Equinoxium II: The Fading: Chapter 3
by Lisette
Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.
Buffy sat on their large canopied bed and looked at her closet full of fine dresses, heavy leggings, shawls, shirts, silky under things, thick leather boots and dainty cloth slippers. It was amazing how much clothing you could accumulate if you had over one hundred years to do it, and now the slayer was trying to figure out how many additional heavy wooden chests she would need to requisition from Eldarion in order to pack up her entire wardrobe. The worst part was that this was only a small portion of her stuff, for there was even more back in Ithilien - and that was before she started trying to figure out how many chests she would need for her vast weapons collection.
In a foreign society without a job or income, it paid to know the right people - even if it meant that at this rate, her varied belongings were liable to sink the mysterious gray ship that Legolas was planning on building.
Building.
As in by himself, and with his own long-fingered hands that she had spent a century admiring as they crafted arrows, wielded swords, and built talans. Fingers that were meant to be buried into rich black soil and wrapped around sturdy wood - fingers of the earth that he so loved, and not the sea that, even free of the longing, haunted every elf's step while they still dwelt in Middle-earth.
In the century that she had spent beside her wonderful, handsome wood-elf, Buffy had seen Legolas do many amazingly impossible things - but crafting an ocean-going vessel that would weather the stormy seas and take her, Gimli, and Legolas to Valinor?
"What are you thinking?"
"That Gimli should plan on leaving his armor back in Aglarond," Buffy returned with a small shrug as she turned away from her inspection of her wardrobe and to the elf that leaned against the open doorway to their bed chambers. "If the boat sinks, he'll be heavy enough without all of that extra metal weighing him down."
"And why should the ship falter and fall to the ocean's depths?" Legolas asked as he abandoned his post by the doorway and moved further into the room until he knelt on the thick carpet before her. His hands settled on her thighs, just above her knees. Despite the thick fabric of her dress, she could still feel the comforting heat of his skin. "Do you doubt in my ability to craft the grey ship that will carry us home?"
"No," Buffy murmured, startling herself with her answer. Despite her earlier misgivings - despite the fact that she and Legolas, during the century that they had been together, had never once visited the sea - Buffy realized that she didn't doubt his promise to build them the ship that would carry them to Valinor. Rather, she found herself doubting herself and her welcome in Valinor.
The Undying Lands were the happily ever after that was promised to the firstborn. It was their birthright to return to those green shores, whether by ship or via Mandos' Halls, and in that verdant land lay the promise of peace and a world free from death. Buffy yearned for that peace, for that promise, and for that happily ever after, but her dreams haunted her always - always with the same warning/message/promise: there's no such thing as happy endings for heroes.
While Buffy may have been desperately ready to go to Valinor and seize the promised peace that was seemingly theirs to have and share, she also feared that promise. The slayer had been given heaven once before, and having heaven snatched away and taken back had almost destroyed her. Buffy wasn't sure if she could survive it again.
But what choice did she have?
Forsaking heaven, or Valinor, as the case may be, meant forsaking Legolas - and as Buffy looked into the startling blue eyes of the creature that knelt before her, she realized that somehow, to forsake Legolas would be infinitely worse than losing heaven.
"You know, you didn't have to conspire with everyone in order to make me go with you to Valinor," Buffy murmured as she captured Legolas' hands within her own. She leaned forward until their foreheads were touching, his pale hair sliding forward until it met her darker blonde tresses and formed a golden curtain around them. His tunic was silver - regal and shiny - and his mithril circlet pressed a cool band against her skin.
"I do not-"
"You could have just asked," she whispered. Buffy gently squeezed his hands, encouraged by their warmth, and slowly pulled away so that she could meet his red-rimmed eyes. Even now, hours after Aragorn's death, Legolas still looked wan and tired. He was much paler than normal, with purple smudges marring the delicate skin beneath his eyes, his lips thin and bloodless.
"I did not know how," he returned, his solemn features matching his heavy voice. "You have already had to leave one home behind. How could I possibly ask you to leave another?"
"Oh, Legolas," Buffy sighed as she tugged him forward until she could wrap her small arms around his thin frame. "Don't you understand? It's not the talan, the woods, or all of these pretty dresses and shiny knives that make a home for me. As corny as it sounds, you're my home. I'll follow you wherever you go, even if it's across the sea.
"Besides," she murmured as she brushed a hand against his cheek, "your family, your friends, your people are in Valinor. There are a hundred reasons why you should leave Middle-earth. I don't want to be the one reason that you stay."
Legolas frowned. "But for you I would stay."
"I know," Buffy returned with a smile. "And it's for that very reason that I go. With you."
"And Gimli," Legolas added with a ghost of his impish smile.
"And Gimli," Buffy amended with a wry twist of her lips as she smoothed her heavy skirt over her lap, her attention already drifting back to the open armoire. "Though if he has even half the stuff that I do, you better be building us a pretty big boat."
"Ship, Buffy, it is a ship - or it will be. A grey ship, to be exact," Legolas corrected with a tired sigh as he held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. "But regardless, I seem to have lost track of my original task. Eldarion is waiting in the outer room. He said that he had a favor to beg of you," he explained with a pensive frown.
"Another favor?" Buffy murmured as she hastily patted down the folds of her dress. "But I already agreed that I was going with you," she muttered before hurrying into the adjoining room - a lavishly decorated sitting room that was a part of their appointed suite - with Legolas following in her wake.
Through the doorway Buffy watched as Eldarion, King now of Gondor, stood before the cold hearth of their fireplace, his eyes locked on the sooty grate. For a moment he looked so much like his father - so tall and regal, his back bowed by grief and the heady responsibility of leading a nation, with his strong forearms bare to the cool air and his hands pressed onto the stone mantle before him. Buffy felt her breath catch in her throat, her heart hammering painfully against her breast. But then the king turned from his introspection, a weary smile lifting his lips, and Buffy felt the moment break as she saw not the man's father, but the boy that she had known since the day of his birth.
"Buffy," he greeted warmly as he held his hands out towards her, palms raised.
"Eldarion," Buffy returned as she crossed the room with the quick strides of a slayer and pulled the taller man down in a fierce hug that likely caused his ribs to groan in protest. When she pulled back, she found herself intently studying a face that looked older than her own and was newly lined by the death of his father. His gray eyes were heavy, and his black hair an unruly, curly mop upon his head. He was Eldarion - the best of Aragorn and Arwen tied into a mortal package. He was the King of Gondor, a dear child, boy, teen and then man-shaped friend. With a startled breath, Buffy realized that in leaving Middle-earth, he was the only thing that she would truly miss.
Impulsively she went on her tip-toes while tugging at his shoulders, pulling him down until she could reach his grizzled cheeks where she pressed a sweet kiss against his scruff. "How are you? How's your mom doing?" she asked as she pulled away and allowed him to lead her to a plump, velvet-covered sofa where she was pressed into its cushy depths, Legolas settling lightly beside her as Eldarion slumped into the chair across from them.
"I am well, under the circumstances, but Mother is..." Eldarion began before trailing off in a sigh, his eyes drifting down to his tightly clasped hands. "To be truthful, Mother is the reason for my visit," he admitted as he lifted his troubled gaze.
"Legolas mentioned something about a favor?" Buffy asked with a gentle nudge towards the man.
"A grand favor, I am afraid," Eldarion admitted with a sharp jerk of his head. "Mother has decided that she, too, no longer has a place here in Minas Tirith - a city of Men, she now calls it. She is... she is lost without Father. Her light is gone," he murmured with a helpless shrug and a shadowed look in his silver-eyed gaze. "She wishes to voyage back to the land of her mother's people, to Lothlórien, and there to wait until the end of her days."
"Oh," Buffy murmured eloquently as she felt Legolas stir beside her, his slim frame pressing against her side. Eldarion's eyes were so heavy with grief and loss, and while a part of Buffy felt a spark of anger at Arwen for making this selfish decision which would force her son to shoulder the loss of both parents instead of one, she also couldn't help but understand the queen's decision. She had lost her husband, the father of her child, and the man for whom she had chosen a mortal life. There was no where in all of Middle-earth that she could turn in order to escape the memories, the pain, and the loss of Aragorn - especially not in Minas Tirith where she would see his touch on every stone. At least in Lothlórien Arwen could seek the small comfort that the empty woods would bring her - the comfort of the elven heritage that she had long denied.
"Do you wish for us to join in your mother's escort?" Legolas asked as he shifted beside her. His restlessness startled her, and Buffy spared him a confused glance before she returned her attention to Eldarion in time to catch his wince at Legolas' question.
"Mother has refused an escort," the man denied, his voice grim. He abandoned his tired sprawl and hunched over the edge of his chair. His spine became a tight curve, belying his tension, with his elbows resting upon his knees and his clasped hands dangling between.
"But she can't make the trip alone," Buffy protested, her frown deepening. "It could take her up to a month to make it to Lothlórien, less if she's in a hurry and has an elven-bred horse. Even if all of the mornedhel and Sauron's monsters are gone, there's still your average highway robber to worry about. It's just not safe-"
"I know," Eldarion interrupted with a wry smile. "I told her much the same."
"So she has agreed to an honor guard?" Legolas queried, but the way he asked told Buffy that he had already guessed the new king's answer, and moreover, the real reason for his visit.
"In a sense," the young king returned as he hesitantly turned his eyes from Legolas and looked at her with pleading eyes. "She has requested that Buffy, and Buffy alone make the voyage with her to the borders of Lothlórien, though from there she has insisted that she continues on alone. She wishes to spend her remaining time in solitude within Caras Galadhon, the City of Trees, and upon Cerin Amroth, the hill upon which she and father plighted their troth."
"Oh. Again," Buffy muttered as she drew back and instinctively looked to Legolas. Now she understand why the elf who could spend an entire day without moving was fidgeting so much beside her. She placed her hand on his knee, her eyes softening at the stoic mask that he wore.
Ninety years was a long time to spend with someone, and though there had been many occasions throughout the years in which that time had been spent apart - hunting trips, matters of state, battles against the mornedhel - the fact remained that it had been many years since they had been forced to endure such a lengthy parting. Even if she pushed her elven-bred horse, Buffy wouldn't be able to make the return trip in under ten days, which meant a parting of at least a month to a month and a half.
But how could she refuse?
"It can be a race," Buffy offered with a weak smile for the elf that sat beside her. "Let's see if you can finish the boat-"
"Ship."
"- before I get back," she challenged as she nudged him with her elbow. "Instead of meeting you back in Ithilien, I can instead meet you and Gimli here. I mean - I imagine that you'll be spending all of your time at the docks in Osgiliath, anyway," she offered, thinking of the white city of stone, a condensed version of Minas Tirith that straddled the River Anduin, beyond the Rammas Echor, the long circular wall that protected the Pelennor Fields.
Yet instead of a smile, Buffy's words brought a frown to Legolas' features. "But then you will not have a chance to return to our talan in Ithilien."
With a careless shrug, Buffy met his worried gaze. "I trust you to pack up what's important," she insisted as she glanced back towards the door to their bedroom and all of the packing that still awaited her here in Minas Tirith. If anything, the idea of skipping out on all of the packing and preparation for their voyage was a blessing in disguise. Legolas would know what was important and what could be left behind.
"But surely you would wish to return before our departure," Legolas argued, his pale features becoming pinched with strain.
And suddenly Buffy understood what Legolas was trying to say. Never again would Buffy see the finely-wrought talan in the woods of Ithilien, with the gossamer-thin curtains, the wide canopied bed, the heavy armoire or the little crystal bottles that lined her long dresser. They had left their home in such a hurry and the bed was unmade, clothes strewn across chair backs, and her hair brush still sitting on the vanity, strands of her hair caught in the short bristles. Yesterday she had noted how their garden had needed weeding, and the berries on the bushes to the east of the talan were ripe and ready for picking. That fourth stair from the bottom was nearly rotted through, and Legolas had promised to replace it before-
"I know," Buffy murmured, and this time she did know. She knew what she would be leaving behind - the memories of a vibrant wood and the trees that had cradled her for over a century. The chance to say goodbye.
"Buffy, it has been your home-"
"You're my home," she interrupted, more sharply than she had intended. At his startled look, her expression softened and she took his hand into her own and squeezed it gently. "Remember? You're all that I need. All that I will ever need. Where you go, I follow. So I'll just meet you guys here. In Minas Tirith. And then you can show off your progress on your shiny new boat-"
"Ship," Legolas corrected with a wry smile - the one that quirked his thin lips to the side in a way that was not at all perfect, and instead crooked and flawed and everything that she so loved about him.
Eldarion quietly cleared his throat before asking, "And what about you?"
"And what about me?" Buffy returned, her brow arched at the young king.
"While you voiced your concern over Mother's safety and denounced her traveling on her own, I have not heard the same concern for your own safety for your return trip to Edoras and along the Great West Road to Osgiliath," he explained with quiet patience. The man leaned back in his chair, the wood protesting the weight of his tall, lean frame as he steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "For mighty shield-maiden though you are, the fact remains that it is not safe to travel alone with no one to watch your back when you sleep. And Buffy, even you cannot make such a trip without taking your respite."
Buffy sighed dramatically as she heaved herself against Legolas' side, his arm slipping comfortably around her shoulder. "And what would you propose?" she asked with no little trepidation, already imagining the troupe of Gondorian soldiers that the king would have waiting for her in Edoras, ready to escort her safely back to Gondor's lands.
"Why doesn't the lass just meet up with me in Edoras after her trip to the Lonely Wood?" Gimli suggested as he barged into their rooms with the ease of familiarity - obviously having caught just enough of the conversation to announce his presence in his usual manner: gruff declaration. It had been decades since the dwarf had last knocked before entering their chambers, and his abrupt entrance barely slowed the debate as Eldarion nodded his concession to the dwarf's suggestion.
"Edoras?" Buffy questioned, an image easily coming to mind of the windswept plains of Rohan and their capital city, a town built upon a hill in the valley of the White Mountains, with Meduseld, the Golden Hall topping it like a shining yellow cap. It was in that same hall that Buffy first met Aragorn, Arwen, Éomer and Lothíriel so many years ago.
"Yes - an easy meeting point," Gimli agreed as he moved further into the room and settled into another open chair. The wood groaned alarmingly at the weight of his short but heavy frame, but continued to hold as it always did. "I plan to head out tomorrow for Aglarond in order to tie up my affairs, and I can easily enjoy the hospitality of Rohan until your arrival."
"The trip from Lothlórien to Edoras is over land," Buffy mused. "No highway means a pretty small chance of encountering highway robbers. Plus, on my own I can make that trip in under a week, easy," she added as she turned to Eldarion for approval.
"A sound plan," the young king agreed with a sharp slap to his knees as he made to rise. He beckoned the dwarf to follow him to the door. "I will send a few attendants down to assist you with your final packing and preparations. Mother wishes to leave at first light of the morn," he called over his shoulder as king and dwarf left the slayer and elf to their quiet rooms.
Buffy shifted on the comfortable sofa, overwhelmed by all that needed to be done before tomorrow's sudden deadline, and yet resistant to the idea of actually moving from her comfy spot snuggled up to the elf that sat so quiet and still beside her.
Too quiet.
Too still.
She turned her head to the side, her neck arching back until she could see the sharp curve of Legolas' chin, the hint of one pale cheek, and the corner of his eye as he stared at their empty fireplace. "Hey, you're okay with this, right?" she asked as she nudged his side with her pointed shoulder.
As though reminded of her presence, Legolas turned away from whatever thoughts had captivated him and looked down at her with a soft, fond smile. "Of course, melethin," he assured. "There is nothing now that I could deny Arwen, and if it is you that she has requested, it is you then that she shall receive. Provided, of course, that you hurry back to me," he amended, his arm tightening around her shoulders.
"While I can't rush the journey to Lothlórien, I can promise you that I will fly the whole way home," Buffy vowed. Her smile brightened as she surged up, twisting fast and quick in a way that was all slayer flexibility and speed, until she was straddling the startled elf, one hand lightly resting on each shoulder. She bent forward and caught his lips in a sweet kiss before pulling back just a fraction, so that her breath ghosted over his parted mouth. "Just make sure you don't leave without me," she murmured as his large hands lifted to cup the sides of her face and pull her forward into a kiss that was decidedly less chaste.
His lips were dry and slightly cold, but his tongue was warm and his mouth was hot as their tongues dueled for a long moment before he pulled back to reveal startling blue eyes that were all but lost beneath the wide black of his blown pupils. "U-gwannathan ir deridh," he murmured fervently before abandoning the couch, his hands now firmly planted on her butt as she wrapped her legs tight around his waist for the journey from the sitting room to their bedroom. She made sure to kick the bedroom door closed behind them, all while his promise rang in her ears.
"I will not depart while you remain."
Six-score years past, Arwen Evenstar, fairest of all elven kind, entered the city of Men amidst much fanfare and celebration, surrounded by so many of her kin. Six-score years later she left as a pale wretch in solemn silence, with no more than Buffy Summers as her escort, and none but her family and friends to see her off.
"It feels like forever I watch her leave," Legolas noted from his spot upon the embrasure, the long, jagged ledge of stone that jutted out from the plateau of the seventh circle of Minas Tirith and arched over the whole of the city. The pale morning light burned from where the sun crept over the Ephel Dúath, the mountains of Mordor, and bathed the world in the building warmth of the coming day. Gimli stood beside him, and from their vantage point Legolas could see where Eldarion stood on top of the first gate, overlooking the Pelennor Fields, and further down to where Buffy's chestnut mare led the way out of the city's gates and onto the Great West Road that would take her and Arwen to Lothlórien.
"Not for long," Gimli assured in his deep, gravely voice - a strange balm that soothed his ragged spirit in this city of men that was now devoid of the one man that brought warmth to the cold stone. "Soon there will never again be a reason to part from your slayer. Provided, of course, that you can somehow manage to build your ship," the dwarf added, the mellow taunt causing the elf's lips to twitch.
"Why Gimli, you surprise me with your baseless concerns," Legolas returned as he lifted his hand in farewell, knowing that even Buffy's keen sight would be unable to see the movement, yet somehow feeling better for having made the gesture. "Is it fear that makes you doubt so?"
"Fear?" Gimli grumped, fidgeting restlessly beside his taller companion as both males watched Buffy and Arwen's seemingly slow progress. "For the seas or for your questionable ability to build a sea-worthy boat? Either I would deem acceptable."
"Questionable ability?" Legolas snarked as his spine stiffened in pretend offense. "I will have you know that a wood-elf never lacks in ability, especially when concerning the art of woodcraft. And it is a ship, not a boat," he added with a sniff of disdain.
"Ship, boat - it makes no difference if you lack the ability to build one," Gimli barked, his beard quivering in his strain to keep his smile at bay.
"And there you go again with your questions of ability," Legolas groused as he finally turned from his vigil to glower down at his friend. "Would you rather we leave the crafting of this grand ship to the dwarves? And what then? You would craft us a ship of stone and we would promptly sink to the bottom of the sea!"
"Hrumph. If sink we must, at least then we would do so in a solid ship of frozen, timeless beauty instead of a ratty, weak-"
"Weak!"
To Be Continued
