them.

“So, it’s Mr. Let’s-Cause-Everyone-Honkin’-Big-Buttloads-of-Pain,” Buffy snarled, stepping close to the barrier.

He gave her a thin smile. “Hm, yes. I’m just going by Aker now, actually.”

“You’re going to be going by Grease Spot on the Floor when I’m through with you,” she replied, and pounded her fist on the glass when he just threw back his leonine head and laughed.

“I am not called Yesterday and Tomorrow for naught, Slayer,” Aker said at last. The air around him shimmered, and suddenly he had two heads; “I am eternal, and far beyond your abilities to destroy.” It shimmered again, and he was back to one head, but now he wasn’t remotely humanoid, but entirely lion. He could still speak, however: “And then there is the matter of bending reality; it is my gift, my specialty, my talent.”

“I have a gift, too,” she informed him. “Death. And I’m good at it.” She whipped around and in a single, blurringly-fast move, launched a small throwing dagger at the first minotaur that rounded the corner into the huge room. It lodged between its eyes, and it sank with a sigh to the floor, stone dead.

There was a tumultuous roar, and a phalanx of minotaurs barreled in. Buffy and the other immediately moved to engage them. The elves, Buffy, Elessar, and Boromir with Satet’s bow immediately loosed a volley of arrows, taking down the closely-bunched enemy with great ease, as well as the next bunch that surged into the chamber.

“What is this?” Aker demanded, turning to Spike. “You assured me that preventing separation of the troops would disconcert them!”

“And look how disconcerted they are!” Spike protested, launching into spin-control. “They’re all confused at how easy that was! They’ll become overconfident.” His blue eyes flicked toward them; they were, indeed, looking rather self-congratulatory. “Time for the next salvo. There’s no way three women will be able to fight off the next bunch.”

Before he even finished speaking, a familiar keening sound began to echo off the stone walls, and the males began to gain that dreamy, abstracted expression, weapons falling uselessly to the floor as a fleet of sirens wafted into the room. These were faster than the others, for they were able to dodge the arrows Buffy and Arwen sent flying at them. Dawn snatched Satet’s bow from her husband’s useless hand and began to pick them off, each missile finding its elusive target without effort.

Aker seemed to swell with fury; on His either side, Tayet and Heka weren’t any happier. The goddess lifted Her arm, intended to create more of those insidious threads, but Corinne found herself darting across the room and snatching the spindle from Her surprised grasp and flinging it over her shoulder. With a muttered prayer to anyone listening that she was doing this right, she grabbed each of Tayet’s ears and, with a sudden wrench, broke Her neck. The goddess gave a single, surprised “oh” before slumping, lifeless, to the ground.

Spike’s expression of amazement was quickly replaced with feigned anger. “You stupid bint!” he shouted, and pretended to punch her before lobbing the stone spindle at her, hitting her in the stomach and knocking her backward to land on her butt in the corner. “I should kill you instead of just knock you unconscious.”

Taking it as a hint, she obligingly went limp, pretending she was knocked out, but listened carefully as Spike joined Aker and Heka in raging over the loss of Tayet, who’d been one of their aces in the hole as it were.

“Just move on to the hand-to-hand,” Spike was telling them as it became clear that, even with only one bow able to strike the sirens, it was just a matter of time before the creatures were all gone and the men could fight once more. “Elves are bleedin’ tragic in close quarters; once they’re out of the way, it won’t take long to subdue the rest.”

Corinne remembered the loving way Haldir and Legolas had been tending their daggers, and the various occasions she’d seen them wielded against the enemy, and had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. She imagined that Thranduil and Arwen were just as talented with their blades. No, it wouldn’t take long—for the elves.

The last siren perished with a sad “oh, ohh, owwwhhhh,” and Buffy quipped, “And then there were none! Good work, Dawnie!”

But her sister was grumbling as she thrust the bow back at Boromir with a scarcely concealed glare. “Even Corinne can use that bow, Buffy. I had nothing to do with it.” Corinne frowned; that kind of cattiness wasn’t necessary, she felt, and vowed to have words with Dawn when this whole debacle was over.

Then she realized what she’d just thought—when it was over. With a growing sense of awe, she realized that she believed, with all her might, that they were going to win this. She had no idea how, or when, but somehow she knew Buffy and Haldir and Elessar and the rest would prevail. There was not the slightest doubt in her mind.

Heartened, she ventured a peep from under lowered lashes and found that another, absolutely mammoth, brigade of minotaurs had entered the room and launched itself at her friends. With no room to maneuver their bows, the elves discarded them and withdrew their daggers; the weapons sprang free of their sheaths with deadly hisses that got Heka’s snakes rather excited—both lifted their heads and gazed with interest through the window, tongues flicking experimentally.

They both drew back in surprise when Arwen, of all people, flew forward and began wreaking havoc. Her right dagger sank into the fleshy bit between neck and shoulder of one minotaur before ripping through, leaving a gaping wound where throat used to be; her left stabbed deeply into the gap between chest-armour and hip-armour of another. Then she jerked both free at the same time and rounded on the next two.

Galvanized into motion, the company set to work, and Corinne slowly inched to her feet when she felt confident that both gods were too concerned with watching the battle to pay attention to her. “Nothing to see here,” she chanted in her mind, willing Them not to notice how she was creeping closer. If only she could get her hands on that ankh-collar that Heka wore, but He had at least forty pounds of Egyptian asp draped around His neck…

Spike began, in his hyperactive way, to tap his boot on the floor, and one of the snakes slithered down Heka’s leg to investigate more closely. The other soon began to follow, disengaging from Heka’s shoulders to wind around His slender waist, and Corinne saw her chance. She ran up, soundless in her rubber-soled runners, but somehow Heka knew she was there and spun to face her.

“Your treachery has earned your death,” Heka said, voice low and venomous, and reached out a hand to her, instantly she felt a crushing sort of pain flood her and sank to her knees, unable to hold herself upright, at the same time that her vision narrowed to pinpoints. A taste like copper filled her mouth and she realized, idly, that she’d bitten through her tongue.

Then something cool, hard, and metallic landed on her. The pain stopped as abruptly as it had begun, and she realized that Spike had taken Heka’s collar and tossed it like a game of horseshoes around her neck. Blinking, she was just in time to see his face alter to its demon-visage before he leant close and ripped out Heka’s throat. Spitting out the ragged piece of flesh, he took a deep draught of the god’s blood before dropping the slight body to the floor.

Aker’s big shoulders tensed, and he slowly turned to face them. “So,” he began conversationally, “you betray me, vampire.”

Spike wiped Heka’s blood from his chin with his sleeve and offered the god a jaunty grin. “Yeah, well, we’re not known for our fidelity to manipulative sods like yourself,” he replied. “Or to anyone, really. Caveat emptor, and all that rot.”

“Indeed,” Aker replied noncommittally, a faint smile on his lips, and then his hand was around Corinne’s throat, squeezing. Again with the pain, she thought with strange irony as agony crashed over her for the second time in as many minutes and she clawed at his hands with her nails. There was only time to hear Spike snarl and feel the whoosh of air as he leapt onto the lion-god before consciousness and life faded. “Haldir,” she tried to whisper, but her larynx was crushed, and then there was just pain fading to blackness as Aker flung her from him to land hard on the floor.

In the middle of a pitched battle, Haldir felt something pass by him, a breeze or something, chill and ominous and lonely, and with one last thrust of his dagger, killed the minotaur he’d been fighting before surveying his surroundings. All around him, his companions were fighting heatedly. Buffy was, as he would expect, taking on three minotaurs at once; Legolas and Gimli fought back-to-back in the midst of a growing pile of dead bodies and Dawn was using her pike over the heads of Boromir and Elessar as Arwen and Thranduil fought on their flanks. Radagast was employing his old rock-chucking scheme as before, and seemed to be enjoying reasonable success, as a goodly number of foes lay lifeless around him, great dents in their sizable skulls.

He turned, then, toward the glass wall and found to his shock that Aker was being attacked by none other than the vampire himself, and with a ferocity that immediately made Haldir suspicious. Spike’s face was outraged, furious, and—could it be?—vengeful. What could he want revenge for? Haldir pushed his way through the throng toward the wall, and when the last minotaur between him and the glass fell to his twin blades, saw why.

Corinne lay in an untidy heap on the stone floor, hair tangled over her face but not hiding the fact that a trickle of blood ran down her cheek to pool in the whorls of her ear. The skin of her throat, which he recalled spending many pleasurable moments kissing and laving with his tongue, was mottled with bruises and looked misshapen somehow, not all the smooth column of his recollection. In spite of the fight between Spike and Aker she was still, unnaturally so, and he realized with a jolt that she was not breathing.

“No,” he whispered, pressing his palms flat against the clear wall. “Elbereth, Iluvatar, please, no.”

The battle receded from him then; all motion and sound disappeared. Disbelief swelled within him. It was not possible that this woman, with such passion for learning and such ambition to teach and share, could be dead. That she would never frown at him again, that she would never again pepper Celeborn with questions about the earlier ages, or scribble furiously in her notebooks about some obscure and probably useless fact or measurement.

He recalled how he’d rebuffed her, recalled how soft her voice had been when she’d said she loved him. “Please don’t do this to us,” she’d begged, and then shouted that he was a coward when he’d refused her. And he had been a coward, a blind and stubborn one, fearing to trust her, fearing to show himself as weak before her in his pain. Had he not thrust her away, she perhaps would be alive now, warm and breathing, and her eyes would be soft as they glowed with her love for him. Alive, instead of the cooling corpse that lay so tantalizingly and obscenely out of his reach.

“A coward no longer,” he vowed, breath steaming the glass. “A coward, never again.”

He stepped back in preparation of—something, anything to vent the anguish and misery and rage within his soul, and it was a good thing, too, because Spike then punched Aker so forcefully that the god went sprawling back and crashed through the glass barrier, spraying shards like needles through the air before landing on His back at Haldir’s feet.

Silence seemed to reign for a moment after that; one by one, the minotaur fell to their opponents until Buffy finished off the last of them and wiped her sword clean on its clothing. “Aker,” she said, staring at him, eyes slitted. “You have no idea how much thrashing you is going to improve my day.”


Part 33

“Aker,” Buffy said, staring at him, eyes slitted. “You have no idea how much thrashing you is going to improve my day.”

“You may try,” He replied, springing lightly to his feet. “You may try.” There was a flash of light, and he was gone.

“Goddamit!” Buffy yelled. “Why didn’t anyone tell me he could just beam out of here? Corinne! You’re supposed to be the ex…pert,” she finished lamely when, after looking around for the woman, she found her: cradled in Spike’s arms, limp, and most definitely dead.

“I’m sorry,” the vampire said, his voice low. “I couldn’t get him to let go of her, it happened too fast.”

Haldir was there before Buffy could take a step, taking Corinne in one arm while the other sent Spike flying across the chamber. “You will not touch her,” he hissed. “You will not even look at her with your unclean eyes, foul thing, beast…” His words trailed off then as he gathered Corinne to him and looked down at her, his face anguished.

Buffy strode across the chamber to Spike, a stake appearing as if by magic in her hand, and hoisted him up to her eye level by means of grasping his throat in her tiny fist and hauling hard. “You piece of filth,” she said between gritted teeth. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t stake you right now.”

“Buffy!” Dawn cried, flying toward them. “Put him down! I’m sure he had a plan of some sort, which tragically misfired or something…”

Spike nodded in energetic agreement above Buffy’s fist. “Sure do, Slayer,” he said, voice raspy from her stranglehold.

Dropping him as if his touch polluted her, Buffy stepped back and crossed her arms. “Spill,” she commanded “And if I don’t believe you, you’re gonna fit in an ashtray in about two point eight seconds.”

“They tried to bribe me,” Spike explained roughly, rubbing his throat with his hand and shooting grateful looks at Dawn, who had taken place beside her sister and mimicked her pose if not her skeptical and threatening expression. “Said they’d give me anything I wanted, if I helped them. And,” he continued meaningfully, “I mean, anything.”

Buffy coloured faintly at that; she had an excellent idea of what he meant. With the perception of the in-love and married, she sensed Legolas tensing up. “And?”

“And, I saw an opportunity to get a bit of information out of them. Be an undercover operative, as it were,” he said, trying to reclothe himself in his cocky persona by altering his stance to that of the Big Bad he’d once been and pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Lighting one with a flourish, he snapped the lighter closed and pocketed it before blowing out a cloud of smoke and continuing. “I told them all your battle secrets, or so they thought, the stupid sods.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “They believed whatever I said. Weren’t you surprised it was so easy to kill those minotaur blokes?”

Buffy nodded slowly, grudgingly. “It was like they were doing everything that was easiest for us to smackdown,” she admitted.

“Because they were,” Spike told her. “And I took Corinne because I thought she’d be safest on this side of the glass, with me and the gods. I never meant—“ He broke off and looked away, visibly struggling for composure. “I never meant for this to happen to her,” he finished at last. “If she hadn’t gotten all heroic and killed that one—“ he motioned to Tayet, whose head lay at a gruesome angle to her neck “—none of this would have happened!”

Elessar blinked. “Corinne killed a god? Without assistance?”

Spike beamed proudly. “Yep, wrung her neck, just like I told her. She was a fast study, this one.” He sobered then, his gaze resting on Corinne once more; a lock of Haldir’s hair had fallen over her throat like a pale silk ribbon, hiding the contusions that were evidence of her murder. “I’m sorry,” he told the elf. “I never raped her, or hurt her other than hitting her lightly a few times, so the gods would believe I was abusing her.” His gaze rested on her a moment before meeting Haldir’s. “I liked the schoolgirl.”

Gray eyes locked with blue, and after an endless moment, Haldir nodded shortly, accepting Spike’s apology.

“See, Buffy?” Dawn burbled. “I told you there was an explanation.”

But Buffy wasn’t completely appeased. “Don’t do anything like that again,” she told him crossly. “Your judgment has never been the best, and it usually ends up a disaster. This is just another example of that.” He hung his head, and she continued. “But I’m glad you stayed on our side.” His head came up again, and he offered her a tremulous smile, which she returned for a scant moment before getting back to business. “Haldir,” she said to her friend, her voice soft.

He was staring down at Corinne as if expecting her to wake up any moment. “She is dead.” He looked up at Buffy, silver gaze clouded with misery and disbelief.

Buffy came to him then, and wrapped her arms around him and Corinne, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “I know, Hal,” she replied. “I know, and I’m sorry. But we have to find Aker. We can’t let him get away.”

There was another flash, and everyone tensed to do battle, but before them stood not Aker, but a woman. She wore a leopard skin and not much else, but in the centre of her forehead blazed a lotus-shaped jewel. “I am Seshat,” the woman told them, looking with sorrow at Corinne. “This one was my daughter, and loath am I to see her death, for it bodes ill for your world and mine. Will you not give her to me?”

Buffy blinked. “Give her to you?”

“You do not wish to leave her here, I am sure,” said Seshat, “and the battle you will wage with Aker is no place for her.”

“So, this thing with Aker isn’t over yet?” Dawn asked, eyes round with apprehension.

“Indeed not,” Seshat answered. “Her-Wer will be here shortly to assist you in locating Aker, for his hawks have been watching since you came to this place.”

Thranduil arched a golden brow. “Did I not say there were far too many hawks than was reasonable, Greenleaf?”

“Yes, Ada,” Legolas replied tiredly. “And kindly do not call me that.”

“What about these fallen gods?” Elessar inquired, gesturing to Tayet and Heka. “Corinne killed one, and the vampire took down the other.”

Seshat turned to survey Spike; he returned her regard, quirking his scarred brow arrogantly. “You drank deeply of Satet, I understand,” she murmured, eyes dark and liquid as she studied him.

He nodded. “That I did.”

“Do you feel… differently, since then?” she asked lightly, but there was an intensity in her eyes that put him on alert.

“Now that you mention it, yeah,” he admitted. “Faster, and stronger. I punched that wanker right through the wall; couldn’t have done that before…”

“Before what?” Buffy asked, curious.

Spike blinked in surprise, as if just realizing something. “Before I drained Satet.” He turned to Seshat. “Is there some sort of powerful juju to god’s blood?”

She nodded slowly. “I am not sure of the effect if will have you on altogether, or how long it will last, but yes. For the time being at least, you are…for lack of another way to express it… a god yourself.”

Both of his eyebrows shot up this time. “You hear that, Nibblet?” he demanded of Dawn, grinning maniacally. “I’m a god.”

She rolled her eyes and punched his shoulder. “Ok, god-guy, then transport us to Aker so we can kick his ass.”

But he was eyeing Heka’s and Tayet’s corpses speculatively and paying no attention to her whatsoever. “If I eat them, will I be more god-like?” he asked Seshat. Buffy and Dawn exchanged an ‘oh, we’ve created a monster’ sort of look, whilst the others merely appeared queasy at the notion.

Seshat, however, had the gleam in scholarship in her eye that they recognized from spending time with Corinne. “I do not know,” she replied. “You should try it and see.” Spike approached the gods’ corpses and everyone else stepped away, not wanting to see or hear his delighted feasting.

Buffy opened her mouth to speak but at that precise moment a bird’s cry echoed through the huge room; it was as if the sound had come from her and the others began to laugh, more from a dire need to break the tension and sadness than from actual humour. Even Haldir was able to summon a credible, if tight, smile.

“Ah,” Seshat said, and beamed. “Her-Wer has come.”

A raptor of immense size flew into the room, and as they watched it transformed into the figure of a man: tall, well-built, with the head of a hawk. His pupilless eyes were of solid color: one of silver, the other of gold. When He spoke, His voice held the echoes of the canyons and cliffs through which his brethren would soar in pursuit of prey.

“My sister,” he greeted the goddess.

She bowed to him, silken jetty tresses slipping forward over smooth caramel shoulders. “My brother.”

“I will assist them from this point, you may take your child and depart.” Her-Wer held out His arms to Haldir, who reluctantly relinquished Corinne’s body. “Nehktet,” the god murmured, then kissed Corinne’s forehead before passing her to Seshat.

The goddess smiled at Haldir. “She loved you greatly, elf, for she gave up her fondest dream to keep you safe. Be proud to have enjoyed such devotion from one who served me, for we are not known for our passions for anything but learning. It is notable indeed that she would give her heart to you.”

A rough sound, quickly choked back, emerged from Haldir; he nodded solemnly and turned away to study Spike, who was done with Heka and had moved on to Tayet. Seshat nodded to the others and vanished in a brilliant flash of light.

“I bring you now to Aker,” Her-Wer told them. “I regret I cannot help you in this battle, for it is not yet my time to make my support of you known. But be aware, I see now the truth of what befalls your world and how some of the Netjeru have come to serve the dark. You fight alone no longer.”

Spike stood then, grinning giddily. “That’s the stuff,” he burbled happily, staggering like a drunk over to Dawn and looping his arm around her neck, more for support than affection. Sighing, she grabbed his wrist to help keep him upright. “Let’s go, Bird-Boy,” he said to Her-Wer.

The god’s face, though covered in feathers and possessing a beak, yet managed to convey a sense of amusement and pique at the same time; He nodded and in the blink of an eye, they were no longer in a stone chamber deep within Mertsegur, but in the middle of a vast canyon. Steep dunes rose on all sides in the distance, shimmering in the piercing desert sun, and sand drifted in the wind and shifted under their feet.

But aside from their group, the canyon was vacant. “There is no one here,” Gimli complained. “No one but us.” He seemed greatly disappointed that there was no mayhem forthcoming.

Somehow, Her-Wer managed to make His beak smile. “Give it a minute,” He replied, and turned back into a hawk. With a cry that bounced off the dunes, He soared up into the sky of hard, bright blue, circled once over them, and departed.

Buffy watched until the god was merely a tiny black speck in the sky, and then He was gone, too far even for her exceptional sight. “Crap,” she sighed. “Now what?”

“Now,” Aker said, appearing behind her, golden sword in hand, “we fight.”

***

Buffy turned slowly, and all marveled at how her face, her pretty little face, could so swiftly and completely alter to that of a warrior. Her features settled into lines that were fierce, and determined, and very, very deadly.

“You took off before we could chat,” she scolded, and the sunlight flashed off her sword as she pounced on him, striking swiftly. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to leave in the middle of a conversation?”

Aker deflected her blow with His own weapon and stepped back, surprisingly nimble on His big, pawlike feet, mane of golden hair dancing in the wind that moaned around them. “You have my sincerest apologies,” He replied, and thrust His sword at her.

“For some reason, I don’t completely believe you.” She pivoted on one foot, then curved sideways into a one-handed handstand, springing up and over His head to land behind Him. “Must be all the deception and manipulation we’ve enjoyed since you came into our lives.” She swung at Him, and connected with His shoulder, severing arm from torso.

Aker grunted in pain, but before Buffy could press her attack, His arm flew up from the ground and reaffixed itself. “There is no need for you to fight me,” He told her, consternation plain on his face. Was it just her, or was he beginning to look more like a lion? “You can join the Netjeru who align with Melkor. We shall rule all of Arda and Aman together. Battling against us is pointless.”

Buffy sighed. “I disagree,” she contradicted. “It’s entirely pointy. You’ve mind-raped all of us, you killed Corinne. I’m not just going to say, ‘hey, water under the bridge, old buddy!’ and team up with you.” She turned her sword at him again in a flurry of blows, slashing and thrusting so quickly she was a mere blur, and connecting more often than not, but each injury swiftly healed itself. Her frustration communicated itself to her husband, who began to make his way behind their foe. Before he could get anywhere near Aker, however, the god’s head began to vibrate.

Buffy’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Huh?” Then, “Gah!” when Aker’s head split down the middle, and each half grew into a full head of its own.

“You see now my true nature,” He told her with the left head, while the right one turned to fix a beady golden eye on Legolas. “I see yesterday and tomorrow; I see east and west.” His lipless mouth curved into a sneer. “There is nothing you can do to surprise me.”

“Are you quite sure of that?” asked Radagast, smirking from under his drooping mustache as he aimed his staff at the god. Dawn stood beside him, a small portal open between them, and his free hand was thrust into it as energy surged up his arm, flowing into him. A bolt of pure green light streaked toward Aker and hit Him directly in the red disc medallion that adorned his neck. A spray of multicolored light shot from the ruptured disc and the air around them was filled with the sound of shattering glass. Aker fell to His knees, both mouths roaring in fury and pain.

“I bet that surprised you,” Dawn crowed, and His right head turned to glare at her.

“This is yet far from over,” it informed her coldly. In a single agile move, He was on His feet once more, and with a murmur had caused a second sword to form in his other hand just as Legolas came at him from one side, long white knives glinting, and Buffy rushed him from the other.

“We attack,” Elessar commanded softly, voice carrying on the wind. “He cannot defend against all of us at once.” And with that, the rest of them rushed at the god.

“Think you I cannot?” Aker said with a doglike bark of laughter. “Foolish, foolish.” With a mighty spring, he launched himself away from them; in mid air, his body began to split down the centre from his neck, forming into two enormous lions. As they skidded to a halt and watched in horror, the lions’ heads split and grew into two heads, and then their bodies divided again and again and again until there were sixteen lions, snarling and pawing, bodies tensed poised to strike.

“He’s like some sort of creepy evil amoeba,” Dawn complained, adjusting her grip on her pike.

“Everyone back to back,” Buffy called, advancing on the lions with grim determination. “Don’t let them get behind you.” Obediently, they paired up and began to fight the lions; spouses together and Gimli with Haldir. Radagast and Thranduil each heaved a sigh of resignation before taking battle stances beside each other.

“There are too many,” Haldir called after a few minutes of silent, intense fighting; the lions were bigger than cows and armed with not only sharp fangs but razor-like claws as well; already several of their company sported long slashes and Dawn was leaving little portals all over the place from where their lion had raked her arm.

“We’ll have to double up,” Buffy replied. “Dawn, stay close to Boromir and fight over his head. Gimli, Radagast, Arwen, Elessar, Thranduil: just concentrate on one lion each. Legolas, Spike, and Haldir: take two each. I’ll take the last three.”

With that, she launched herself into action, hacking at one of the lions she’d claimed for herself. It didn’t take long for her to fell her first: a handspring through the air and judicious bit of swordwork resulted in its swift beheading.

The second proved more troublesome: it knocked her to the ground and the sword from her hand, and only Buffy’s immense strength allowed her to hold its slavering head and sharp teeth away from her throat. She couldn’t see the third one, but from the growls that were coming closer she suspected it wasn’t far away.

She began a double-pronged attack on the lion sitting on her chest and trying to kill her: first, she gripped it around its muzzle with one hand, holding its mouth closed while she groped frantically for a knife; second, she started kicking it viciously in its belly and lower, hoping that divine lions were as susceptible as any other male creature to a boot in the nuts.

Her foot connected with the lion’s nether region at the same moment she found a dagger and jammed it into its throat; hot blood, red and sticky, coursed out over her and she had to heave mightily to dislodge the shuddering thing from her. There was barely a moment to even locate her sword, let alone grab it, before the second lion was on her, mouth stretched wide to rip out her throat.

*nehktet = victory


Part 34

Buffy’s foot connected with the lion’s nether region at the same moment she found a dagger and jammed it into its throat; hot blood, red and sticky, coursed out over her and she had to heave mightily to dislodge the shuddering thing from her. There was barely a moment to even locate her sword, let alone grab it, before the second lion was on her, mouth stretched wide to rip out her throat.

It wrapped its huge jaws around her shoulder and sank long fangs into her flesh, lifting her from the ground and grating over the flat of her shoulder blade, shaking her like a rag doll so that she had great trouble aiming her sword between its shoulder blades and stabbing downward, but she managed it. With a final agonized cry and rake of claws across her back, the lion collapsed and twitched a little before dying, teeth still buried in her. The wounds made pain flash like fire through her, and she experienced the usual narrowing of vision and dimming of hearing that accompanied a fatal wound.

At her cry of pain, Legolas glanced over; he’d already killed one of his lions and stood battling the second. “Go to her,” Haldir yelled, finishing off his second and moving to intercept Legolas’.

He ran to her and yanked the lion’s corpse away; the four puncture wounds were messily oozing blood but they were not too serious. What had him concerned were the ribbons of skin and muscle the creature had flayed from her back. “Elbereth,” he murmured as he gently leaned her forward against his arm and lifted her braid away, the better to inspect her injuries, and saw the gleam of bloody bone in the brilliant sunlight—ribs and spine. She would not survive this, he knew.

“Dying again,” she gasped, wincing at the agony that coursed through her.

“Yes,” he agreed unhappily, peering over her head at the others. Gimli had killed his lion and was trotting around offering assistance to the rest; Thranduil had made short work of his lion and was doing likewise, but shot the occasional concerned glance toward his son and daughter-in-law.

“If I come back and He’s still not dead, I’m gonna be pissed,” she warned weakly as Legolas clasped her carefully in his arms. Gimli joined them then, wringing his hands and making concerned clucking noises as he always did when Buffy died.

“If the look on Haldir’s face portends the future, I doubt there will be much left for you to worry over,” Legolas replied, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. His fellow elf was certainly looking quite intent upon mayhem and destruction, as slaughtering three lions had not slaked his thirst for vengeance nor his fury at Corinne’s death, and he was methodically moving through the pack of beasts, giving assistance to the others whether they wished it or not.

With nothing much to do, Boromir and Dawn joined them, the latter leaning on her pikestaff and frowning at her sister for getting so grievously injured once more. The former merely watched as Haldir butchered another lion with Elessar’s help. A lion swiped at Radagast; he danced back in a whirl of rusty brown robes and smacked it hard in the head; immediately, it turned to stone. Another rap with the staff, and the stone crumbled to sand and blew away in the wind.

“ ‘Spose you’re right,” Buffy conceded, voice very faint, and passed away.

Legolas sighed, and settled back for a lengthy wait for her return to life. “Gimli, move. I cannot see with you in the way.”

***

The moment she opened her eyes, Buffy knew she wasn’t alive again, at least not yet. Squinting, she thanked the Powers for her enhanced Slayer-vision that allowed her to see in spite of the total darkness that surrounded her. This place was not the same as the last time she’d been in this circumstance: that had been cloudy, remote, indistinct, surreal. This place was like Giles’ wet-dream: rows upon endless torchlit rows of books, scrolls, and various interesting-looking gadgets.

Standing, she craned her head and looked around. There, about twenty rows away, was that a faint glow of light? Buffy jogged toward it and then turned into the aisle; at the very end was a familiar figure in a familiar stance: book open, nose pressed close, lips muttering to herself as she read.

“You’ve only been dead a half-hour,” Buffy commented to Corinne as she arrived beside the other woman, hugging her warmly. “Sure didn’t waste any time hitting the books, I see.”

Corinne didn’t say a word, just gave her a sad look and raised the book so Buffy could read the gold-embossed title on the spine: How to Return After Death.

“Ah,” Buffy said in comprehension, and the enormity of the whole thing hit. For her, dying was no big deal. She knew she was going back, as surely as most people knew they would wake up the next morning. But for Corinne… there was no going back. This was it, unless they could unearth something useful in one of these books. “Can I help?”

Corinne’s eyes lit on the other woman, an unreadable expression in them before she took another book and handed it to Buffy.

Buffy looked at her book. The words on its front were completely unrecognizable to her, but as she watched they seemed to scramble and morph into actual English, which she hadn’t seen since coming to Arda all those years ago, and which took her a moment to decipher. The book’s title was Necromancy for Dummies and it didn’t look very promising, what with its black snakeskin cover and poison-green lettering, but dutifully she cracked it open and began reading.

What you’ll need to raise the dead:

1. the dead.
2. the assistance of a being of immense supernatural power.
3. yolks of two eggs.
4. pinch of salt.

With an exasperated sigh and exaggerated eyeroll, she wished (not for the first time) that Giles or Willow were there to do the researchy stuff. They’d always been way better at it than she. Or Celeborn,” she thought. “He was good at this sort of thing too.” Sighing, she looked over at Corinne. “Hey, how come you’re alive here? And where is ‘here’, anyway?”

Corinne looked up slowly, and touched her fingertips to her forehead. Buffy frowned until she realized Corinne meant Seshat. “Seshat bought you back?” Corinne nodded, then pointed to her. “Oh, I died too. But I’m going back, I always do. Are you coming back with me?”

Corinne’s eyes shimmered with grief, and she shrugged dejectedly.

Buffy huffed out a breath in frustration. “Why aren’t you talking?” she demanded.

This time, Corinne touched her neck, pushing aside the ankh-shaped collar that Buffy recognized as having belonged to Heka; Buffy peered at her in the low light and saw the bruises like dark amethysts ringing her throat like a gruesome necklace. “Oh,” she said in comprehension. “Is it permanent?”

The other woman shrugged sadly, and her eyes filled with tears. Opening her mouth, Corinne struggled to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse croak, so she made a motion with her fingers to indicate pointed ears.

Buffy twigged immediately. “Haldir?” At Corinne’s vigorous nod, she replied, “He’s upset. Really, really upset. Been killing everything he can get his hands on.”

Corinne smiled through her tears, then bared her teeth and pointed to her canines, and nodded again when Buffy guessed she meant Spike.

“We didn’t kill him,” Buffy told her. “Just roughed him up a bit.” At Corinne’s worried look, she laughed. “Trust me, for him, that’s foreplay. Don’t worry, he explained everything. We’ve mostly forgiven him.”

Corinne laughed then, and gave Buffy’s arm a quick press of gratitude before motioning to the books. Sighing, Buffy plopped onto the floor and started to rifle through the pages once more in search of the right information to restore Corinne to life.

What seemed like years later, but was in actuality only about an hour, Corinne made another choking noise, and Buffy looked up swiftly to find her friend pointing excitedly. Leaning over, she read aloud from the page.

To win back a Sâhu from the land of the dead, one must persuade the all-powerful and sometimes out-of-sorts Yinepu to release it.

This is not as easy as it sounds.

“That doesn’t sound easy at all,” Buffy grumbled, but read on.

One needs to convince Him that the soul is more beneficial to Him in the land of the living, rather than His realm of the dead. However, He is very shrewd and quick to see the myriad ways in which a Sâhu can serve him, and so is reluctant to give up any Sâhu in case they might some day be of use to Him. Do not get your hopes up.

Failing this, one can always try to defeat Him in a contest, but this is not recommended as He is known for His extreme prowess in the arts of war and strategy.

Also, He cheats.

“This is ridiculous,” Buffy complained. “Where’s Seshat? Maybe She can shed some light on this stuff. My head’s all fuzzy from thinking about it.” Corinne quirked a brow at her, which she ignored. “Seshat!” Buffy called. “Hey, Seshat!”

Nothing happened. She opened her mouth to call again, but Corinne held up a hand to silence her. Buffy’s enhanced hearing easily picked up the sound of sandal-shod feet strolling toward them, and she stood to greet the goddess when she finally turned down their aisle.

“Greetings, Slayer,” Seshat said in Her melodious voice. “You have summoned me?”

Buffy had the grace to blush a little; it was a bit rude, after all, to expect gods to jump when you commanded. “Yeah, hi,” she replied, shifting from one foot to another in embarrassment. “Can you help us at all? Because this makes no sense to me, and Corinne can’t talk, so we’re kind of operating at a disadvantage here.”

Seshat studied her a long moment, making her squirm even more, and then she heard Corinne’s voice in her head. “God, I hope Haldir’s ok, he’s a good fighter but if he’s being reckless he could get hurt… will Buffy have to fight Yinepu? This is all so surreal, I feel like I’m in an Escher drawing… Hey, now she’s looking at me weird. What? I didn’t say a word! What?”

“I have allowed the Slayer to hear your thoughts, Scholar, so think wisely,” Seshat informed Corinne with a faint smile that grew wider when the woman sighed in relief.

“Finally! Being mute was really starting to piss me off.” Corinne exulted. “So, what do we do now? How do we contact Yinepu so we can talk him into letting me go?”

Seshat tilted her head to one side, making the shining curtain of her hair shift and glint in the ruddy torchlight. “Do you yet have my gift to you?”

“The palm frond? Yes,” Corinne replied.

“And Hapi’s gift as well?”

“Yes, I’ve got the lotus petals,” she thought, sharing a bewildered look with Buffy.

“And Her-Wer has bestowed upon you the kiss of victory, has He not?” At Corinne’s nod, She continued. “And you defeated Tayet by yourself, and the vampire gave you the collar of Heka, is this so?” Another nod. “Yinepu, my brother, she has sanction of three Netjeru, and has defeated two more. Do you not agree that this, then, is a Sâhu worthy of mercy?”

In the time it took Buffy and Corinne to blink, another person had appeared beside Seshat. He was tall and whipcord-lean, with skin the colour of ink. Around His narrow hips He wore an intricately pleated kilt of blindingly white linen, and wristbands of lapis and carnelian beads adorned His slender wrists. Rising from a wide golden collar, His head was that of a jackal, with a pointed snout and long, quivering ears.

“Mercy is not my purview, my sister,” He answered, and His voice was deep and pleasing. His eyes, a startlingly bright violet-blue, were piercing and speculative as they gazed at Corinne. “What you have described sounds very much like one I would prefer to keep with me.”

“Please,” Corinne ventured, “I have to go back. Haldir… I have to be with Haldir.”

“He is a strong one,” Yinepu said, brushing off her plea with a casual wave of his hand and making the beads of his bracelet tinkle and clatter. “And he has long to live... in a century, he will barely remember your name.” Obviously, He meant this to be comforting, for He bared His teeth in a smile, and consequently was greatly puzzled when the woman burst into tears.

“Perhaps it would be best if you refrained from trying to cheer her, my brother,” Seshat murmured while Buffy put an arm around Corinne’s shoulders and glared at Him. “Your strengths lie elsewhere.”

“True,” Yinepu conceded, and tried to erase the sheepish expression from His face, as He knew it wasn’t a good look for Him. “My apologies, Scholar,” He said to Corinne, who sniffled and nodded.

“Show how sorry you are by letting me go back,” she suggested hopefully, and His violet eyes took on a rather predatory gleam as He turned to look at Seshat.

“Ah, my sister, she is quick! How can you propose that I release her? For she would be a fine addition to my court.” Folding His arms over His chest and making His wide golden collar shift, He surveyed Corinne in an almost proprietary way. “Nay, she shall be one of mine.”

Buffy sighed. “Ok, fine. We tried to be nice about it. Now it’s time for the pain.” When both gods frowned in confusion, she reached for the book and jabbed an impatient finger at it. “Look, says right there we can fight you and you have to give in.”

“It does not say that!” He protested, eyes widening with indignation.

“Does too!” she insisted.

“It does say that, my brother,” Seshat told Him gently. “I would concede with grace, were I you.”

“Oh, nice,” Yinepu snapped, turning His head away in a sulky flounce. “Just beautiful. ‘Tis a sad day when the actions of a god are dictated by the machinations of mortals and books.”

“Quit whining,” Buffy said, starting to get annoyed. “I’m the one who’s been through hell the past few days; what have you done? Sat in the Underworld and passed judgment on dead people. Ooh, tough. So exhausting.” She glared at Him. “Colour me completely unimpressed.”

He glared back and soon they were locked in a staring contest. Seshat and Corinne exchanged a look of exasperation, and the goddess said, “I tire of this. Name your contest, Slayer, so we can have done with this nonsense.”

“Nonsense!” Yinepu exclaimed. “You slight me, my sister.”

She ignored Him, watching Buffy with a steadfast, liquid gaze. “Slayer? What is your choice?”

Buffy watched Yinepu, saw Him flex His arms and clench His fists. “First, I want Him to take His collar off. No special mojo helping Him win; He has to beat me by His own merit.”

“My collar? Why?” He asked, puzzled.

“Because,” she replied impatiently, “it’s your magic thingy that keeps you immortal and gives you special powers.”

He glanced at Seshat, who covered a rather girlish giggle with Her hand. “Er, my talisman is not my collar, but my kilt,” he informed Buffy. “Do you truly wish me to engage you without it?”

She frowned fiercely and ignored Corinne’s silent convulsions of laughter. “Yeah,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’ve seen naked guys before, you won’t be any different.”

“Can the contest be jello wrestling?” Corinne asked merrily. “Cuz that would be worth the price of admission.”

Buffy shot a glare at her. “You want me to leave you here? Because I can do that. I can sit right down on my butt and just wait to come back to life, and you can spend the rest of your life with dog-boy here.”

Corinne bit her lip and sobered. “Sorry,” she thought as Yinepu scowled and muttered, “I am a jackal, not a dog. Jackals are noble beasts, no mere curs…”

Seshat smacked Him lightly on the arm. “Behave yourself, my brother,” She admonished. “It is unworthy of a god to mope.”

“I shall not be the one moping when this debacle is finished,” He said loftily. “For I shall defeat the Slayer, and have the Scholar for my court.” Managing to smirk in spite of His snout, Yinepu unfastened His kilt and pulled it from around His hips to drop it to the floor. Corinne dared a glance and made an impressed moue with her mouth at the sight, but Buffy kept her gaze on His face. “Name the contest,” He said, tone infinitely amused. “Swords? Axes? Or perhaps chess is more to your liking; I would certainly prefer a bout of that noble game to a physical challenge.” His tone dropped lower, became more sensual and caressing. “Unless you would rather a… physical challenge.”

Buffy’s face was a mixture of disbelief and distaste. “I’m married,” she said flatly. “But yeah, I do prefer a physical challenge over chess.” She turned to Seshat. “You got a table around here? And chairs?”

The goddess raised an elegantly arched brow. “A table?”

Corinne too was puzzled. “A table?” she demanded. “How the hell can a table help you defeat Him? What are you going to do, beat Him with it?”

Buffy bestowed a dazzling smile on Yinepu, a grin so smug He shifted uneasily in His gold-strapped sandals. “Arm-wrestling,” she announced. “I totally rule at arm-wrestling.”

*Sâhu = the noble dead, souls of good people


Part 35

There was nothingness for a long moment, an utter void of velvet blankness, until Buffy felt the familiar sense of being alive again, of having a body weighing her down and body parts to move and lungs to breath with. Opening her eyes, she saw above her the angle of Legolas’ jaw and felt the tickle of his silken hair against her forehead.

“Hi, honey,” she said to him, and he glanced down with a smile, eyes lighting with joy to see her alive once more.

“That was faster than usual,” Legolas commented, hugging her briefly and pressing a kiss to her lips as Gimli beamed at her through his beard and Dawn murmured, “Welcome back.” Spike just watched her, eyes wide and very, very relieved. Haldir’s face was impassive, expressionless as a statue’s, but Elessar smiled broadly at her and winked.

“Yeah, well, Corinne was impatient to get back,” Buffy replied, grinning cheekily at Gondor’s king.

All heads in the vicinity whipped around to stare at her at that. “What?” demanded Haldir, his voice hoarse.

Buffy sat up and investigated her surroundings; the ground was littered with the corpses of Aker’s alter-ego lions, but most of their company was fairly clean with the exception of the march-warden, who was liberally splattered with blood. She figured that they others had allowed him to work out his frustrations and demolish everything in sight. Cheap therapy, she figured with a sigh.

“Yes,” she confirmed, with a big smile. “I had to fight yet another god, but she’s been allowed to return.” Her head swiveled as she strained to look further. “So where is she? She should be here somewhere.”

They all looked around, but as they stood in the middle of a large, vacant cavern with nothing but the howling wind, it was fairly evident right away that Corinne was nowhere in sight. Buffy bounced to her feet, energized as always after regenerating, and slapped her hands on her hips. “Yinepu!” she shouted. “You mangy mutt! What did you do with her?”

Yinepu appeared beside Buffy; quicker than the blink of an eye, Legolas had his an arrow nocked and aimed directly between the god’s eyes. “You will step away from her,” he informed Yinepu, who backed up, hands help up in mocking surrender as a rather unpleasant smile spread across His jackal’s face.

“Slayer,” he greeted her in a silky voice, then yelped in surprise when she reached out and yanked off his kilt. “Is that entirely necessary?” he asked sourly, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring.

“It is when I’m dealing with sneaky gods like you,” she replied nastily. “And how weird is it that I know enough gods to make a statement like that?” She swung the kilt in her hand and determinedly refused to look below his waist. The others, however, suffered no such compunction and stared openly. “So, spill. Where is Corinne? You said she could come back with me.”

“I said I would release her,” Yinepu corrected, matching her nastiness. “You did not specify to where, so I chose a location myself.” He leaned forward, ignoring the dig of Legolas’ arrow into His forehead, and met her stare with his own narrowed one. “I shall not be dictated to, and certainly not by the likes of you.” He straightened, and sniffed haughtily. “She has been sent back to your world.”

Buffy gaped at him. “Let me get this straight,” she began slowly, trying to control her temper. “You dumped a woman who’s had the crap kicked out of her the past few days, and who’s still mute from the injury that killed her, into the wilds of Middle-Earth without any means of protection?”

The others glowered at that, and Haldir shouldered Elessar aside to stand nose-to-snout with Yinepu. “You have done what?” he demanded from between gritted teeth, then locked his hand around the god’s throat and hoisted Him off the ground to shake Him like a rag doll. Yinepu began to gasp for air, but Haldir didn’t seem to notice.

“You have returned her to life, only to abandon her in the wilderness so soon after the War, when orcs and Uruk-hai still roam the lands of Arda?” Yinepu was beginning to struggle in earnest now, kicking his legs and trying to pry the elf’s hand from his throat, but Haldir was beyond notice; his gaze never wavered from Yinepu’s face.

“Um, Hal, maybe you should let him go now,” Buffy ventured after a moment.

Instead, Haldir tightened his grip and with a brutal crunch, killed Yinepu before carelessly tossing His body away. “Do not call me that,” he told Buffy calmly with a faint smile that rather scared her with its coldness. Then he turned to Dawn and Radagast, who stood watching him with expressions of apprehension on their own faces. “It is time to perform your parlour tricks once more, for we need to return.” He squared his shoulders. “I must find Corinne.”

Dawn automatically extended her hand to the wizard, who reached into his dun robes for a needle after studying Haldir for a moment. He lightly grasped Dawn’s hand and pricked her finger, squeezing gently to bring the blood. When the first tiny portal appeared, he thrust the end of his staff into it and pulled outward, widening and enlarging it so that even a Man of Boromir’s size could fit through it.

Then he eyed Spike. “You are sure you will accompany us?” he asked. “For I know not at which time of day we are returning, or if the sunlight there will harm you.”

“I am,” Spike declared. “Corinne’s a decent bird, I’m going to help find her. ‘S the least I can do, after bollocksing up keeping her safe.” Then he glanced at Yinepu’s corpse. “I’ll go last, though. Think I might have myself one last meal before I go back on an animals-only diet.”

Arwen grimaced at that, and volunteered quite eagerly to be the first. Elessar flatly refused, and it looked like they were heading for a full-fledged argument when Radagast sighed, grabbed a shoulder of each, and propelled them both through at the same time. “Newlyweds,” he grumbled. “Ilúvatar preserve us from them all.”

One by one, they entered the portal. Gimli blew out a greatly relieved breath as he leapt through, but Thranduil seemed almost sad to go. “Many fine adventures were had here,” he commented, dancing nimbly out of the way of Radagast’s eagerly pushing hand, and stepped through under his own steam, as it were, with one last fond glance backwards.

Finally, it was just Radagast and Spike. The vampire left his dinner and staggered over to the portal. “Wow,” he gasped. “Gonna miss that; it’s good stuff.” Radagast just rolled his eyes and shoved Spike through, himself following a second later.

They returned at precisely the same spot from which they’d left: the tiled mosaic floor of Radagast’s garden. What was different, however, was the company: instead of merely a few score of soldiers and archers and Haldir’s brother Orophin, not only did Rúmil and Tatharë run from the cottage after Orophin to welcome back the travelers, but—

“Ada?” whispered Arwen from her position on the ground, half-hidden under Elessar. She peered through the sheaf of wavy black hair that had tumbled forward to obscure her vision. “Ada, is it truly you?”

“It is,” replied Elrond, coming forward and extending his hand to assist his daughter to her feet. “We arrived yester eve, fetched by Orophin when he became concerned over your prolonged absence.”

“Prolonged absence?” Thranduil inquired, resting lazily back on his elbows and looking for all the world like there was no better place to be than lying in Radagast’s untidy garden between the cabbages and beans. “How long have we been away, lord of Imladris?”

“Over three months,” Elrond informed his Mirkwood counterpart, whose calm acceptance of that extraordinary statement was in direct counterpoint to the shocked exclamations of his companions.

Only Haldir seemed unphased, or at least uncaring. “Arwen,” he address the elleth, “Would you be so kind as to contact your granddam? I would have her try to locate Corinne, if she may.”

But Arwen was still in shock at seeing her father, who she had never thought to encounter again after their tense parting following her wedding to Elessar, and stood trembling in his embrace.

“It’ll have to wait a while,” Buffy told Haldir. To his credit, he said nothing, only clenched a muscle in his jaw and instead turned his attention to his brothers and Tatharë, who had flocked around him and now peppered him with questions about their quest.

Buffy went to shoot a grin at her sister, but found to her dismay that Dawn was standing in the circle of Boromir’s arms, head on his shoulder, weeping quietly. “What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.

“Mercas,” Dawn replied with a sniffle. “We’ve already been away so long, and now time did a funky warp thing and we’ve been gone way longer than we thought, and, and, and we’ve missed almost four months of his life, and he’ll be almost ten months old now, and what if we miss his first word, and his first step, and what if he doesn’t remember us, Boromir?” She turned a tearful face to her husband.

“Babies are mostly witless,” he replied matter-of-factly, smoothing her hair and pressing his cheek to the top of her head. “It would be surprising if he did remember us, I think.” He tilted up her chin and dropped first quick, then more lingering kisses on her lips. “Do not fret, sweet, for we shall now return to him. If we are lucky, we shall have missed his fussing over growing teeth.” Boromir looked positively delighted at the prospect of his brother spending sleepless nights tending to a screaming child.

“Yeah, that’s one milestone I’m not at all sorry to be missing,” Dawn admitted, then brightened as a thought hit her. “It’ll take us a month to get back, think he’ll also be potty-trained by then?”

***

With a thud, Corinne landed on the ground. “Ow,” she tried to say, shifting to her hip so she could rub her bruised butt, but her voice was still messed up and all that came out was a harsh croak. Looking around she saw that not only was she alone, but was in a totally unfamiliar place, and rested her forearms on bent knees and then dropped her forehead onto them. Was there no end to the confusion? She’d harboured a scant five minutes of bliss that she’d finally be reunited with Haldir, and now she was…

What was she? More importantly, where was she? Lifting her head, she studied her surroundings. It appeared she’d been plunked down squarely in the middle of a sort of courtyard, over which arched a tall dome supported on four tall, stout pillars. Behind her was a large altar-type platform, in the centre of which was a large, round impression, much like a socket. Seven broken stone prongs jutted upwards, clutching at nothing.

Venturing closer, Corinne saw that there was writing carved around the base of the platform. Brushing away what seemed like centuries of dust, she squinted at the words. Her reading of Common was somewhat better than her Sindarin, and she was able to discern that it read, “The stone of the fortress of stars.”

Interesting, she thought. Of no use whatsoever to her, but interesting nonetheless. Turning from the platform, she saw that beyond the dome overhead was an entire city, of pearl-grey stone, and quite demolished. Statues leaned drunkenly, headless or armless, from their bases while walls and steps lay in cracked ruins. Gates fell open, admitting all who would enter, columns lay in pieces where they had crashed to the ground.

No help here, then, she realized with another sigh. Still, the place didn’t have the taint of surrealism that Aker’s realm had, and she figured she might very well be back in Middle-Earth. The question was, therefore, where in Middle-Earth was she? Were Buffy and the others back here as well, or only her? Haldir’s gonna bust a gasket at this, she thought with certainty, and heaved herself to her feet. Resigning herself to a lengthy walk, she picked a direction and started walking.

An hour later she found herself at the outskirts of the abandoned city, and through the gate hanging off its hinges, nearly entirely rusted away, a vast range of mountains stretched endlessly before her. With a sinking heart, she leaned against the crumbling wall that ringed the city and closed her eyes. What was she going to do now? It was madness to begin walking, with no provisions and certainly no way to defend herself should attack come.

Corinne looked skyward; it was getting dark, and already the air was becoming chilled. Rubbing her arms through Spike’s borrowed shirt, she began to amble back into the city, hoping to find some shelter that wasn’t too hideously uncomfortable for the night, and perhaps some water as well. Food was probably out of the question, which was a shame, because her belly was already growling in protest at its emptiness.

She retraced her steps to the dome, and hearing the faint sound of rushing water, followed it to find that the city was split in two by a massive, fast-flowing river. She drank her fill, then stripped down and washed herself as best she could, feeling immensely better once she was clean, even if she had to put her dirty clothes back on afterwards. She found a corner that was mostly intact and curled up in it, exhausted.

What had gone wrong? Had it been something she or Buffy had done, or was it Yinepu that caused her to be sent here—wherever here was—all alone? Had Buffy been sent back to the others? Were they safe, or had they been defeated by Aker? The thought of Haldir, injured or even killed as he fought against the god, shattered the thin veneer of control she’d managed to that point and she broke down, crying until the sliver of a moon rose overhead and she fell asleep, her huddled figure bathed in its feeble light.

Corinne was awakened the next morning by a shout, and pushed herself to a sitting position before rubbing the sleep from her eyes and peering into the bright morning light at the figures approaching her.

“How fare you, milady?” one man asked her, kindness in his voice, while the other demanded why she was there in a somewhat more abrupt tone. Behind them on the riverbank, a small boat was tied with a length of rope to the ankle of a nearby fallen statue.

“I—“ she tried once more to speak, but it came out a garbled squawk so she just pointed to her throat and shook her head to indicate she couldn’t talk. The first man seemed sympathetic but the second was unimpressed.

“You cannot be allowed to remain here,” he told her. “You shall be brought before the Steward.” And he turned away, striding back to the boat and plunking himself down at its helm, glaring forcefully at her and the first man.

He sighed and attempted a smile. “I am Damrod,” he introduced himself, “and that is Mablung.” He helped Corinne to her feet and assisted her over the uneven ground to the boat. “We are Rangers of Ithilien.”

Ithilien? Wasn’t that where Dawn and Boromir and Buffy and Legolas lived? Excitedly, she grabbed his arm and began nodding her head frantically, wondering how to make him understand that she needed to get back to them. He seemed glad she was pleased to be there, but clueless as to what had her so thrilled. She quickly gave up, but was vastly relieved to be in safe hands, especially when Damrod handed her a fat packet of food and nearly full bottle of weak mead.

Mablung was a surly sort, speaking as little as possible, and seemed to resent the easy speech of Damrod, who kept up a running commentary the remainder of the day as they retraced their steps to their camp. It seemed that every week they made a patrol to the city of Osgiliath, in which Corinne had been unceremoniously dumped by Yinepu, and they had happened upon her there.

“We shall bring you to the White City right away, milady,” he told her, and she nodded happily. He gave her a clean tunic to wear, for which she joyfully rewarded him with a kiss to the cheek. His reaction was to blush furiously under his growth of stubble; Mablung’s was to scowl even more fiercely and gripe even louder about the folly of rescuing foolish women sleeping in deserted cities.

And so they began their journey toward Minas Tirith, Corinne riding pillion behind Damrod since Mablung refused to allow her to ride their supply pony. After a few hours of silence, Damrod tried to make conversation as best he could with two companions who were not speaking, one by choice and the other by necessity. His eyes widened in alarm when he asked her if she’d tried leaving the city, and she motioned toward the east.

“But, milady, that way lies Mordor!” he exclaimed. “There still be many wild things, fearsome things, in that foul land.”

How could she respond to that? She shrugged and attempted a weak smile. He just sighed as if amazed anyone could possibly be that entirely stupid, and suggested she try to sleep, as the trip was long and dull.

And so it was. For two days they rode, slept, and rode some more. Mid-morning on the second day, Damrod woke her for her first glimpse of the White City: obediently she looked, and gasped at the sight of it, rising out of the side of a mountain. Seven tiers it had, all of the purest white stone, and a lone tower rising above it all from the highest tier.

“We shall arrive before nightfall, if we make haste,” he informed her, and she motioned that, by all means, they should make haste. He laughed and kicked his mount into an easy trot.

Part 36

Hours later, the gates of Minas Tirith were flung open to its returning sons and Corinne stared with wide eyes around her, trying to take mental notes as best she could. Still astride, they rode through the city to its topmost tier, where dwelled the king and queen when they were in residence and where the Steward and his wife currently ruled Gondor in the absence of Elessar and Arwen.

Corinne’s legs were wobbly after two long days perched precariously on a horse’s rump, and she was grateful when strong hands steadied her as she stumbled. Turning to smile at her rescuer, her breath caught in her throat, for before her stood quite possibly the handsomest male creature she’d seen since Thranduil.

Except that there seemed to be two of him—or was she simply seeing double, after her hellish experiences of the past week? For there was not one, but two dark-haired elves with sparkling silver eyes standing on either side of her, hands outstretched as if to catch her in case she fell. For a crazy moment, she contemplated swooning just so they’d have to rescue her, but then dismissed it as stress-induced delirium.

“What are you doing here, Ranger?” one of them asked Damrod. “For your post is on the Anduin with your kinsmen.”

The other nodded in agreement. “Bringing your leman for a visit to the White City is not recommended at this time, while the king is gone.”

Corinne blinked in surprise, then frowned. “There’s no need to be insulting,” she tried to snap, though it came out more as an unintelligible croak. Frustrated by her inability to speak, she settled for slapping the elf sharply in the chest.

In a flash, he had grabbed her wrist and spun her around, twisting her arm around her back and pushing her against the wall, his body pressing hard against her so she could barely breathe. “I recommend you not do that again, madam,” he said into her ear, making her shiver in spite of the anger she could feel radiating from him.

Her arm swiftly becoming numb and her shoulder aching fiercely, Corinne nodded. Slowly, he released her and turned her to face him. “Your name,” he demanded.

“Corinne,” she tried to say, but it was a mere squeak. Sighing, she pointed to her throat. His eyes scrutinized the marks and then he wrapped one hand around her neck much as Aker had only days ago. Panicking at the familiar, horrible sensation of being gripped there, she began to fight him but the other elf came forward and, pinning her arms to her sides, held her still.

“My thanks, Elrohir,” the first elf murmured, then looked deeply into Corinne’s eyes as a surge of warmth flowed from him into her. She calmed, and then began to nearly purr as the faint soreness in her entire body lessened. She could almost feel the bruises melting away, as well as the various aches from riding for days and sleeping on the ground.

Finally he was done and stepped back, indicating to his twin that he should release her. When she was free, Corinne touched her throat and found there were no more sore spots. Relieved, she gifted him with a bright smile, but he merely stood there, stone-faced.

“Your name?” he repeated.

Why did she always get the pissy elves? she wondered. Aloud, she said, “Corinne,” and was amazed when her voice, though hoarse, actually functioned.

“And from where do you hail, Corinne?” asked the other elf, the one called Elrohir, coming to stand beside his brother.

“Used to be New York,” she replied, “but most recently, Caras Galadhon.”

Elrohir quirked a dark brow. “Indeed? Then you shall have met our grandparents, Celeborn and Galadriel.”

She brightened at that. “Celeborn’s your grandfather? I love him! He’s the one who taught me to speak Sindarin! And Galadriel’s terrific, she’s been a huge help to Haldir and me.” Relieved to be able to speak once more, she found herself yapping freely. “You must be Arwen’s brothers, then. I thought you looked familiar. Just as hot as Buffy said…” She trailed away when she saw their matching expressions of confusion. “Oh. Um, sorry. Should I go slower?”

“You should stop altogether,” said the first elf, but Elrohir contradicted him.

“Elladan, she speaks of our sister and Dagnir.” He turned to her, his intent silver eyes boring into her. “What do you know of them?”

They were both serious, deadly serious. “Why are you so worked up about them?” she asked slowly. “They’ve only been gone a few weeks.”

“They have been gone for nearly four months,” the one named Elladan informed her coldly. “We have not had word in many days. If you have information, it would be to your benefit to share it.”

Four months? Corinne goggled to herself, feeling a genuine swoon coming on, and groped for the wall behind her. Once more, their hands came out to steady her, and she leaned gratefully against them. “But we’ve only been in Aker’s realm a week… less than a week… and it took two weeks to get to Rhosgobel from Caras Galadhon… no, it can’t have been four months,” she insisted to them.

“And yet it has been,” Elladan replied calmly “Four months, almost to the day.” He paused. “Come, you must tell your story to the Steward.” He grasped her elbow and propelled her forward into the palace, his brother and Mablung and Damrod trailing behind. “Tell Faramir that one of his brother’s party has arrived, and to meet us in the tapestry room.” Elrohir nodded and peeled away from the group down a smaller corridor.

Once there, Elladan released her arm and suggested she take a seat. She did so, and surveyed her surroundings; the room was of medium size, with a vaulted ceiling that was painted black with a white willow tree and seven stars stretching to each corner of the room. The walls were covered with colourful tapestries featuring tales of yore, Corinne supposed, and though the immense hearth was empty this warm late-summer day, she could well imagine how pleasant the room would be in the midst of winter with a cozy fire.

While she was examining the chamber, Elladan was examining her, and as soon as she realized it, she blushed bright red and stared down at her lap. “I’m not Damrod’s leman,” she said quietly. “I—“

“Best to save your tale for the Steward,” he interrupted, but his voice this time was gentler. “So you need to tell it but once.”

The doors were flung open once more, and Elrohir entered with a man bearing such a striking resemblance to Boromir that he could only be that Man’s brother. “Faramir, Steward of Gondor,” the elf announced, then grinned. “And Mercas, prince of Ithilien whilst his parents are away.” For Faramir came bearing a child in his arms, and grimaced as the boy got a great handful of hair, giving it a healthy tug.

Corinne stood, but her attention was focused on the baby. “So you’re Mercas,” she murmured, reaching out a finger to stroke his light brown curls. “Your mom and dad have told me a lot about you.”

But Faramir stepped back from her. “You will kindly explain your presence, milady, before touching my nephew,” he told her with a frown.

She understood, and sat down again. “You’ll probably want to take a seat,” she commented. “It’s a long story.”

An hour later

“…And so Damrod and Mablung found me on the riverbank,” Corinne continued, bouncing Mercas gently as she walked around the room. “I still couldn’t talk, so they brought me to you, where I received quite the warm welcome from Tweedledee and Tweedledum, here.” She grinned at the elves, who merely stared back impassively. Honestly, she thought grouchily, it was impossible to make friends with them.

She’d encountered no such problem with the Steward; Faramir had warmed up to her right away, or perhaps it was because she’d succeeded in keeping Mercas quiet where he’d failed. In any case, he seemed more than content to sit back and listen while she labored to entertain Dawn’s and Boromir’s son. Not that she minded; the kid was adorable with his sandy-brown curls and huge blue eyes.

Corinne bounced him on her hip once more. “So, that’s my story.”

“And it is an exciting one,” Faramir conceded. “How much of it is truth?”

She frowned at him. “All of it,” she sniffed, nose in the air as she turned away from him to the window, pointing out things of interest to Mercas. The melodious, bell-like sound of elven mirth filled the air then, and she turned back to find Elrohir laughing.

“There can be no doubt of Haldir’s influence upon you,” he said, “for only the Guardian is capable of that much hauteur.”

“Yeah,” Corinne agreed with a fond smile. “He’s a snooty thing, isn’t he?” She sighed. “I miss him.” Resting her cheek against Mercas’ curly head, she gazed out the window, staring northward as if she could see Haldir’s beloved Lothlórien even from Minas Tirith.

Faramir cleared his throat. “Damrod, Mablung, you concur with her tale?”

“From when we found her in Osgiliath, yes, milord,” Damrod replied while Mablung jerked his head in a short nod.

“Then I give you leave to return to your posts, with my thanks for your escort.” Thus dismissed, the Rangers stood, bowed, and departed. “Have you two any doubts to her honesty?” he inquired of the elves.

“None,” Elrohir replied, for he had been watching her closely for signs of deceit and had found none. Elladan nodded slowly, as if disappointed to have found her trustworthy.

“So, then,” Faramir continued, eyeing her with speculation, “what shall we do with you?”

“You could send me up to Lothlórien,” Corinne suggested hopefully. “That’s probably where Haldir and the rest will go.” She had a thought then, and frowned. “If they’re back in Arda too, that is.”

Elrohir lifted a brow. “Is there some doubt?”

She laughed, a harsh and humorless sound, and then winced when a tiny hand yanked on her hair. “With Aker, all there is, is doubt.” She disengaged Mercas’ hand and fished in her pocket for something he could play with, but all she had were four lotus petals and a somewhat wilted palm frond. Breaking off one of its leaves, she used it to tickle his wee nose, making him giggle. “The last I heard from Buffy is that Aker had yet to be defeated. I don’t know if she’s back with the others, or if she were sent somewhere by herself like I was. Anything could happen.”

“In that case,” Faramir said, “I will keep you here where ‘tis safer, until some word arrives of the others’ whereabouts.” He grinned suddenly. “And you shall earn your keep; I see you get on well with the young prince. He is now your charge, as my lady wife is quite busy with our own child and her duties as chatelaine of the palace.”

“Did Dawn not threaten you with emasculation if you foisted her son off on a stranger?” Elladan pointed out in a low voice, gazing at the Steward over his steepled fingers as he slouched languidly back in his chair.

“From her telling, she is almost family to Dagnir and her sister, and so hardly a stranger,” Faramir replied reasonably. “And you shall be watching her besides, so I have no fears in placing Mercas in her care.”

Elrohir began to laugh at his brother’s outraged expression. “We were not sent here by our father to monitor your nephew’s nanny,” Elladan told him, voice quiet but infinitely menacing, “but to assist in the governance of this realm whilst our sister and her husband are away.”

Faramir only smiled as he stood, and turned to address Corinne, who was watching with bemusement. “I shall send in Éowyn forthwith,” he told her. “Only stay here, and she shall fetch you to the nursery and your new chamber.” Sketching a bow, he hastened from the room, leaving her with the identical elves and Mercas.

Soon a lovely blonde woman with a tiny infant in her arms entered the room, and the elves stood to greet her. “Milady Éowyn,” Elladan said with a bow as Elrohir made a silly face at the baby, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue.

“She is yet too young to respond to your brand of charm,” Éowyn told the latter dryly, and he straightened, looking a little sheepish.

“Ever have I liked children,” he explained. “I hope our sister shall soon bless us with a niece or nephew of our own.”

“Why not hook up with a foxy elleth and have your own?” Corinne couldn’t help but ask, but he and his brother only looked at her oddly as they swept out the door. She turned to Éowyn. “Is that such a strange question to ask?”

Éowyn laughed and pushed a stray strand of golden hair behind her ear as she juggled her daughter with the other. “Both have sworn themselves to eradicating orcs from Middle-Earth, and that rather precludes them from taking mates and having families.”

“Ah.” Corinne was beginning to understand that some elves had this commitment thing where they forsook personal happiness for the sake of duty, and she could comprehend it all too well; hadn’t she dedicated herself to learning for the sake of learning? If not for Aker’s interference in her life forcing her to hook up with Haldir, she’d likely never have known was it was like to enjoy a passionate love.

At the thought of him, a bleak fear for his life and sharp longing for him swept over her, and to her dismay Corinne found herself crying once more. She pressed her cheek to Mercas’ head, uncaring that her tears were soaking his curls, and let out a long sob of despair. The baby seemed to sense her need of his warmth and kept remarkably quiet, allowing her to cuddle him closely.

Corinne’s tears ceased eventually, and when she dried her eyes she found that Éowyn had left her alone with Mercas. He began to squirm in her grasp and she carried him back to his chair, plunking him down and staring at him. Huge eyes stared back, and they had a moment of wordless communion until Corinne began to laugh. “What do we do now?”

Mercas reached down into his chair and pulled out a rather battered doll, waving it hopefully at her. She took it and frowned thoughtfully. “A puppet show?” He clapped his chubby hands together and laughed, but she doubted he really understood what she’d said. Searching the room, she found a few more dolls in varying states of damage and lined them up on the table before her.

“What in the world am I going to tell you? I don’t know any fairytales.” She thought a moment. “Ok,” she said at last, deciding.

“Gilgamesh was two-thirds god and one-third human, and was the greatest king on earth and the strongest super-human that ever existed; however, he was young and oppressed his people harshly.” She made the knight-puppet hop manfully across the tabletop. “The people called out to the sky-god, Anu, the chief god of the city, to help them. In response, Anu created a wild man, Enkidu, out in the harsh and wild forests surrounding Gilgamesh's lands.” Corinne picked up the orc-looking doll and lurched it around with her other hand. “Enkidu had the strength of dozens of wild animals; he was to serve as the subhuman rival to the superhuman Gilgamesh.”

Lifting her gaze from the dolls to Mercas, she told him, “Keep in mind the pervasive themes of heroism, polar opposites, divine intervention in mortal affairs, good versus evil. and overall cultural mores in the narrative as the story progresses.”

Mercas burbled and blew a spit bubble; she took that as assent and continued.

“A trapper's son, while checking on traps in the forest, discovered Enkidu running naked with the wild animals; he rushed to his father with the news. The father advised him to go into the city and take one of the temple harlots, Shamhat, with him to the forest. When she saw Enkidu, she was to offer herself sexually to the wild man. If he submitted to her, the trapper said, Enkidu would lose his strength and his wildness.”

Corinne peered suspiciously at the child, as if she expected him to applaud the father’s advice to his son. “And here we have the ancient concept of woman as drainer of man’s potency and vitality.” She snorted. “Typical misogynistic claptrap, but what can you expect from an Iron Age civilization?”

“What in the name of Eru is she telling him?” Faramir asked his wife from the entrance, where they stood listening at the cracked-open door.

“I have no idea,” Éowyn replied, “but she is no longer crying, and you are not having to chase after him. Success all-round, would you not agree, my husband?”

“Ever are you canny, my lady of Rohan,” he said admiringly before raising an eyebrow suggestively. “We do have a while before we ought to return,” he mentioned casually. “Our own little one is asleep; shall we retire to our chamber?”

Éowyn laughed. “You are as subtle as an elvish arrow through the neck, Faramir,” she told him, eyes sparkling. “Lead on.”

***

Far to the north in Rhosgobel, a dozen people slumped in relief when Arwen relayed the message from her grandmother, who had it from her grandsons in Minas Tirith, that Corinne was safe.

“Yinepu deposited her in Osgiliath?” Haldir demanded, his face like a thundercloud. His ire was understandable; it was but a year after the destruction of the One Ring and the ruined Fortress of Stars was perilously close to the still-untamed evil of Mordor. Deserted for many miles around, Osgiliath could be a frightening place.

“Some Rangers found her, and she is with Faramir and Éowyn now,” Arwen soothed, and he settled back in his chair, still glowering but somewhat calmer. “When shall we be on our way?” she asked her husband.

“Are we certain that Aker is destroyed?” Elessar asked, meeting the gazes of first Buffy, then Radagast. “All the lions were killed, but does that mean He himself is dead?”

“I destroyed His talisman, the thing that made Him invincible,” Radagast replied slowly. “One would think that, after its ruin, He—or whatever he changed into-- would be as vulnerable to the Guardian’s wrath as any other mortal.”

“And it’s not like we can do anything about it,” Buffy added. “We can’t spend forever in Fun Land hunting Him down; we’ve got to collect Corinne and figure out what all this means for Arda and Aman. If there’s going to be trouble, we’ll need to be here to fight it.”

Boromir heaved a great sigh. “I can only hope that will we not come to rue this decision.”

“If we do, I hereby give you permission to tell us all, ‘I told you so!’ until we want to punch you,” Dawn told him playfully.

“Another day to rest and pack, do you think, friend Gimli?” Legolas murmured, tapping his fingers on the table as he planned the logistics of their next journey.

The dwarf nodded. “At least.” He gestured none-too-subtly toward Dawn and Arwen, whose shadowed eyes spoke of greater weariness than they were accustomed to. “Perhaps another week, even.”

“I saw that, Mr. Subtle.” Dawn folded her arms across her chest and scowled at him. “Just because I’m tired doesn’t mean I can’t hit the road again.”

“And I,” Arwen added stubbornly. “’Tis merely the stress of the past days that has me looking less than I might.” In truth, the purplish hollows under her eyes gave her a look of such fragile, ethereal loveliness that it almost hurt to look at her. “Now that we are home and there is naught to fear but the usual dangers of Arda, all shall be set to right once more.”

“Yeah, what she said,” Dawn agreed, and exchanged a firm nod with the elleth before both turned in tandem to glare down any opposition.

“So, that’s settled then,” Spike commented, fishing in his duster pockets for a cigarette and jamming one, a sadly bent specimen, in the corner of his mouth. “You lot would have a much easier time if you stopped fighting with your chippies over every little thing.” He lit the fag and snapped the lighter shut with a flourish, squinting through the smoke he blew out the other side of his mouth. “I learned years ago not to argue with the Bit; it don’t work, and only annoys her.” He removed the cigarette and gestured toward Buffy. “Same goes for Big Sis.”

“My thanks for your illuminating advice, vampire,” said Elessar, his tone acerbic. “Should I have need of more, where shall you be found?”

Spike shifted on his chair and looked apprehensive. “Been meaning to ask about that, actually,” he admitted. “I don’t expect your bloke fancies having me roaming round his treehouse, yeah?” he asked Buffy.

“We do not live in a treehouse,” she informed him, “but no, I think Legolas would rather eat ground glass than have you underfoot.”

“You’re so stupid,” Dawn declared, staring at him in amazement. “Do you really think I’d let you live anywhere apart from me after I missed you so much this past year?”

Spike beamed happily at her around his fag. “And what does hubby have to say about it?” he asked lazily. “Wouldn’t want to be the cause of any domestic strife.” He judiciously ignored Buffy’s blatant snort of skepticism.

Boromir’s expression was carefully neutral, as was his tone when he said, “Our household is certainly large enough for you to join it. If Dawn wishes you to reside with us, then I wish it as well.”

Spike nodded like the gracious gentleman he’d been raised to be. Then he ruined it when he replied, “Ta, mate,” with a jaunty wave of his cigarette, strewing ash across the table. He seemed to think of something that displeased him greatly. “Oi,” he said to no one in particular. “What am I going to do when I run out of fags?”


Part 37

“Oh, thank God,” Dawn said in a low tone, the relief in her voice whole-hearted as she peered out from under the hand shielding her eyes from the sun. “Think we’ll get there today?” The White City was the merest dot on the horizon, but it beaconed to them alluringly, for it had been a long journey from Rhosgobel in the north.

“Unlikely,” Boromir replied. This was his home, no matter that Elessar ruled it, and none knew better than he the terrain surrounding Minas Tirith and how long it would take to traverse it. “Not unless we wish to push the horses.”

Elessar eyed the weary beasts. “Best that we not,” he said with some regret. “’Twould be late when we arrived in any case, and there would be alarm at such.” He stripped off his leather gloves and flexed his hands. “Never did I think I would tire of the road and long for a comfortable bed, but my days as a Ranger are long past, it would seem,” he said with a small grin aimed at Buffy. “What think you, Dagnir? Have you become too soft as well for such travels?”

Buffy stretched her arms over her head and rotated her head to ease the kinks from her neck. “Every time we get to the end of one, yeah, I think I’ll never get out of bed again.” She slid a cheeky glance at her husband, who smiled knowingly at her. “For more reasons than one. But it never lasts, and before I know it, I’m itching to get out and do something again.”

“I shall bathe,” Arwen said suddenly, her voice dreamy as her eyes took on a faraway glaze at the idea. “Hot water, a froth of sweet-smelling soap… I shall not remove myself from the tub until I am a prune.”

Elessar’s eyes also glazed as well, but for a different reason. “Er, yes.”

Buffy laughed outright at him. She was still smiling when she turned to the silent elf beside her. “I know you’re looking forward to our arrival, too, Hal,” she said quietly, watching his face intently.

He was staring into the distance, gaze trained on Minas Tirith, and she wondered what his keen elven eyes permitted him to see. “Do not call me that,” he said absently before turning to face her. “Yes,” he agreed at last. “I am eager to be there.”

“She’s fine, you know,” Buffy reassured him for the third time that day; it was a habit she’d gotten into whenever she saw his mood droop from ‘normally reticent’ to ‘outright glum’. Never a hugely talkative elf, since returning from Aker’s realm Haldir had been positively taciturn and it proved quite a chore to get him to say much of anything during their trip south.

A ghost of a smile flitted about Haldir’s lips. “I know. I no longer fear for her. It is merely that we did not part well… I declined her offer of love, and it has been long since I have seen her. Corinne may well have reconsidered her rash words, spoken in the heat of the moment.”

Buffy’s eyebrows lifted toward the sky. “Are you kidding? Haldir, Corinne’s the least rash person I’ve ever met. She doesn’t say things in the heat of a moment, and you know it. Especially not about love.” When he remained silent, she continued. “Think about it. There was nothing in the cartouche’s bond that stipulated you had to love each other, only be horny. She’s loved you for ages, and I doubt she’s going to just forget about that now that you’ve been apart for a month.”

Still he did not speak. Buffy slid a sly glance his way. “Of course, Elrond’s sons have been keeping her company… maybe she’s found a replacement or two for you. She was very interested when I told her of the hotness that is Elrohir and Elladan.”

That got a reaction out of him. “Those peredhil would not dare—“ he choked out, glaring hotly until he saw she was teasing him. “Thranduilion,” he said to Legolas, “your wife is in dire need of discipline. It is not wise to goad a march-warden.”

“I agree,” Legolas said, eyes glinting in the late afternoon sunlight as he recalled certain thoughts about the twins his wife had admitted to him one night. “It is best not to mention the sons of Elrond in my hearing. Ever.”

Arwen frowned at this. “What can my brothers have done to earn such hostility?” she asked mildly. “They are ever courteous, and pleasing to the eye as well as valorous in battle. Indeed, their skills with music and poetry are near to unequalled in all of Rivendell, and that place is renowned for its excellence in the arts.”

“Poetry?” At this, Spike perked up. “Your brothers are poets?”

“All elves are poets,” Arwen explained patiently, and smiled at his enthusiasm. “Would you care to hear a song written by Beren for Lúthien? They were my great-grandparents.” At his nod, she began, her sweet voice floating on the air and caressing their ears.

Farewell sweet earth and northern sky,
for ever blest, since here did lie
and here with lissom limbs did run
beneath the Moon, beneath the Sun,
Lúthien Tinúviel
more fair than mortal tongue can tell.
Though all to ruin fell the world
and were dissolved and backward hurled
unmade into the old abyss,
yet were its making good for this—
the dusk, the dawn, the earth, the sea—
that Lúthien for a time should be.

Spike looked enchanted, and to his credit, more at the song’s lovely lyrics than by Arwen’s ethereal voice. “Do you know any more?” he asked, voice atremble, and with a laugh, she launched into another tune.

Buffy and Dawn exchanged a highly amused glance, but Haldir allowed his attention to narrow, and the voices of the others, even that of the Evenstar, to fade away. In spite of Dagnir’s confidence in Corinne, he had great and myriad doubts. Yes, he loved her—freely, completely, and in no way because of that thrice-damned cartouche. He loved her intelligence, her curiosity, her wit. He loved her passion and devotion for him, loved her talent for learning and languages, her clumsy attempts at kindness and the amazing way she’d rallied from her fears to become a courageous and strong woman.

But therein lay the problem: she was a woman, a child of Man, and mortal. In matters of courage, did he have enough to take her to wife, knowing they would have but decades together? Knowing that her lifetime was but a blink of an eye to an elf, and that sooner than was decent she would be gone from him?

What would happen to him after her death, Haldir wondered. There were two options, of course; the first was that he would go the way of most elves after the other half of their heart was no more, and perish. But this was an unacceptable end for Haldir of Lórien; he was a march-warden, and the Golden Wood’s Guardian. The forest was as a living thing, and his destiny was that of its protector, its sword and its armour. How, then, could he follow Corinne to her cold grave?

He could not, and thus there was but a single choice for him: to live on after she had died, to live on with the aching void in his chest where his heart used to live, knowing she was gone and that not even after the Valar granted him his own demise would they be together, for Men were not held in the halls of Mandos, as were elves. Their souls were released, let to roam freely as their gift from Ilúvatar, and so even when he was united with his kin in the noble palace of the dead, Corinne would be gone from him forever.

All they had was this short life of hers, this moment in time. Would she still want to share it with him? After his attempt to rape her in Rhosgobel—no matter that he had not been in control of himself at the time—after his rejection of her love, after violence and violation and manipulation and pain, so much pain… could she bear to spend her life looking at his face?

They made camp quietly, efficiently, and Haldir volunteered for first watch, fully intending not to wake Legolas for the second, but to remain throughout the night with his thoughts. Peace was not to be his, however, for that elf rose, silent as a wraith, from his place beside Buffy to join him beside the small fire.

“She will not refuse you, meldiramin,” Legolas said quietly after a moment. “Never has she been able to hide her feelings. Even after the cartouche was broken, her love for you shone like a Silmaril.”

Haldir’s visage was bleak in the firelight. “I have lived long, Thranduilion,” he said. “I have lived long, and loved but once. How shall I bear her death? Being parted from her this month has made me ache as if from a thousand wounds. Losing her for always will surely kill me, do you not think so?”

Legolas studied the elf before him. “No,” he said at last. “For you will have your children to comfort you, and you will share stories of their mother, and she shall live ever in your heart.” He grinned then. “You must not be cheerless any longer, for the vampire starts to call you Broody Elf.” He shot a narrow glance over at where Spike lay reclining against the trunk of a tree, asleep but protectively close to Dawn and Boromir. “I look for any way to disappoint that one,” he said darkly. “Glad am I that he will live in Minas Ithil; perhaps I can convince Dagnir to move farther north—“

Haldir surprised him by laughing. “Any further north, Legolas, and you shall be making your home in the Wetwang, and Dagnir was not at all fond of the life that teemed in that sodden land, as I recall.” He tilted his head to the side, looking at Legolas consideringly. “Come, cease your tirade, for jealousy suits you ill.”

Legolas slanted him a look. “Healing words from one who suffers the same disease,” he commented dryly.

Haldir only quirked a silver-gilt brow. “Jealous? I? You are mistaken, fair prince.”

“Am not,” Legolas shot back. “I both heard and saw your reaction to Dagnir’s mention of the sons of Elrond—“

“My displeasure was for their daring, not for Corinne,” Haldir interrupted hotly. “Never have I doubted her constancy to me, nor her love.”

Legolas did not answer right away, but when he did, it was with a broad smile on his face. “There,” he said happily. “You have said it yourself: there is naught over which to worry, for you hold her heart, as she holds yours.”

Haldir glared. “You are an orc, Legolas,” he growled. “A tricky Mirkwood orc, and far too smart. You shall pay for that trickery.”

But Legolas only grinned and sauntered back to his pallet beside his wife. “In due time, I am sure, Guardian,” he said. “In due time.”

***

Spurred by their eagerness, they made excellent time the next day, and the sun had scarcely reached its zenith in the sky when the mighty iron gates of Minas Tirith were flung open for the king and queen of Gondor, prince and princess of Ithilien, and their companions.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Gimli grumbled at the swarm of dwarves that flocked to him as soon as he entered on horseback, all shouting questions at him. “Blast you all, I have but just returned! Hold your tongues until I have recovered from my journey!”

“And how long shall that be, friend Gimli?” Legolas asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“At least a fortnight,” Gimli replied likewise. “Hush, they have the ears of a bat, and I would have peace.”

The people of the White City were thrilled to see their monarchs; Arwen, who had never been convinced that she, an elleth, had been fully accepted by the Men and Women of Gondor, wept openly to see how gladly they waved at her and called her name. Elessar just looked pleased that his wife was happy.

“He’s just a big schmoopie bear,” Buffy commented with a fond smile at her friend as they rode up the tiers of the city to its summit. Elessar turned around on his mount to stare at her, a look of such consternation on his unshaven face that she burst out laughing.

Haldir exchanged a look of great sympathy with the king. “Ever is she calling me distasteful things as well, Elessar,” he said sadly. “’Twill be a fine day when I can return to my forest and not hear her voice shrilling that ludicrous moniker at me.”

Buffy ignored them and leapt easily from her horse to land in the dusty courtyard outside the stables. “Hey, there’s Faramir,” she said when the Steward turned the corner.

Boromir turned and rested his eyes on the Man. “Brother,” he said with relief, embracing Faramir fiercely. “Glad I am to see you once more; now I know that our journey is truly at an end.”

“Has it been a grueling trip, then?” Faramir asked, gasping a little at the force of his brother’s arm around his shoulders.

“In the extreme,” Boromir said in heartfelt tones and with the tiniest sideways glance at Haldir, who pretended not to notice. “Come!” he said heartily. “Where is my son? I would remind him that he does indeed have a father.”

“How’s Éowyn?” asked Dawn as he helped her down from her horse. “She was due about six weeks ago, did everything go okay?”

“It did indeed,” Faramir confirmed. “Her travail was long, but Éowyn is not one to be defeated by trifles. We have a daughter, and have named her Léofa. She has much the look of her mother, to my great relief; sad it would be for a girl to suffer this grim visage,” he joked, his joy at new fatherhood clear.

“So where is she?” Dawn inquired, her stride somewhat compromised after hours in the saddle as she and the rest followed Elessar and Arwen into the palace. “And where’s Mercas?” She shot a teasing glance at Spike. “His Uncle William is eager to meet him.”

“She and Corinne are with the children in the garden,” Faramir answered, oblivious to how Haldir tensed at the mention of Corinne’s name as he led them there.

Reached through a high stone arch, the garden was a spacious area with narrow brick paths winding through neatly tended patches of herbs and flowers. Every tree boasted a bench beneath it, and ensconced in one of them sat Éowyn with one plump breast exposed by the unlaced front of her gown, her daughter’s face pressed eagerly to her as the infant fed with much enthusiasm and noise.

Not far from her walked Corinne in a slow circle around one of the herb patches. In one hand she held a book from which she read with her usual absorption, and the other clasped a baby on her hip, bouncing him gently. The long green gown she wore skimmed lovingly over her curves, enhancing them in a way her modern clothing had never been able to manage, and her hair had grown significantly in the past month. It was wound up in a messy bun with many tendrils straggling free, and it was one of these tendrils that Mercas grabbed in his hand and yanked on, the better to get it into his mouth.

“Hey, no hair-pulling, you little booger,” Corinne told him absently, her glasses slipping down her nose. Trying to push them back up with her wrist so she didn’t have to release the book, she looked past Mercas’ head to see the group standing in the entrance to the garden, watching her. Dawn and Boromir came forward to claim their son, Spike trailing behind with a hopeful look on his face, but Mercas shied away and buried his face against Corinne’s shoulder.

“He’s shy with… um… strangers right now,” she explained awkwardly, achingly aware of Haldir still standing under the arch, his gaze locked on her. Tears came immediately to Dawn’s eyes, and Boromir slipped an arm around her waist. “Hey, Mercas,” Corinne prompted him. “Here’s your Mom and Dad, they’re here to play with you. I bet Daddy’s great with blocks. You can build the biggest castle ever.”

Mercas cautiously peeked at them; Dawn bit her lip. Then he looked up at Corinne, as if for approval. She nodded reassuringly. “Da,” he said then, and now it was Boromir who bit his lip to keep from crying. “Da.”

“Yes,” Boromir said, his voice hoarse. “I am your Da.” He reached out tentatively, and this time Mercas didn’t flinch back, allowing the newcomer to lift him into his embrace.

Immediately, Dawn pressed close, her hand coming to stroke the tiny back as she began to murmur to him, “I’m so sorry we left you, honey. We won’t go again, I promise, Mercas. Never again.”

They left then, Boromir thanking Corinne for her care of their son, wanting to have some private time as a family. Spike stood there somewhat forlornly even after Corinne greeted him, and Buffy took pity on him. “Come on, we’re going to go have lunch,” she said, digging an elbow into Legolas’ side when he opened his mouth to protest.

He snapped his mouth shut once more and said nothing, though Gimli was not troubled to start laughing, and the four of them wandered away to find some food. Elessar and Arwen ambled off with Faramir and Éowyn, the elleth exclaiming over the smallness of Léofa and developing a glint in her eye that spoke of a new addition to the royalty of Gondor in the next year, and then Corinne and Haldir were alone in the garden.

He looked tired, she thought, tired and sad, as if he expected bad news and was resigned to it. “So,” she said, coming toward him, “Look what the Slayer dragged in.” The twins had relayed the message from Arwen that all members of their party were accounted for, so she hadn’t been much assailed with worry for him, but knowing he was safe and knowing he was safe were two different things. “Glad to see you’re still in one piece.”

“And you,” he replied, and his voice was as silken and thrilling as she remembered, as she heard in her dreams at night when the loneliness threatened to strangle her. “You are well?”

"I'm fine,” she said. “I mean, I'm not ‘running around, wind in my hair, the hills are alive with the sound of music’ fine, but..." She dropped her gaze to the tips of his boots. “Is Aker dead?” she asked, desperate to keep talking, suspecting that to let silence fall would be to invite disaster.

“We are not sure,” Haldir answered. “He split into many lions, and we slew them all, but I cannot know if that means He is gone forever.” He paused. “I killed Yinepu,” he added after a moment.

Corinne frowned. “Why?”

“Because he sent you to Osgiliath, instead of somewhere safe,” Haldir said quietly. He thought she looked very fine indeed, and marveled at the grace with which she wore the Mannish gown. A definite improvement over those bizarre garments she had packed from her world; though he had brought them from Rhosgobel, he sincerely hoped she would not wear them again. Especially those hideous shoes.

“Oh,” she replied, mouth a soft O of surprise. “You killed a god for me?”

“I would do anything for you, doll-nîn,” he told her swiftly, eyes blazing silver as he gazed avidly at her. The depth of emotion in them humbled her, striking her dumb for a moment.

“Oh,” Corinne repeated numbly after a while, then reached up to smooth back a strand of his cornsilk hair. Quick as lightning, his hand grasped her wrist before she could touch him, and she wondered with a pang if he were still determined to deny his feelings. Then he turned his head and pressed his lips to her palm, his eyes closing in an expression of absolute relief.

“How I have longed for you,” Haldir murmured. “With each step closer to this place, my heart felt lighter, knowing it was nearer to its home.” He opened his eyes and released her hand; of its own accord it cupped his cheek, caressing the taut, smooth skin. “You know this, do you not, Corinne?”

“That I am the home of your heart?” she asked, staring up at him in part-amazement, part-adoration. “Yes. Just like you’re the home of mine, and have been almost since the beginning.” She slid her hand down his throat to his chest, and he covered it with his own, pressing it hard just over that fiercely-beating organ.

Haldir slipped his free hand around the back of her neck and drew her close for his kiss; she was utterly yielding to him, opening herself to him as his mouth covered hers, just rubbing lightly, a satiny caress that was almost chaste. When he pulled back, he smiled with a touch of his old arrogance to find her standing on tiptoes, eyes still closed and mouth open.

Then her eyes popped open and she adjusted the fit of her glasses on her nose as she grinned at him. “I have a surprise for you. Um, several, actually.”

Haldir was not sure he liked the sound of that. “Surprises?”

She nodded and walked over to a rather steep pile of books stacked on one of the benches. “When I was dead,” she began conversationally, “Seshat explained a few things to me.” She paused, retrieving something from between the pages of one, and he waited for her to continue. “What were the names of the children we had in the dream Heka forced on you?”

Blinking, Haldir had to think a moment. “Ataralassë,” he said at last. “It means ‘father’s joy’.” Then he watched in bemusement as she withdrew and placed in his hand a slightly shriveled but still creamy-pink flower petal. “Earo, the sea.” Another petal. “Cualla… little dove…” A third petal. “Woman, what are you doing?”

She smiled mysteriously at him. “Just tell me the last one.”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “Failon.”

“And its meaning?”

“Generous and just.” He stared down at the four petals in his hand. “What are these for?”

She smiled blindingly up at him. “Hapi gave them to me, to us. A gift, a promise.”

He was beginning to see what she was saying. “Do you mean…” His voice died to a whisper. “Do you mean that we truly shall have those children, of whom I dreamed? All of them?”

Corinne nodded. “It’s been guaranteed.”

Haldir carefully placed the petals in her hand and turned away, shoulders square and chin high. Another woman would have thought he was greatly displeased by this news, but another woman would not have known him half so well as Corinne, and she placed the petals back in their silk wrapper before going to him, sliding her arms around his waist from behind and resting her forehead between his shoulder blades.

“There’s more,” she said.

“More?” He gave a short laugh, his voice tight, and she knew he was having trouble containing himself. It was one of the things she loved about him, his determination to present a calm mask to the world, but the rapid beat of his heart told her he was not as unaffected as he pretended to be.

“In ancient Kemet, various symbols of Seshat’s represented different periods of time,” she said, allowing her hands to wander a little over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle under his tunic. Mmmmm. “The palm frond represented years, with each stalk being a century.” One hand slid lower, to his flat belly, while the other moved higher to stroke the fine-suede of his throat. “Seshat gave me a palm frond, Haldir, and it had twenty-seven stalks on it.”

He whipped around to face her. “What are you saying?” he demanded, his face suddenly, alarmingly ashen. “What are you saying?”

She was taken aback by his reaction. “I’m saying that I’m going to be able to live at least another two thousand, seven hundred years,” Then she yelped in shock when his arms locked around her like steel bands, hauling her off her feet to clasp her tightly against him. “Breathing,” she gasped. “Becoming an issue.”

“Elbereth, Elbereth,” Haldir whispered over and over, easing his embrace enough for her to suck in some air. “Thank you, thank you.”

Corinne wound her arms around his neck and held on tightly, inhaling the divine scent of his hair and reveling in the feel of his body pressed against hers, and realized how starved for contact with him she’d been. “So, you’re happy about this, then?”

In reply, Haldir threaded his hand in her hair, dispersing her hairpins and completely destroying her haphazard bun, and held her still so he could kiss her with spectacular thoroughness. “Yes,” he said when he was done ravishing her mouth. “Yes, I am happy about this.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said breathlessly. “What do you say about getting started on Ataralassë?”

Haldir smiled down at her, looking positively angelic, but his eyes gleamed devilishly. “And this time, nothing is forbidden,” he reminded her as she took his hand and led him at a rapid pace toward her chamber. “There is no dire peril to keep us from slaking our needs in all the ways we desire.” Her response was only a moan and increased speed. At one point Faramir stepped out of a room, mouth open as if to speak, but she just rushed past him, Haldir trailing behind her and grinning stupidly at the Man as he followed in her wake.

Then they were in her room, and Haldir barely managed to kick the door shut because she was climbing his tall body like a kitten, clawing and biting her way up.

Éowyn joined her husband where he stood in the corridor, watching the show. “I am glad they have resolved their differences,” he commented to her. There was a loud thud, as if a heavy piece of furniture had just been jolted across the floor, and a smile spread slowly across her face.

“I expect they shall be resolving them repeatedly for the remainder of the day,” Éowyn said slyly, and handed Léofa over to Faramir. “Here, tend to her while I arrange for a meal to be brought to them in a few hours.” She walked off, leaving Faramir holding his daughter.

“You must not ever become as saucy as your mother,” he told the child, who stared guilelessly up at her father with big blue-grey eyes. “I can barely keep up with her, and if you take the same path, I shall be sadly outnumbered.”

Moans began to emanate from the room down the hall, and the distinct sound of a jouncing bed, too. Then another set of suspicious noises started to come from the direction of the royal chambers. “You are too young to hear this, young Léofa,” Faramir told her, frowning.

A third room joined in the amorous chorus, that which Faramir was sure his wife had assigned to Dagnir and Legolas, and if he were not mistaken, was that rather loud groan not coming from the chamber that his brother and sister-in-law always used when in Minas Tirith, now that Mercas had been given to his namesake for tending?

“In fact, *I* am too young to hear this,” Faramir declared with a wince at one particularly enthusiastic yelp of satisfaction, but couldn’t repress a grin as he withdrew into his own chamber, kicking the doors shut and wondering, as he watched Léofa’s eyes shut for her afternoon nap, whether Éowyn would return before their daughter roused for her next feeding…

*peredhil = half-elves
doll-nîn = my dusky one

 

~Fin~