Without, Part 26
The sun shone brightly the next morning. The
birds sang, their gentle tunes wafting lightly on the air; the squirrels chirruped
as they stocked their larders with nuts and the stream burbled merrily as it
flowed by. A sweet breeze undulated through the blossoming trees, and fruit
bowed their branches low. It was idyllic; it was perfection.
It might have been the bowels of hell and
raining a plague of locusts for all the cheer in Elessar’s group that day.
One by one, as each awoke, they evidenced
great distress over the perfectly clear memories they had of their actions the
previous night. Haldir rose first; without a word, he strode off into the trees
without looking back. Elessar stumbled over to Arwen and dropped to his knees
before her, burying his face in her lap like a penitent and entreating her
forgiveness. Boromir said little, just a muttered litany of “I’m sorry,” to
Dawn, but his eyes were haunted. Dawn herself only clutched at him, when she
wasn’t shooting anxious glances at Arwen, that is.
And Arwen… she was calm. Perfectly,
flawlessly, beautifully calm. It’s easy to be calm, you see, when one has spent
the better part of the night planning the utter decimation of one’s foes. It
was she who directed the others to pack up their meagre camp; it was she who
declared they would now search for the missing Haldir; it was she who came
between his knives and the fallen log he was systematically hewing into
matchsticks and informed him it was time to continue their march.
“They have found Corinne,” she told them
then. “She and one other. She has been wounded—“ Haldir’s eyes gained another
layer of misery at this news— “but not badly, and will survive.”
“Who is this other?” Boromir asked, ever
distrustful of newcomers.
“He is known to Dagnir, a vampire from her
home world,” Arwen replied. “He has protected Corinne, and treated her injury.”
Dawn gasped sharply as wild hope flared
within her, pushing aside the horror and embarrassment that had threatened to
choke her since waking up. “Spike?” she asked, voice quavering. “Is it Spike?”
“I do not know his name, just that Dagnir
trusts him, even if the others do not,” Arwen said. “And Legolas is jealous;
Dagnir and the vampire had a… warm reunion, Radagast tells me.”
“She’d only be happy to see two vampires,”
Dawn reasoned to herself. “Angel or Spike, and Angel’s dead, so it must be
Spike!” Her voice rose in volume until by the end of the sentence she was
practically shrieking. Joy and excitement filled her-- whatever was happening,
Spike would fix it. He always had, sense of failure about Buffy’s death aside.
“It must be Spike,” she repeated, smiling up
into Boromir’s face as they once more began to follow the path they’d been on
since descending the mountain. He tried bravely to summon an answering smile,
but it was rather shaky around the edges and she gave him a one-armed hug,
knowing him to still be upset about… last night.
As the hours passed, it became clear that
there was an unspoken agreement to never mention it, ever again, but a fire was
burning in their eyes, and a new determination tautened their nerves.
Violated by Aker not once, but twice now, Haldir
was nearly incandescent with a blind and barbaric fury. Almost thoroughly
incapable of civil speech, Arwen had exiled him to the rear of the group and he
now stomped along behind them, and woe betide any hapless flora or fauna that
came near him: already he’d killed enough rabbits for both luncheon and dinner,
and it was only mid-morning.
Radagast had contacted Arwen, demanding to
know more about what had happened when she’d so distressedly begged for help,
but she had refused to part with any information other than the bare minimum.
“He says we must return to the mountain,” she informed her group.
“Will we encounter once more the forces that
have… manipulated us?” Elessar asked, his voice husky with apprehension.
“I hope not,” Dawn said fervently. Boromir
only gripped her hand more tightly.
They walked. Once past the clearing where
they’d nearly ravished each other the previous night and nothing seemed to
possess or overwhelm them, they allowed themselves to relax marginally. Boromir
actually ventured a tiny smile at his wife, and the rigid set to Arwen’s
shoulders shifted to a slightly less tense set.
Only Haldir remained edgy, and so when the
first arrow narrowly missed Elessar’s head, was perfectly primed to turn and
nock his own arrow in one smooth movement. “Sniper,” he growled, crouching
slightly as his grey eyes flew over the surrounding area. The meadow through
which they travelled was ringed by trees over a half-mile away; only an elf
would have been able to achieve such accuracy at such distance. Unless…
Faint laughter caught his attention; he saw
by the way Arwen came alert that she’d heard it as well. A breeze sighed past
him, causing the sleeve of his tunic to flutter, and the air around him
shimmered for the barest moment. Was that the sound of…?
“Hooves,” Boromir whispered, looked round at
the others, his gaze sliding quickly off Haldir to rest on Elessar. “Did you
hear hooves?”
Gondor’s king nodded shortly, eyes scanning
the grasses around them for some hint of what was happening. There was a flash
of white and black and brown behind
Dawn, and they all whirled to face it, but it was gone. The sound of hoofbeats
came from the right of Haldir, and they turned to it, but after the merest impression
of something curving gracefully, there was nothing but the whispering wind
before another arrow came at them, this time sinking into the dead-centre of
Boromir’s shield.
“They but toy with us,” he said, his voice
tapering to a higher octave when something rushed by him and he shuffled quickly
away from it.
Haldir turned to face Elessar, eyes narrowed
and lethal. “I am well and truly finished being the toy of Aker,” he stated,
and the next time the air blurred in his vicinity he loosed his own arrow at
it.
In a flash, there appeared a figure before
them, facing away so all they could see was the extremely tall build and
slender hips wrapped in some pale gauzy material. The head seemed bent low, as
if bowed in sorrow. A thin, strappy jeweled armband tinkled merrily when the
figure’s hand came up and snatched Haldir’s arrow from the air just before it
would strike.
It turned to face them, lifting its head
proudly, and they saw that before them stood a female. The strap of her quiver
lay between small bare breasts with chocolate-brown nipples, and she loosely
held at her side a bow banded with many bright colours. The head of a gazelle
rose gracefully from slim and muscular shoulders, crowned by a magnificent set
of black antlers, their arc fluid as they curled back from her brow. The narrow
face and elongated ears managed to convey a sense of alert malice as the mouth
drew back in a surprisingly human smirk.
“Satet,” Dawn whispered in awe and fear from
behind Boromir, clutching fistfuls of his overtunic as she peeped over his
shoulder. “Patroness of archers. Oh, shit.”
“You are gifted among elves,” Satet
addressed Haldir, her voice nowhere near human-sounding, seeming to consist
more of scratchy raspings, “but how will you fare against a goddess?” She
raised her bow, effortlessly nocking and sighting down an arrow at him.
“Haldir, do not,” Elessar warned him, but
the elf was beyond counsel at that point.
“I think the question, madam, is how you
will fare against a march-warden,” Haldir replied coolly, arms a blur of motion
as he aimed his own bow at her. For a long, endless moment they stood there,
arrow-points trained between the other’s eyes, until the twang of a third
bowstring drew the attention of both. Satet whirled to aim at Arwen, but the
elleth’s arrow struck her in the joint of her shoulder, causing her bow to drop
from numbing fingers.
“Bold,” Satet said admiringly, and removed
the arrow from her flesh. Before their eyes, it healed good as new, and Satet
flexed her fingers experimentally to test their recovery. “But I am bolder.” She
motioned to her bow and it flew up from the ground to fit itself into her hand,
and quicker than the eye could see, fired off a shot at Arwen.
“No,” Elessar cried hoarsely, and tried to
put himself between the missile and his wife, but Satet’s speed could not be
beaten—the arrow struck Arwen’s slender body with such force that she was flung
backwards a good ways, landing hard on her back. She did not move again.
Another arrow struck Satet, this time in the
throat—Haldir’s. As she was removing it, Elessar turned with a feral gleam of
rage in his eyes and sprang at her, Andúril held aloft for a mighty killing
blow, Boromir and and Dawn right behind
him.
Satet’s legs seemed to morph, her knees to
bend the other way and her feet to shorten into cloven hooves, and she sprang
easily out of the way of her attackers, landing lightly a dozen yards away. Her
eyes, dark and liquid, gazed upon them almost pityingly. “It is to my great
displeasure that I must do this,” Satet said, “for it is clear you are all
beings of great courage.”
Boromir groped frantically for Dawn,
thrusting her behind him, and took the arrow meant for her as well as his own. They
pierced him through the midriff and chest with such force they emerged from his
back, and one punctured Dawn’s shoulder. Skewered together so, both tumbled to
the ground as a green pinpoint of energy began to grow above them.
“Intriguing,” Satet rasped at the sight, springing
effortlessly away from Elessar when he charged her, and firing off an arrow in
mid-leap that struck him directly between the clavicles. He halted as suddenly
as if he’d struck a wall, dropping heavily to the ground, and Haldir was alone.
He matched her strike at Elessar with one of
his own, firing repeatedly and with perfect accuracy as Satet leapt about on
her gazelle’s legs, anticipating her movements and hitting his target each
time; by the time he was out of arrows, he’d got her in each limb, the throat,
chest, belly, and pubis, but each time the goddess gasped the shaft of the
arrow in one hand and wrenched it free; immediately, the wound closed up and
healed, flesh and fur knitting flawlessly.
“Excellent,” she told Haldir when he dropped
his now-useless bow and unsheathed his daggers. “Truly formidable. Were you on
the other side of this conflict, I would take you as my student.” She took a
step forward on her hooves and gazed speculatively at him. “That is still a
possibility.”
“Were you on the other side of this
conflict, I would be honoured,” he ground out. “But as it is, you must kill me,
for never shall I join with you and your foul master in taking Aman.”
Satet tilted her bestial head to one side,
surveying him closely. “A pity,” she said at last, and nocked another arrow,
but instead of aiming it at him, she spun and let it fly toward the body that
hurtled from the green portal that had grown while they’d spoken.
“Ow,” said Buffy, looking down at the arrow
protruding from her stomach. Eyes searching her surroundings, she saw Haldir
staring at her, his face anguished. “I hate being gut-shot.” She staggered forward
a few steps before falling to the ground. “Dawnie,” she murmured, managing to touch
her sister’s cheek before dying.
“Dagnir!” howled Gimli as he burst from the
portal and saw her prostrate form on the trampled grass; he barely managed to
fling his axe at Satet before her arrow lodged in his groin. Legolas said
nothing, but his face was a beautiful, terrible thing as he began to empty his
quiver into the strange being standing before them. With a rather equine laugh,
Satet began to bound about again, almost dancing as she picked her way
delicately through the growing number of strewn bodies.
Spike hurtled out into the meadow, took one
look at Buffy’s lifeless body, and let out a fearsome howl. Dumping Corinne
back off him, he flung himself with dizzying speed toward Satet, nimbly dodging
the arrows with which Legolas and now Thranduil pummeled her, and leapt onto
her. Changing to game-face in mid-leap, he sank his fangs past her fur into her
throat and clung limpet-like as she strove to free herself of him.
Radagast raised his staff and began muttering
in a low voice. The ground under Satet’s feet began to rumble, and then in a
rush surged upward to encase her from the waist down in what looked like brown
cement. The meadow’s thick grasses seemed to come alive and began to undulate and
creep around her until her arms were firmly trapped against her sides. Spike
released her and staggered back, trying desperately to regain his footing.
Corinne came cautiously forward and pulled his arm around her shoulder to brace
him as those left alive encircled her, weapons at the ready.
Haldir pushed his way to her and placed his
blades against her throat. Staring deeply into her eyes, he said, “Save them.”
The goddess struggled against her bonds. “I
cannot,” she gasped as Radagast made the grasses squeeze her more tightly. “Naught
I can do.”
“She lies,” Thranduil stated flatly. He
stood to the side, arrow trained smack between her eyes, arms rock-solid as he
held the bow drawn.
“Anything can happen here,” Haldir said. “The
impossible is possible in this land; make it so, goddess, else you will find
yourself in pieces.” He pressed his daggers closer; all it needed was a single
flick of his wrists and her head would be separated from her body.
Satet closed her eyes a moment, and Radagast’s
face sharpened. “She speaks to Aker,” he muttered.
When she opened her eyes again, there was
fear in them. “Aker agrees you shall have another chance against me, as many as
you need,” she murmured breathlessly. “He feels this is great sport, watching
you die time and again.”
“Game?” Spike demanded from where he knelt
by Buffy’s and Dawn’s bodies. “This was just a game to him?”
“I want to remember,” Haldir demanded, and
this time his blades drew thin lines of scarlet that stained the buff-coloured
fur of Satet’s throat. “I want to remember.”
“And so you shall,” she replied, “for you
are worthy of my favour.” The expression in her eyes changed to regret. “A
pity, elf,” she told him. “Your ruthlessness would have made you a fine student…
even consort. It is not yet too late… you are sure? You are determined to fight
me, rather than join me? For I would make you a god.”
A muscle flickered in Haldir’s jaw. “I am
sure,” he replied, and with a jerk, decapitated her.
***
They walked. Once past the clearing where
they’d nearly ravished each other the previous night and nothing seemed to
possess or overwhelm them, they allowed themselves to relax marginally. Boromir
actually ventured a tiny smile at his wife, and the rigid set to Arwen’s
shoulders shifted to a slightly less tense set.
Only Haldir remained edgy, and so when the
first arrow narrowly missed Elessar’s head, was perfectly primed to turn and
nock his own arrow in one smooth movement. “Sniper,” he growled, crouching
slightly as his grey eyes flew over the surrounding area. The meadow through
which they travelled was ringed by trees over a half-mile away; only an elf
would have been able to achieve such accuracy at such distance. Unless…
Faint laughter caught his attention; he saw
by the way Arwen came alert that she’d heard it as well. A breeze sighed past
him, causing the sleeve of his tunic to flutter, and the air around him
shimmered for the barest moment. Was that the sound of…?
“Hooves,” Boromir whispered, looked round at
the others, his gaze sliding quickly off Haldir to rest on Elessar. “Did you
hear hooves?”
Gondor’s king nodded shortly, eyes scanning
the grasses around them for some hint of what was happening. There was a flash
of white and black and brown behind
Dawn, and they all whirled to face it, but it was gone. The sound of hoofbeats
came from the right of Haldir, and they turned to it, but after the merest impression
of something curving gracefully, there was nothing but the whispering wind
before another arrow came at them, this time sinking into the dead-centre of
Boromir’s shield.
“They but toy with us,” he said, his voice
tapering to a higher octave when something rushed by him and he shuffled quickly
away from it.
Haldir turned to face Elessar, eyes narrowed
and lethal. “I am well and truly finished being the toy of Aker,” he stated,
and grabbed Dawn’s wrist.
Boromir started in alarm, but something in
Haldir’s face halted him. “What are you doing?” he settled for demanding.
“What needs to be done,” Haldir replied. Pushing
back Dawn’s sleeve, he drew blood from her forearm with the point of his arrow
and smiled viciously when a portal began to expand in the air where the blood
dripped. “The others will come; between us, we shall defeat her.”
Elessar frowned. “Defeat whom?” he asked. “How
is it you know these things?”
Haldir released Dawn and turned to where he
knew Satet would appear. “Another time, I will tell you, Elessar,” he answered
the king. “If we survive.” With a sigh, he fired his bow, and Satet
materialized to snatch the arrow from the air.
“You are gifted among elves,” Satet
addressed Haldir, her voice nowhere near human-sounding, seeming to consist
more of scratchy raspings, “but how will you fare against a goddess?” She
raised her bow, effortlessly nocking and sighting down an arrow at him.
“Haldir, do not,” Elessar warned him, but
the elf was beyond counsel at that point.
“I think the question, madam, is how you will fare against a Slayer,” Haldir replied coolly, arms a blur of motion as he aimed his own bow at her. At his words, her eyes widened in alarm and a tiny part of his brain noted it; what about a Slayer could give a goddess such pause? For a long, endless moment they stood there, arrow-points trained between the other’s eyes, until Buffy tumbled from the portal.