1. Chapter 1

**Equinoxium II: The Fading: Chapter 1  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** The television series, _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ and _Angel_, and all related characters and material, as well as all things _Lord of the Rings_ belong to a lot of important people. I am not one of these people. I claim ownership solely of the story idea - no profit will be made by this.

**Author's Note:** This is the sequel to Equinoxium, and I'm afraid that none of it will make sense unless you've read the previous story. As always, it is a Buffy-character-centric story, and it picks up some time after the first installment. Just a reminder that when it comes to everything LoTR, this story takes place after the events of Return of the King, the third book in the _Lord of the Ring_ series. As I've read all of the books, I'll be trying to stick as close to canon as I can. However Tolkien leaves many things very vague which allows me to 'stray' a bit to fit things into my own interpretation.

In addition, I want to give a huge thank you to my amazing new husband. I'm not sure if I would have made the switch back over from avid fanfiction reader to writer were it not for his enthusiastic support. He's a stalwart fan of all things Joss Whedon, and manages to share in all of my other fiction obsessions. He also makes me print out each and every chapter so that he can beta them with red pen in hand.

Lastly, I want to give a huge shout-out to everyone who took the time to ford their way through Equinoxium sometime over the past five years - and in some cases, reading through it multiple times. It was thanks to your continued interest that this sequel has finally left the ground and has made it back into my life. A fair warning - this story is very much a Work In Progress. My husband encouraged me to post this long-finished first chapter as a teaser of sorts, but I won't start posting in earnest until more of the story is complete. I've learned my lesson with past projects and I'm going to try and avoid leaving you hanging for months at a time in between updates. But let me know what you think of this first chapter. Your interest is, as always, my main motivation. Thank you!

**Brief Description:** BtVS/LoTR/Angel – "Didn't you know? There's no such thing as happy endings for heroes. Hard choices will always have to be made, even after the fight is over. The best we can hope for is the ability to find peace with what we've done and what we have left when the dust finally settles."

**Rating:** M for Language, Violent Content, Nudity, and Sex. Yes, you heard right. Sex - but not of the graphic variety. Merely on the PG-13 scale for I just can't do smut. :)

* * *

**Equinoxium II: The Fading**

_The grass was so thick that it felt like a mossy cushion beneath the pads of her bare feet. She was unable to resist the soft allure, and so she locked her knees and rocked from heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to toe. Her toes, long and nimble like small fingers, curled and dug and nosed their way amongst the long blades, seeking but never finding the cool dirt hidden beneath._

_A small laugh escaped her - as sudden and gentle as the wind that brushed feather-light fingers against cheeks that were bronzed by the sun. But the sound of her laughter startled her, and she lifted her hazel eyes to find a world suffused with golden light. Large, majestic trees stood sentry over her small clearing, stretching as far as her eyes could see. Their softly swaying canopies filtered the sunlight so far above and serenaded her with nature's symphony. Before her stood her mother's house, uprooted from Revello Drive and seamlessly blended with the forest. Tree trunks surged up from the roof, branches slipped through windows and walls, and the glass glowed with amber light._

_The light distracted her, mesmerized her, and when she finally pulled herself away it was to find that the clearing, once quiet and empty, was now alive with sound and movement._

_Faramir and Xander stepped out the front door, arms laden with brightly wrapped toys and games, and were promptly met by a chattering, ragtag group of children: humans, elves, and those somewhere in-between._

_Éowyn was sitting in a wicker rocking chair, young and beautiful and cradling Boromir to her chest, while Willow and Tara tried to tickle a smile from the infant._

_Finduilas led her siblings in a game of tag, Eldarion joining the motley crew with Gimli roaring and chasing after the young prince, much to the screaming delight of all the children._

_Aragorn, Arwen, Giles and Angel lounged on a blanket, a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken and a plate of lembas between them._

_The twin sons of Elrond were helping her mother set a picnic table for lunch, but Mirdan and Anya kept interrupting with questions._

_Legolas and Dawn were perched on a branch that grew out of the second story of the house, smiling and laughing as Legolas tried to show her sister how to string his bow._

_Faith, Thoron, Kendra, Merry, Andrew, Pippin, Spike, Riley - even her father._

_Everyone was there. Everyone was together. Everyone was _happy_ - and Buffy felt that happiness as it infused her with a comforting warmth that spread through her body like a heady rush. She had the ground beneath her, the sky above her, and her friends around her. In this moment, Buffy wanted for nothing, and would never want again as she went to take that first step forward towards bliss - towards happiness -_

_- and couldn't._

_"Didn't you know? There's no such thing as happy endings for heroes."_

_Buffy turned from the sun-dappled clearing and looked towards herself with eyes that were suddenly shadowed. It was like looking in a mirror, for this Buffy, too, was dressed in summer pastels from the coral skirt to the white cotton top, her blonde hair pulled up in a pony tail and her skin freshly scrubbed. When Buffy lifted a hand to brush a strand of hair from her face, so did this double. When Buffy looked back towards her friends and family, from the corner of her eye she saw that so, too, did this double. "Why not?" she asked, hating the question and already knowing the answer. After all, this alter-Buffy was still Buffy. It was her own question that she asked, and her own question that she answered._

_"Because unlike in stories, while the guy may get the girl and the villain may be defeated, in this life, in this world, there's still no happily ever after for people like us. For heroes. For champions. Hard choices will always have to be made, even after the fight is over, and the consequences will always be felt. The best that we can hope for is the ability to find peace and acceptance with what we've done and the choices we've made, and most importantly, with what we have left when the dust finally settles."_

_"And if we can't?" Buffy asked, but this time she didn't bother waiting for her alter-Buffy to answer a question to which she already knew the answer. Instead, she looked once more at the scene that was spread before her. She took one last moment to soak up the peace, the serenity, and the happiness. There was love here. Warmth. Contentment. She breathed it in - soaked it up._

_And then she closed her eyes and turned away._

_"We have no choice."_

* * *

It was the wind that woke her from the dream that continually haunted her nights, the taste of tears heavy upon her lips. With a sigh and a cat-like stretch, she shifted upon the soft mattress, luxuriating in the feel of the cool sheets against her bare skin as the spring breeze caught her sleep-matted hair and tickled it against her nose. Instinctively she reached a hand to her side, searching for the elusive warmth that had been pressed against her nearly every night for the past ninety years, only to find the bed empty and cold beside her.

A frown flitting across features untouched by age, Buffy opened her heavy eyes and stared for a moment at the fine weaving of the canopy overhead before pushing herself forward, the bedclothes pooling around her naked form. Her sharp sight diligently searched the moonlit talan before finally alighting on the softly glowing outline that stood as still as a statue beyond the parted curtains of the open balcony, so many feet above the forest floor below.

Frown deepening, Buffy pushed away the tangled sheets and blankets and slid from the high bed, the cool night air caressing her naked flesh and causing her to shiver with cold before she slipped on an oversized shirt that lay strewn over a nearby chair. Small arms wrapping around herself for added warmth, she then moved silently towards the wood-elf, her bare feet padding over wood worn smooth with decades of use.

She knew that he was aware of her movements, and yet he didn't turn as she parted the gossamer-thin curtain and crossed the distance to him, her body molding against his back as she wrapped her arms around his slender waist, her face nuzzling the pale skin. He leaned into her touch, then, and she felt his arms encircle her own as the quiet night washed over her. Even now, so many years since she had first come to live in these woods, the sounds of the shifting trees and the movements of the night animals sounded so strange and foreign to her, even as she knew that these noises were what comforted the battered soul of the elf to which she was bound.

They were alone now in these woods, and had been for many decades. Ever since the War of the Ring, the elves had long been leaving these shores for the promise of the Undying Lands. The time of the Elves was over, and the time of Men had begun with the victory of that great battle. For numbered years the war with the Dark-Elves, the _Mornedhel_, had delayed the passing of many an elf, but once the last battle had been fought, and the final dark-elf destroyed, they found their reason for delay to be gone, and with nothing left to tie them to these shores the elves began to depart in greater waves. Soon, only she and her wood-elf were left in the vibrant woods of Ithilien - the beautifully-wrought talans long empty, the many walkways abandoned, and year by year the forest retook what was hers, forever encroaching with twisting vines and heavy boughs. Even Círdan the Shipwright was gone from these shores, having finally set sail to Valinor with the twin sons of Elrond nearly one year past.

One year.

It was amazing how one year used to seem as an eternity when she was young. How could it be that there was once a time when being dead for five months had seemed an entire lifetime? Now she knew the true meaning of time, for this winter had marked her one hundred and thirty-sixth birthday. One hundred and thirty-six years. Decades had come and gone, and despite the many battles and hardships, gray hairs had never crept into her long blonde tresses, lines had never come to her smooth features, and age had yet to bow her strong back. She was no elf, and yet she seemed to have been gifted with the life span of the _eldar_.

Gifted.

As if her longevity had been a gift from the Powers That Be for the many years of service that she had given them, or for the many sacrifices she had made during her tenure as Slayer. With a mental shake of her head, Buffy knew without doubt that they were not the reason for her long life. Instead, she continued to believe that it was the power that coursed through her veins that made her the way that she was. It was the power of the Slayer that gave her long life.

She was not invincible. No, never that. Yet if her blood gave her the power to heal the bodies of creatures long bent and twisted, then surely it gave her the power to heal herself - to even heal herself from the effects of age. She had never before heard of an old slayer - most, if not all, never made it beyond their first few years of being called. Perhaps if they hadn't been destroyed so young, perhaps if there was nothing left to fight... perhaps they would live for eternity.

It was a thought that she had long ago come to accept with no little trepidation. It had taken her first death at the hands of the Master for her to overcome youth's belief that death was a far-off villain, and yet it had still taken sending Angel to Hell for her to completely understand, and moreover, _accept_ the fact that she would not live forever. More than likely, she wouldn't even live to see her high school graduation. But then graduation had come, and so she had been forced to revise her earlier estimations.

Twenty.

If she lived to see twenty, then she would be content. And yet her twentieth birthday had come and gone, but before she had a chance to congratulate herself too much on that small accomplishment, death had finally come to claim her as its own. Glory had failed to defeat her. _Life_ had defeated her, and in doing so, she forfeited its cruel gift and gladly accepted her death.

But death was not to be hers.

Her friends tore her out of heaven. They pulled her back into the violent world she had denied, and yet after a year of mourning that which had been taken, Buffy had learned to embrace the second chance that she had been given. But from that point on she no longer lived with expectations. No longer did she pick an age and say, _Here. If I reach this age then life is good and I can die in peace_. Death had already taken her twice before, and while the first time she was the one to turn away, the second was meant to last. But death had reluctantly spit her back and Buffy then lived each day with the understanding that she was on borrowed time - and that someday she would have to repay that debt in full.

Then again, she had been wrong before.

One hundred and fourteen years later and Buffy couldn't help but think that maybe Death, bookie extraordinaire, had somehow allowed this one great debt to slip through his fingers. Maybe for good this time. Not that she had been that willing and eager to accept this seeming gift of longevity. She had been burned too many times before, and so she had been cautious - even when her heart had been hopelessly lost to the one person that had never left her side in this new world.

For twenty-four years Buffy ignored the way her body thrummed when he was beside her. For twenty-four years she pretended not to see the way his eyes would soften when their gazes met. For twenty-four years she resisted the desire to let her hand linger upon his own. If she faltered even once, she knew that she would be lost for eternity - and eternity was all that he had. For twenty-four years she told herself that she did this to protect herself, as well as him, for she knew well from her relationship with Angel that loving a mortal is much different than being in love with a mortal. She would find years of happiness with him before selfishly taking that happiness to her grave, while he in turn would be left to mourn her for the rest of eternity. And eternity, as she was coming to understand, was a very, very long time.

It took twenty-four years for her to understand that her reasons were nothing more than the actions of a woman who was desperately trying to shield her heart from a pain that may never come, but which was still well-remembered. She had been hurt too many times before, and so she had seized upon this brave and noble excuse to keep him at bay. But after twenty-four years her longevity was impossible to ignore, her cowardly excuses shown for what they were, and with his next friendly embrace, Buffy didn't break away in her usual manner. Instead she had stayed in those strong, familiar arms, and as her eyes met his she saw that he had known. He had long known of his love for her, and of her love for him, but in his love he had waited patiently for her to overcome her fears and finally accept the happiness that was theirs to take. He had time, after all. They both did.

It was only too bad that even the greatest of happiness could always be marred by the greatest of sadness.

"Legolas?" Buffy murmured as she finally broke the comfortable silence that had fallen between them. It was a silence that could stretch from morning to night, uninterrupted save by the sound of the wind through the great trees, and by the many small animals and wild beasts that populated the woods of their empty home.

With a sigh that spoke of the troubled thoughts that took him from their bed, the tall elf turned ever so slightly and pulled her around until she was pressed against his chest, her head finding the spot she knew so well as her body molded itself against his hard planes. Her arms snaked around his naked torso and she felt his warmth seep into her chilled body as he enveloped her against him. Yet while she felt his lips brush against the crown of her head, the kiss soft and tender and speaking of the great love he held for her, she felt her worry deepen.

"You are cold," he murmured, his musical voice a low murmur against the curve of her ear as his hot breath eased the chill away.

"Not any more," she argued as her heart fluttered uneasily in her chest. While his warmth comforted her, there was a heaviness in him that dragged him down from the heady heights in which he walked and talked and lived and loved, and into the somber world of mortals. Ninety years was a long time to spend with someone, and over the years she had learned to read him, not from the inscrutable mask that he and his kind so often wore, but from the way that he held her, the way he kissed her, or even the way he made love to her. "Legolas, what's wrong?" she asked, pulling away just enough to look up into his shadowed eyes - eyes that were somber and still, and filled with so much pain that her heart ached for whatever melancholy had stolen him from their bed.

For a moment he held her gaze before slowly turning away to stare into the quiet night. But his eyes didn't see the woods of their home, and instead he seemed to look beyond the trees that had thrived beneath the loving touch of the _eldar_ that had lived under his guidance, past the surging river Anduin that divided the woods from the open plains of the Pelennor Fields, and to the very gates of Minas Tirith that would be gleaming white beneath the bright light of the many stars. It was then, and only then that Buffy noticed the dimness of the wood-elf's naturally luminescent skin - and without a word, she understood that which had roused the elf from his sleep.

"Aragorn?" she murmured, the name of the elf's closest mortal friend causing a shudder to wrack his thin frame and tears to spring to her eyes. She had been gifted one hundred and thirty-six years, and one hundred and fourteen of those years had been spent in Middle-earth. Sunnydale and all of the friends that she had been forced to leave behind were as much a part of her now as they had ever been. While she had trouble remembering every detail of life with them, she could still remember her mom's smile, Giles' touch, Xander's laugh and Willow's bubbling voice, and the feel of Dawn being held in her arms. She remembered well the love of Angel and Spike and Riley, Anya's cutting wit and Tara's uncompromising warmth. Faith, the Potentials, and even Andrew. She remembered them all, and each day she mourned their inevitable passing. But Middle-earth was her home now, and its inhabitants her people... her friends. Death had ignored her, but he had not been so forgiving to the ones she loved.

Thoron had died a brave death in the battle with the _mornedhel_ many a decade past, and in doing so had saved her life and the lives of many other elven warriors. And yet his death was the last death to violence that she had mourned, for the others all went with the slow, inevitable march of time. Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, valiant warrior and long-distant elven kin, died in his sleep only twenty-eight years after her arrival in Middle-earth, eighty-six years ago, when he was ninety-nine. Next was King Éomer of Rohan - handsome, jovial Éomer who was so close with Gimli. He died fifty-seven years ago, when he was ninety-three years old - wrinkled and gray and so very happy. His wife, the beautiful Queen Lothíriel, survived him by six years before succumbing to death's inevitable pull at the age of ninety-seven, Merry and Pippin following the year after. Even the son of Éomer and Lothíriel, little Elfwine, born three years after her arrival in Middle-earth, was dead. He died only fifteen years ago, aged ninety-six, and Rohan was now ruled by his son - a man she barely knew. Rohan was dead to her, and to Legolas as well.

Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor, and one of Legolas' closest friends, also lived on for so many happy years. When Faramir died, nearly thirty-eight years ago, he had already lived longer than most men not gifted with the ancient ancestry of the elves. One hundred and twenty years old... and still she knew that Legolas was crushed by what to him was such a fleeting life. At the time of Faramir's death, Buffy had still been mourning the passing of his wife, Éowyn, who had died five years earlier, when she was one hundred and three - and together they had mourned their close friends. Even Finduilas and Boromir the Second, a daughter and son of the steward, the two that Buffy knew best, were both dead and gone. Both children had lived long and full lives, with children of their own to fill the halls of Emyn Arnen with laughter. Barahir, Boromir's son, and grandson to Faramir and Éowyn, still lived on, and now carried the title of Steward - but even the grandson of their close friends was eighty this year, and his son was preparing to take on his father's mantle.

Buffy was mortal, barely prepared to live past her teens, and yet she had already seen the lives and deaths of three generations of families that she had much loved. The grief and pain were crippling at times, but even she could see that it was that much worse for Legolas. To mortals, time dulled and eased the pain of memories both good and bad, but to elves each memory remained as sharp as the day they were crafted. Each day Legolas felt anew the grief of each lost friend, and each day she was forced to watch as his soul became more burdened. It was for this reason that Buffy knew most elven-kind never formed close, lasting friendships with mortals. Their lives were far too fleeting and the pain too gripping for those who would live to see eternity. And yet Legolas was different. During the six hundred and eighty-one years of his life he had profited from that difference, reveling in friendships that were so unique to his kind... and now he paid the price. And he paid dearly.

Legolas' soul was consumed by grief, and Buffy knew that it was only her love for him, and the continued presence of Gimli, Aragorn and Arwen, that prevented him from fading from this life and to the Halls of Mandos. It was only in death or in the Undying Lands that he would finally find his peace - and Buffy was desperate to hold him to this life as long as humanly possible. He was all that she had, and longevity or not, she couldn't imagine a place in this world for her if not by his side.

But now that time was coming.

She didn't realize that she was shaking until Legolas tightened his hold on her small frame, holding her to him and offering her what comfort he could even as he drew the same from her tight embrace, the tears trailing unabashedly down her cold cheeks. Aragorn had celebrated his two hundred and tenth birthday just a few months past, and for someone who was not blessed with immortality, the king of the Reunited Kingdom had weathered his long years very well. Buffy had thought that he looked his usual handsome, charming self, but Legolas had later confided that he had been troubled by the white that marked his friend's ebony locks, and by the deep lines that cut his weathered face. Only then had Buffy seen what Legolas could not admit: Aragorn looked tired. It took just one look to Arwen's pale, pensive features to see her fears confirmed.

Suddenly Elrohir and Elladan's departure the year before began to make sense. The twins had finally chosen the gift of immortality, as was their right, and had departed just the year before. At the time, Buffy hadn't been able to understand why they would leave then, when they could still have what time remained with their sister and brother-in-law. By choosing the path of immortality they had forever forsaken their time with Aragorn and Arwen. Never again would they see them, in this life or after, for their paths were now irrevocably severed. Only then, though, had she understood that the twins had already foreseen that the end was near, and so they chose to leave with their memories undiminished by sadness or loss. Buffy envied them that respite.

She didn't ask how Legolas knew, for the bond between elf and ranger was one that she had never questioned. It was deep and long, and it stretched the distance from the quiet woods of the now-deserted elvish colony to where Aragorn ruled as Elessar over a people that loved him. The two could go weeks, and sometimes even months without seeing one another, but each time they were reunited, it was as though no time had passed at all. It was the same with Gimli, who still resided in the caves of Aglarond. The bond between the three was unbreakable.... to everything but death.

"When do we leave?" she asked, breaking the stillness with a voice that sounded hollow to her ears.

"Not until dawn's first light," he returned, his eyes slowly, reluctantly turning from the forest and the vision of Minas Tirith that lay hidden so many miles to the west. "We will have time enough for goodbyes if we ride hard and fast through the morning. Gimli will already be there, waiting for us," he returned with a certainty she didn't understand but respected nonetheless.

Heart breaking anew, Buffy slipped her arms free and captured Legolas' face between her hands, hazel eyes meeting blue. "I love you," she whispered with a fervor that spoke of their shared anguish, and then pulled his head down until their lips met in a kiss that was at first comfort and love before turning into the hurried passion of two hearts in pain. Her tears mingled with his own as she pulled back long enough to lead him into the airy confines of their room, the tall, graceful elf so lost even amongst their things. Without thought she quickly shed the borrowed shirt that she had worn, and then with the greatest care she relieved him of his breeches before pressing him back onto their bed.

She knew his heart as though it was her own, and thus his pain was theirs to share. They made love with a tenderness that she had never before known with another, slowly at first, and then with building desperation as they sought to reassure themselves that Death, indomitable foe that he was, could not claim them. Not here, not now. Though he took the ones that they loved, their love remained strong and untouched by his darkness.

Many times that night and into the easing of the darkness into light, Buffy moved against the elf that had somehow become her world. And then later, when his breathing had finally eased and his eyes became lost to waking dreams, Buffy kissed his tears away and held his head against her breast, knowing that he found comfort in the steady beat of her heart. Gently she ran her fingers through his silken locks, her legs twined with his and their bedclothes tangled around their naked forms.

"_Amin mela lle_," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss against the crown of his pale locks. "I love you," she repeated, knowing that she could never say it enough. Not ever.

**To Be Continued**


	2. Chapter 2

**Equinoxium II: The Fading: Chapter 2  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the continued support!

* * *

The next morning slayer and elf rode hard through the forests of Ithilien, across the river Anduin, and into the vast Pelennor Fields beyond. Minas Tirith rose like an alabaster beacon before them, birds of prey circling the ivory towers of a place that she had once been freely offered as home. But that had been many lifetimes ago, and though Aragorn's generosity had been borne from a heart in all of the right places, Buffy had never felt welcome in the city of Men - not after everything that she had done, and all that had been done to her within the stone circles that encased the highest tier.

The impressive gate to the first circle of the city stood open, a testament to the peace that now settled upon the lands of Middle-earth, and the guards gave way before Legolas' white stallion and her own chestnut mare as they rode quickly through the ever upward slanting streets. Already Buffy could see the odd juxtaposition of grief and joy that marked the faces of the people that filled the bustling city, and she knew that word had already spread of Aragorn's decision.

Gondor was preparing to say goodbye to their king, and in doing so they would honor him for the great services he had rendered, the sacrifices he had made, and for the love they felt for a man who had loved them, led them, saved them, and restored them to the glory of ages past. Aragorn's life was one long-lived, and so his passing would be celebrated, not mourned; but for those who loved him best, death was still a parting - and for some, that parting would be so very final.

Gimli was waiting for them at the royal stables when they reached the sixth circle. While the years had not been as kind to the aging dwarf as they had been to Buffy, his strong shoulders remained unbowed and his white beard shone beneath the bright spring light. His dark eyes, set amidst a host of deep wrinkles, met hers only briefly before they shifted past her and became locked on Legolas' slight form.

The dwarf wore his sadness like a cloak that was tempered with the steel of mortal understanding, while the archer's grief was like the ocean, vast and deep as it pressed upon his narrow shoulders and bore him down beneath its immense weight. Legolas was lost, his soul, already fractured by the loss of so many friends, was shattering before the eyes of those who loved him.

Without word the three fell into step together and began the short trek through the sixth circle, through the final guarded gate, and into the empty stone courtyard of the seventh circle, where the White Tree of Gondor drooped with heavy, fragrant blossoms. By some unspoken agreement, they paused beside the symbol of the prosperous nation, and Buffy's hand found Legolas', their fingers becoming tangled in each others fierce grips.

The silence was broken when Gimli, eying the tree with a pensive frown, nudged Legolas in the arm. "Lad, death is inevitable for we mere mortals-"

"Not now, Gimli," Legolas interrupted, his fair features creasing in pain as he turned from the tree, pulling Buffy with him as he moved towards the King's House.

"Think of it this way," Gimli persisted in his usual dwarven way as he hurried to fall into step beside them, "210 years is a long life for a Man-"

"Death is longer," Legolas returned, his broken voice dissuading the dwarf from further conversation.

With a sigh, Buffy shared a secret look with the dwarf - one made of equal parts worry, exasperation, pain, and love - before she hurried her step so that she was walking beside the elf, and not being dragged behind. As they moved through the grandly appointed hallways, servants bowing their greetings as the small party moved past, Buffy ignored the beautiful, familiar trappings of human royalty and instead surreptitiously studied the wood-elf beside her.

For years now, Buffy had begun to notice a brittle, careworn edge to the staid archer. With each mortal death the losses dug deeper, and more and more of his carefree, jovial nature were ripped free. His edges were sharper, his eyes deeper, and they now carried a sadness that was crippling to any mortal who was unlucky enough to get caught in that piercing blue gaze. All of the softness - the innocence - was burning away, and all that remained was a dogged determination to remain in this world, despite the cost, and his passion: passion for life, for friendship, for the world, and for her.

But what would happen to that wonderful, burning passion when Aragorn was dead? When Legolas' promise to remain for the King of Men had been fulfilled? Would he then remain in Middle-earth for her, and would she become that final link that tethered him to a world that brought nothing but grief and sadness to his battered frame? Or would he travel to a place where she couldn't follow?

Buffy turned away from her fierce inspection, though the elf remained uncharacteristically oblivious to her searching looks, and trained her eyes on her worn boots as they tread over the finely-decorated rug that adorned this familiar hallway. She didn't know the answers to her questions, and if she was honest with herself, she was afraid to find out.

* * *

It was hours later that somehow, despite everything that was going on and the many people that vied for the king's attentions, Buffy found herself alone with Aragorn in a quiet corner of the Queen's Gardens. The afternoon had been long and lively, filled with laughter, tears, and the quiet reminiscences between good friends. None save the king's extended family were in attendance, the court having been dismissed upon their arrival, and Buffy had watched the proceedings, had watched _Legolas_, with piercing eyes. There had been so much happiness, and Aragorn had looked so vital and alive - and with that vitality, Legolas had seemed lighter and happier. He had almost looked like the Legolas of before - the elf that had existed in an immortal world untouched by mortal death. It was a time for celebration, not mourning, but now, away from the others, Aragorn once more looked all of his 210 years as he wearily sat on a stone bench, a tired sigh escaping him. "Come, sit with me," he invited as he patted the empty space beside him.

"Are you sure you don't want me to get one of the others?" Buffy asked as she jerked a thumb back to where Gimli was acting out a story that had Eldarion and Arwen in stitches, while Legolas pretended to glower at whatever role he no doubt featured in the tale.

"No, I would like a moment to speak with you, if you would not mind," he explained with a smile that, despite the deep lines that were cut into his perpetually grizzled cheeks, still looked as charming and boyish as ever.

"Of course," Buffy returned as she swept forward, the hem of her long dress brushing against the fresh spring grass. She had changed out of her travel-stained leggings and coat hours ago, and had slipped into one of the dresses that she kept stored in the rooms that were always left open for her and Legolas. The beautiful gowns no longer felt the part of a costume that she wore to blend in with this world of kings and queens, princes and princesses, and lords and ladies. Now they felt as comfortable to her as her sturdy boots, soft leggings, warm shirts, and leather duster - a replacement of a replacement of a replacement of the original leather duster that she had first worn into this world. "What's up?"

Long accustomed to her strange phrasings, Aragorn's steady gray-eyed gaze held her as he reached for her hand and clasped it within his own - hands that were large, warm, and calloused from hard work. Hands that still spoke of a strength that had long defined the ranger-turned-king. "Buffy, I wanted to thank you again for all of your hard work and your sacrifices, for your many toils and trials, and for all that you have done for Middle-earth."

Smiling at his warm words, Buffy gently squeezed the king's hands. "Aragorn, all of the kindness and support that you've shown me these past years have been thanks enough."

"Mayhap," he agreed with a small dip of his head, "but the fact remains that I would have died long ago were it not for you. Eldarion would never have been born, and I wouldn't be leaving my kingdom in the hands of one so trusted, nor in times of such peace and happiness," he explained as his grip tightened. "You've given this to me, and at great sacrifice to yourself - and you did it for the love of a friend that is most cherished to me."

"I-"

"Oh, you may not have consciously known it at the time," Aragorn admitted with a grin, "but the foundation had already been laid. Which leads me to a favor that I must beg from you."

"A favor?" Buffy returned, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Over her many years in Middle-earth, Buffy had learned that though he was a King of Men, the fact remained that Aragorn was reared by Elrond of Imladris, and in his youth had been surrounded by Elladan and Elrohir. While the man often showed a countenance that demonstrated the grim mask of his Dúnedain kin, the fact remained that there was a mischievous nature that lurked beneath the solemn exterior.

"A very important favor that is dear to my own heart," Aragorn agreed as his eyes slipped past her and to his family - those bound by blood, marital bonds, and a friendship that burned so deep, the links were as though forged by mithril. More specifically, though, she watched as his gaze caught that of Legolas from where he leaned against a far tree, their eyes locking together before breaking away beneath Eldarion's deep, booming laugh.

"Aragorn?" Buffy queried, pulling the king away from his friend as he looked at her with solemn eyes.

"Middle-earth has become a place of death and sadness for Legolas," he stated, his stark words ringing with a truth that Buffy had long understood, bringing her back to her earlier worries and unspoken fears. "He will find no happiness or peace in these lands that he once loved, for though you cured him of his sea-longing many years ago, it exists for a reason."

"Valinor is the only place that can heal him," Buffy agreed, her eyes shifting down to their clasped hands as her heart contracted painfully. "It's the only place where he can be really happy again - where he can be healed from all of this death." And it was a place to which she couldn't follow her immortal elf. A place where no mortal, save for the ring-bearers, were allowed to tread.

"Yes," Aragorn agreed as he squeezed her hand. "And there you and Gimli must both go with him."

For a beat, Buffy didn't move - unable to process the king's solemn words. "What?" she demanded as she stared at Aragorn in disbelief.

With a mild shrug, the king looked back at his family and friends, a wistful smile pulling at his lips. "Legolas would never leave Middle-earth without you two, and in your case, that would mean trapping him in this void for all of eternity. He is the last of elven kind upon these shores. He deserves to go home to his own people, to be reunited with his family and kin.

"And we both know that you have never belonged with the race of Men here in Middle-earth."

Buffy turned from Aragorn's gaze with a stuttered sigh. He was right, of course. She had no patience for the politics of this human world, for the strange etiquette and the tiny box that human women were forced into. The elves had a more 'modern' take on the gender roles - meaning that there weren't any. An elleth, a she-elf, was just as willing, capable, and encouraged to take up the tasks of any ellon. Males and females were equal, and that fit just fine with the kind of modern society in which Buffy had been raised.

But Valinor? The Undying Lands? That was the Land O' Elves, and Buffy was pretty sure that the mortal political scene had nothing on that haven. A haven into which only the eldar were granted access.

"Aragorn, even if Ulmo allowed Legolas to sail us over his seas and land in Valinor, what's to stop the rest of the Valar from kicking our mortal butts back to Middle-earth?" Buffy demanded as she crossed her arms in exasperation. "I was told quite specifically that Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee were only permitted passage to the Undying Lands because they were ring-bearers. Gimli and I? Didn't so much bear the ring, did we?"

"No," Aragorn admitted with a wry twist to his lips, "but Gimli was one of the famed Nine Walkers, and I am confident that both Elrond and Galadriel would argue on his behalf-"

"And me?" Buffy cut in, her voice soft as she serenely folded her hands into her lap, her gaze calm and sure as she looked into his eyes and dared him to contradict her - to offer her false assurances. "I may have been a Champion back on my world, and while I tried to pull my weight here in Middle-earth, the fact remains that it was because of me that the mornedhel were even created. Who's going to argue on my behalf?"

"I will."

Startled, Buffy turned from Aragorn to find that sometime during their conversation, the others had abandoned their small circle to join Buffy and Aragorn's secluded corner. It was Legolas who had spoken, and as Buffy stood from the stone bench, he pulled her into his arms and pressed a soft kiss against her forehead.

"I will speak on your behalf," he whispered as he crushed her against the taut lines of his body, his arms twin bands of steel that encircled her slight frame and clutched her against him, as though afraid that she would somehow disappear, as had his many other friends, and leave him alone in his immortal life.

"Aye, and should it be needed, lass, I would also speak on your behalf," Gimli gruffly offered from where he stood beside Eldarion.

Buffy turned suspicious eyes to Legolas. She knew a set-up when she saw one. Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas had obviously discussed this before - probably many times. Their minds were set, and now they sought only to convince her to once more follow their lead. It was an action that she had become well-accustomed to over her time in Middle-earth. She was a warrior still, but long gone were the days when Buffy was the one girl that was forced to stand before the darkness. Now she was merely one of many that _chose_ to stand against the darkness - and that difference had been more than enough for Buffy to willingly lay down her General's cap so that she could fall beneath Legolas' and Aragorn's banners.

But this? This was huge - like _huge_ huge. This was put yourself on a boat huge; sail the unknown seas for an unknown amount of days, weeks, or months huge; and then hope that you get accepted on the other side huge, and not just killed for your audacity to believe that you could possibly have earned a spot in the elven equivalent of heaven, huge. It was _huge_.

And it was also the easiest decision she had ever made.

"Then of course I'll go," Buffy murmured, her eyes catching Legolas' - quite happy to drown in their impossible depths. He smiled at her words, and that smile alone was worth a thousand possible deaths for she saw in that smile that just a small portion of the burden that he carried had been lifted. Her consent was something that she could give him, and happy she would give it. "Someone has to keep you two out of trouble, after all," she offered with a small, but genuine grin.

"Then it is decided."

With that solemn declaration, Buffy turned away from her elf-prince and looked at Aragorn. His son stood tall and silent beside him, with eyes that were only for his father. Then Arwen moved forward until she was pressed up against her husband's side. Her arm snaked around Aragorn's back, her hand twining with his, and while her features were serene and a small smile lifted the corners of her lips, her beautiful gray eyes looked like a storm that was slowly dying, the fire snuffed beneath heavy rains.

Tearing her eyes away from the heart-wrenching tableau that was the tragic end to an epic love story, Buffy felt the jovial air rip, tear, and crumble into pieces. With one look at Aragorn, Buffy knew that it was over.

It was time to say goodbye.

* * *

Grief was a funny thing. It was an emotion, and like all emotions, it carried great power. It had the power to lift people up - pushing them beyond their limits and achieving heights never before imagined - and it also had the power to drive them down until nothing but a shell remained. Preceding Aragorn's death, Buffy saw both of these extremes in the people that had loved the king most.

The procession that had followed Aragorn to his eternal place of rest had been very small. Only those closest to the king had been permitted into the sacred House, and so Arwen, Eldarion, Gimli, Legolas and Buffy herself had followed the great king through the throng of Gondorian citizens that lined the stone roads and hung from open windows, all paying silent witness to their passage. Aragorn their friend, King Elessar of Gondor, Strider of the Dúnedain, Thorongil the soldier of Gondor, and Estel of Imladris - the man of many names walked with his head held high, the Winged Crown of Gondor sitting upon a bed of thick silver hair, with the Sceptre of Annuminas in hand. Arwen stepped beside him, so tall, beautiful, and strong, while Eldarion followed behind his father and mother.

Eldarion, son to Aragorn and Arwen, soon to be King of Gondor, fell under the former as he walked with a heavy grace and quiet understanding. The ninety-year old man, who of course didn't look a day over thirty, was a great man and well-respected by the people of Gondor, and the slayer knew that he would be a great king - just as his father. He was a queer mix of his human and elvish parentage, impossibly tall and lean with fair features, deep gray eyes, long, curled ebony hair and perpetually grizzled cheeks, no matter the time of day. He was as yet unmarried, but she didn't expect that to last long as more than once over the years had she caught his eyes stray to little Anariel, great-great-granddaughter to Faramir and Éowyn, great-granddaughter to Finduilas. The girl had to be twenty by now, and if Eldarion didn't get moving, he'd most likely lose his chance to some other young noble. Eldarion, Buffy knew, would survive his grief and rise above it. He would spend the rest of his life trying to rule his people in a manner which would make his father proud.

Arwen, on the other hand, fell under the latter. Her grief was the kind that would destroy her.

They walked through the seventh gate and back into the sixth circle of Minas Tirith, past the Houses of Healing and to Fen Hollen, the Closed Door, which was cut into the very rock of Mount Mindolluin. The entrance was guarded by a porter in a gate-house, the door locked, and only the Lord of the City and the people who tended the tombs were allowed entrance.

Beyond the door lay a winding road that was cut into the rocky spur that joined Minas Tirith to Mount Mindolluin on the fifth level of the city. High stone walls closed them in on either side, and Buffy slipped her hand into Legolas' cold grip as the waning daylight was lost to them from so high above. Torches soon became their only illumination as they went down, down, ever downwards to where the Rath Dínen, the Silent Street, opened up before them. They were in a world of cold stone: the straight hard road that ended in a wall of craggy rock - the cliff face of Mount Mindolluin arching in the sky before them - and two magnificent stone buildings that were cut into the rocky spur to the right and left of their small party, with the sky open and barren above them.

Buffy had only ever visited this quiet, dead place once before - thirty-eight years past when Faramir was laid to rest in the House of Stewards, the grim building on the right. But now their party turned to the left, to the House of Kings, and torches in hand, they made their way through the grand entrance and into the largest, most grand mausoleum that Buffy had ever before seen.

The passages twisted and turned, and Buffy was easily lost in this place of solemn death - a place so unlike the graveyards and cemeteries of her youth. Back then, even when surrounded by tombstones and earth-filled plots, the world had been alive and vibrant. Branches moved with an ocean-scented breeze, birds twittered in their high nests, insects chirped from their hidden places, small animals rustled through the brush, cars passed on the adjacent streets, and tinny voices drifted from open windows. Her former hunting grounds, the final resting place of the residents of Sunnydale, had been rich with the vibrant symphony of life, even in the darkest part of the witching hour. But here, upon the Silent Street and within the House of the Kings, no life existed beside that of her small party, and no sound could be heard outside of their hushed movements. The stone should have captured the sounds of their ragged breaths, of their quiet steps, and amplified the sound in this empty place until it echoed from every barren, desolate hallway - yet it didn't. The stone passageways absorbed the sound, the light, the _life_ of her companions until the world became a muted place of gray, grim death.

She hated this place.

When they came to the room in which Aragorn's tomb lay empty, Buffy held back from the others. Legolas' hand slipped from hers, and she watched as those closest to the king followed him into the grand chamber. Like the many other rooms that they had passed, the walls were intricately carved, and the ceiling arched so high above them that the top was lost in darkness, the flickering light of their torches shying away from the deep shadows. Oil lamps hung from the airy heights, but they were ignored in favor of the bright, smoky torches that Legolas and Eldarion placed in mounted holders, adding little illumination to the large room.

From her spot near the door, Buffy could just make out the flat, unadorned tomb upon which Aragorn now perched, as well as the two, smaller tombs that sat on either side. These were the tombs of Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took, the brave hobbits that she had come to treasure during her time in Middle-earth. After their deaths over fifty years ago, their small bodies had been moved into these grand halls, their likenesses carved in eternal slumber atop the stone caskets. They would rest beside Aragorn in the House of Kings until the end of time.

It was a great honor, and yet Buffy couldn't help but wonder where Arwen would spend her eternity. She knew that in time, Aragorn's body would be laid to rest within his own stone casket, and a final piece would be added to the top of his tomb: a statue portraying him in his final sleep. But there was no sign of Arwen's tomb, ready and prepared for her own bed, and Buffy couldn't help but wonder what that meant. Aragorn was giving his final goodbyes to Gimli and Legolas, and then he turned to his son with proud eyes. And all the while Arwen stood silently at his side, her face grave and her eyes wet with tears.

With much patience, Legolas had once explained that death was a funny thing for one such as Aragorn with his elvish heritage. When it came to death, he actually had _options_. The king could wait until death claimed him, as it did with everyone in the end, or else he could choose the time of his passing and take that final step on his own terms. In other words, Aragorn had sensed that his time was drawing near, and instead of waiting for death to claim him, Aragorn was going to meet death head on. It was an option that was truly elven - the idea that a person could simply release the bonds that tethered their fëa, their soul, to their mortal body. Yet as Buffy watched the others draw away to give Arwen and Aragorn some semblance of privacy, she saw that it was an option that not everyone had embraced.

"I am the last of the Númenóreans and the latest king of the Elder Days," Aragorn spoke to his wife from where he lay upon his bed of stone, her pale hands firmly wrapped around his own as she crushed them against her chest, "and to me has been given not only a span thrice that of Men of Middle-earth, but also the grace to go at my will, and give back the gift. Now, therefore, I will sleep."

"Then you would leave me in this final, bitter hour?" Arwen demanded, her voice filled with so much desperation that Buffy quickly averted her eyes from the heartbreaking scene.

Yes, Aragorn had the option of choosing the time of his death, and whether that was right or moral, Buffy didn't feel qualified to decide, but she was starting to understand that while Legolas could choose to forfeit his mortal body so that his fëa could travel to the Halls of Mandos, should grief or injury ever be too great, as was his elvish right, Arwen no longer seemed capable of doing the same. Arwen had chosen a mortal life, and in doing so, she had bound herself to mortal laws and rules - rules that even Aragorn was shirking.

"But I say to you, King of the Númenóreans," Arwen stated, her raised voice breaking through Buffy's troubled thoughts as, despite her best efforts, she found herself once more eavesdropping on her friends' pained conversation. "Not till now have I understood the tale of your people and their fall. As wicked fools I scorned them," she admitted, "but I pity them at last. For if this is indeed, as the Eldar say, the gift of One to Men, it is bitter to receive."

"So it seems," Aragorn agreed as he gently brushed away an errant tear from his wife's face before his arm fell to rest at his side. "But let us not be overthrown at the final test, who of old renounced the Shadow and the Ring," he murmured as Arwen pressed a trembling kiss against the fingers that were still twined with her own. "In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! We are not bound forever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory," he whispered, so much love and confidence ringing in his promises that it seemed that Arwen couldn't help but grace him with one final, tremulous smile. A smile that he took as his final parting gift.

"Farewell!" he whispered and then pulled her hand to his lips to press one last kiss against her soft skin. With this final gesture Aragorn, son of Arathorn and King of Men, released his hold on life and fell into eternal slumber.

In that moment, Buffy watched as both Arwen and Legolas stiffened, as though paralyzed, and the slayer imagined that they could feel as the special bond that had bound them to the ranger-turned-king became severed in one gut-wrenching blow. And then the moment was over as Arwen slumped over her dead husband, and as Legolas staggered back against Gimli's sturdy frame.

Buffy cried out, and in moments she was beside elf and dwarf as she placed her hands on Legolas' cold cheeks and turned his face towards her. His shoulders were bent and his features were wan, his glow so dim so as to be nonexistent, but his eyes, though tempered by grief, still burned with the fire that she so loved. The slayer released the breath she hadn't realized that she had been holding as she drew him forwards into an embrace that would have crushed a normal human.

"Oh, lass..."

_"Mother."_

At Gimli's pained sigh and Eldarion's horrified whisper, Buffy turned back towards the tomb, only to find that something profound had happened while she had been turned away. Arwen - tall, beautiful, ethereal Arwen was held in her son's strong embrace, but the lovely queen was a faded version of her former glory. Arwen's light had been quenched by the loss of her husband, and she was now cold and gray as a nightfall in winter that comes without a star. In her hollow eyes Buffy saw that her light had died with her husband. Aragorn was dead, and Buffy knew that soon after Arwen would follow.

"It is done," Legolas whispered as his strong arms slipped around her waist and drew her near, holding her small form tight against him as though he was afraid that she would somehow slip away.

"Yes. Let us leave this place," Eldarion stated as the new King of Gondor, wearing the crown and carrying the sceptre, turned from his father's body, his mother tucked firmly at his side, and led the way from the cold stone chamber and back into the bustling city beyond.

**To be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

**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!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Equinoxium II: The Fading: Chapter 4  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

**Author's Note:** Thank you for all of the support and your patience! This year has been tremendously busy for me, and as the due date for my first child is quite literally right around the corner (May 9th!), this next year isn't looking much different. Nonetheless, this story has not been abandoned and I will do my utmost not to leave you all hanging for too long in between updates. Thanks again - your reviews are treasured!

* * *

Buffy woke with the sound of warm laughter in her ears, tears upon her cold cheeks, and the words, _There's no such thing as happy endings for heroes_ whispering over and over in her mind. But there was no laughter here; no sunlight, no warmth, and no beautiful clearings filled with friends and family.

Her friends and family were dead; such a great many that she had gained here in Middle-earth, and inevitably, all that she had left behind in Sunnydale, save for the possibility of a souled vampire or two. The youngest of them all, if she were alive today, would be 130 years old. Dawn would be 130.

No, Dawn was dead. Her baby sister was dead, and without Legolas by her side, Buffy felt so very small and alone on this empty stretch of wild land.

There was nothing but the cold, hard-packed earth - tempered by the fresh spring grasses of the rolling plains - beneath her thin sleeping roll, the night dark and quiet around her while the River Anduin rushed by in the distance. The fire had been banked hours ago, and the campsite was bathed in shadows that were relieved only by the brittle light of the stars.

Twisting slightly, Buffy strained against the darkness and her keen eyes pierced the shadows. She could see the still form of Arwen across the charcoaled remains of their fire. The queen was silent and still - sleeping, likely - but seeing as how Arwen had been silent and still over the past twenty days of their travels, this was hardly any different. They would arrive at the borders of Lothl?ien tomorrow, and then Buffy would lose her traveling companion as Arwen completed her journey alone.

Though if she were to be honest with herself, already it felt as though she traveled alone. Arwen had been a ghost - never talking and eating only when prompted. The slayer wasn't even sure when the queen was sleeping or awake, as her blank-eyed stare never changed. Even when their campsite was overrun by mountain men along the Great West Road, just a week into their journey, the queen's stoic silence never faltered. Buffy doubted the queen even realized the very real danger that they had faced.

_Arwen sat before the fire, a pale, silent wraith that stared just to the right of the modest flames that Buffy had painstakingly stoked to life. The last few days of their voyage had been marred by a steady spring rain that soaked the lush, rolling plains of Edoras, as well as the bits of kindling that the slayer had managed to gather during their day's travel. Not to mention the travelers themselves. Buffy was soaked through, and feeling all kinds of miserable as she huddled beside the weak flame._

_She had already tended to both of their horses, checked on their supplies, and closed the queen's cool, slick hands around the small bit of lembas that was to be their supper this night. Arwen would eat the food slowly, mechanically, as she always did, and when she finished Buffy would get her to drink by putting a flask in her hand, and then put her to bed by steering her towards the bed roll that she had already laid out by the sputtering fire. It was a routine that got them through each day and night - a routine that brought them closer to Lothl?ien._

_It was a routine that was breaking Buffy's heart._

_Buffy looked at Arwen, and she no longer saw her cool, ethereal, and compassionate friend. Buffy looked at Arwen and she saw a pale stranger who was a mere shell that once housed such a beautiful, vibrant personality. It was as though her friend had died with Aragorn, and Buffy was merely escorting her empty vessel to its final resting place._

_The wind shifted, and Buffy stilled. Though she never turned her eyes from Arwen's hunched form, the small slayer's senses exploded outward. Her sensitive hearing caught the slight rustle of wet leather beneath the pattering of the incessant rain. The sour tang of unwashed bodies competed against the acrid scent of the moist wood that sputtered and popped in the fire before her. The stars were hidden above the thick cloud cover, and the light from the weak flames obscured her vision beyond the small circle of their camp._

_It was fortunate, then, that Buffy didn't need to see in order to avoid the large, disheveled man that suddenly burst from the shadows. He carried a rusted, pitted sword that Buffy easily parried - to the man's obvious surprise - as she went from hunched misery to her full and admittedly unimpressive height faster than his eyes could follow. She had her favorite sword in one hand, a gift from Gimli, and the dagger that Legolas had given her for her 112th birthday in the other._

_He was dead - dagger thrust to the heart - before he knew what hit him. In the moment that followed, Buffy impassively looked down at the aggressor's bloodied body and tried once more to remember a time when taking a human life had been forbidden. If memory served, it had been the number one rule of being a slayer - but that was back when it was Buffy's chosen duty to be the one girl to stand before the unnatural darkness. In Middle-earth, that philosophy had worked for a time. There had been the dark-elves to slay, as well as the occasional orc, warg, troll, etc., etc. But when the unnatural baddies ran out, the natural ones remained._

_Hadn't Warren taught her once, so very long ago, that evil came in many different flavors - including human? And in Middle-earth, the rule of the road didn't allow for cops, judges and juries. If you were attacked, you defended your own. End of story. And so death became death. Killing became killing. It wasn't easy, and it certainly wasn't fun, but it had been decades since Buffy had last hesitated before taking a human life. She no longer had the luxury of seeing evil in the black and white of human or non-human. Her eyes had been opened - and if it meant keeping her friends safe, Buffy would never close them again._

_A moment of introspection was all that she was afforded, and that moment officially ended when the dead man's six friends split from the shadows to step into the weak light. They were all hulking, heavily-muscled men of questionable hygiene. Mountain Men - down from their caves to prey upon the unwary traveler. Buffy had seen their like before - and the remnants of their raids. Vicious and brutal, the men and children would be killed and their valuables taken. If they were lucky, the women were killed, too. The unlucky were taken - never to be heard from again._

_They were armed with rusted swords and knives, a few clubs, and their dark eyes burned with a hungry sort of fury._

_Buffy could understand that. She had killed their friend, after all. But she had a friend, too, and even though Arwen still hadn't moved from her spot by the fire, hadn't even _looked_ in their direction, Buffy understood that none of these men were going to survive to spread the tale of the short, painfully thin blonde woman that killed their hulking friend._

And none of them did. The fight lasted a few minutes, at most, and in the end their small clearing was littered with the bodies of the Mountain Men. Blood had been everywhere - so thick that Buffy could taste the sharp copper tang on her tongue. Someone had gotten lucky with their knife and had cut a deep furrow from her wrist to elbow. Decades past, the wound would have been debilitating.

No longer.

Mere moments later, as she had wiped away the blood she saw that the wound had already healed over. Only a faint pink line remained, and even that was beginning to fade. The healing potency of her blood grew with time, and now there was very little that could keep her down for long.

Not that Arwen had noticed - noticed anything at all, really. When Buffy turned back, she saw that the queen hadn't moved from her perch beside the guttering fire. She was a small, frail sparrow that stared at nothing. She still held the lembas in her hand, mechanically lifting it to her lips and biting off a small piece, chewing it slowly, methodically, before swallowing.

At first, the queen's silence had been unnerving, but as the days passed, Buffy had become accustomed to her silent companion. Now, as she stared at her mute, unmoving form from where she could just see her prone outline from across the remnants of their earlier fire, she wondered if Arwen would even break her silence to say goodbye.

"When we first met, you talked of death."

"What?" Buffy breathed as she startled up into a listing slouch upon her bed roll, her eyes squinting at the queen's eerily still form. And then the queen twisted upon her own roll until, for the first time since their journey began, Buffy caught the glint of Arwen's eyes in the bare light of the stars.

"When we first met," Arwen repeated, her voice so strong for one who hadn't used it in close to three weeks, "you talked of death. Of your own death."

"I did?" Buffy returned, her nose scrunching as she tried to remember a meeting that occurred 114 years ago.

"You said, 'I was dead and my time was over. My time was over, I know it was over, but my friends brought me back. They brought me back to life.'" Arwen quoted, much to Buffy's bewildered amusement. Trust an elf to quote a conversation, word for word, that occurred over a century before.

"I guess I did," she allowed, her bemused smile slipping as she noted that although Arwen's voice sounded strong, it also sounded _wrong_.

"And is it true what you said?" the queen persisted in a flat monotone that caused the fine hairs on Buffy's arm to bristle. "Did you truly die? Were you truly brought back to life by those you held dear?"

"I was," Buffy confirmed, matter of fact in face of the queen's queer tone.

"What, then," Arwen asked, her gray eyes piercing Buffy through the dim light, "is the One's Gift to Men?"

"Peace," came Buffy's instinctive response as a small, bittersweet smile pulled at her lips. With a soft breath, her eyes fluttered closed and despite the decades that had passed, she easily recalled that hazy feeling that she associated with her time in Heaven. Buffy opened her eyes and for the first time, she recognized the deadened look in Arwen's gaze, and the emotion that was buried in her cold features. The queen was gray and drawn, a mere shell of the elf that had helped to rebuild a nation, but more than that - she was terrified.

"Arwen, I remember very little of when I was dead," Buffy continued with a twist of her shoulders. "I don't think that we're meant to know what comes next, but I can tell you what I felt when I was pulled back to life. It was an absence - an absence of such peace, warmth and contentment that it made life feel like hell. I was a mess for months because for the longest time, I couldn't feel anything but that loss. It's... dying is like finally going home.

"Don't fear death," Buffy sighed as she lay back upon her bed roll, her eyes lifting to a sky filled with bright stars. "Death is inevitable for we mere mortals," she murmured, quoting Gimli and his brief attempt at comfort, "and somehow I think that Aragorn will be waiting for you. Waiting to take you home."

There was no response to her words, but Buffy didn't expect one. The queen had asked her question, and perhaps the slayer had even given her the answer that she had wanted. None of it mattered for tomorrow morning they would go their separate ways and Arwen would never be seen again. She would die, as all mortals were supposed to, and Buffy had to believe that in that moment, Arwen would once more find her king. They would spend eternity together.

But despite her longevity, Buffy, too, was mortal - at least, mortal in the ways of the elves that she had lived amongst for so many years. Like the elves, she didn't age - but like them she, too, _could_ die. Upon her death she would return to that place of peace, warmth and contentment, but unlike Arwen, Buffy's prince wouldn't be waiting for her. Arwen chose to bind her path with Aragorn's, but Buffy didn't have that option. If she died, her and Legolas' paths would be irrevocably severed. She would never see him again, in this life or after.

Buffy's breath caught in her throat as a sudden, cold fear seized her heart. For the first time since she was sixteen years old, Buffy really and truly feared death. She couldn't do it. She couldn't leave Legolas - not if it meant an eternity without him.

_There's no such thing as happy endings for heroes_.

It didn't take a degree in psychology for Buffy to understand that her recurring dream had less to do with anything slayer-related, and everything to do with a lingering superstition that this time, like all of the times before, something was going to come around and ruin Buffy's chance for happily ever after. What with all of the losses that she and Legolas had suffered - especially within the last few decades - it was no wonder that the dream had persisted for so long. Death was on her mind, and had been for years.

But Aragorn was dead, and tomorrow she would say her final goodbye to Arwen. In just a few days she would be reunited with Gimli in Edoras, and after that she would find Legolas waiting for her upon his spiffy grey ship at the docks of Osgiliath. And after that? After that came _Valinor_.

There they would make a home, make a _life_ for themselves. It was called the Undying Lands for a reason, and they would live forever in a place without violence. Without death.

A small smile pulled at Buffy's lips as she rolled over on her bed roll and put her back to the fire, her hands pillowed beneath her head. It was time to close the door on gloomy, recurring dreams and just stop worrying about all of the what-ifs that could somehow tear this happiness away from her. The future was theirs - and Buffy was going to make it the best damn happily ever after she could.


	5. Chapter 5

**Equinoxium II: The Fading: Chapter 5  
by Lisette**

**Legalese:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

* * *

The sunlight that filtered through high, open windows was bright and warm with early summer when her name was announced by the door warden to the bustling court of Minas Tirith. It was mid-afternoon, too many hours since the noon hour repast, and yet still too many hours until the day's business could come to an end. The hall was filled with advisors, petitioners, guards, members of court, servants and maids. More than fifty people were scattered along stone benches that sat beneath towering banners, gathered in clusters around massive stone pillars, and milling in groups that were scattered between where Eldarion sat on his throne amongst a gaggle of Gondorian merchants and the massive stone doors. And yet despite the cacophony that reigned just a moment before, at the guard's hammering staff and his announcement of her name, a hush fell upon the grand room as Eldarion's heart stuttered at the simple reminder of the loss that still bowed his shoulders beneath its immense weight.

The king turned from the merchants to watch as the people parted before Buffy as she stepped through the massive doors, and walked towards him with her usual predatory grace. Her arrival was unexpected, and yet it was obvious that she had somehow made her way into Minas Tirith without notice as she had already been to her rooms to clean and change from her travels before being announced in court - and all without word of her arrival reaching his ears.

She was draped in a gossamer-thin layer of pale elven-sewn cloth that hung from her shoulders and ended just below her small wrists, and then hugged her hips before falling in a soft layer that brushed the white stone floor. The dress had an embroidered brown suede vest laced over top that cinched the material around her small waist, and displayed her girlish curves in a way that was modest and above reproach. Her golden hair flowed in loose curls down her back, with small braids pulling back from either temple to gather at the back of her head. Her skin was bronzed a deep golden tan, and her hazel eyes sparkled at him above a bright smile that lifted her thin lips and displayed a row of shining white teeth.

She was beautiful and diminutive - and many of his people were plainly terrified by her very presence, while the others pulled back in open unease.

Not that Buffy seemed aware of the reaction that her presence had caused. Though as this was the response her presence always garnered, how was she to know any different? Thanks in large part to his mother's obvious heritage and Lord Legolas' colony of elves that were settled so close to Gondor's capital, the strangeness of elves had come to be accepted in Minas Tirith. It was true that many of her citizens would still stare in awe at the sight of their queen, or any of their elven visitors, but the stares were borne from an endearing fascination with the firstborn. Buffy, however, was an entirely different case, for she was so obviously of the race of Men, no matter the elven weapons she carried or the company that she kept.

And yet she didn't age.

Eldarion had always known Buffy. From his very first memories, wherever Legolas was, Buffy was always close behind. She had teased him from his childhood sulks, kissed away his tears, played with him in the forests and fields, and helped him to climb trees when the branches were too high. She had been there when he had made his first kill, stood beside him in battle, and held his hand when they buried a lost friend. She gave hugs freely and was unabashed to show her affections - and she had even named his first horse, insisting that he be called Mr. Ed.

Always had she been a fixture in his life, and it was only later, as an adult, did he come to realize that while he had never questioned her unchanging appearance, his people could not look past it. She was so obviously of the race of Men, and yet she lived with the elves and was bonded to the Lord Legolas, dear friend to the king. She was often burdened with enough steel to sink a boat, and yet she always moved with an effortless grace. She could move inhumanly fast when in battle, could carry a grown man upon her back without breaking a sweat, and if she ever took hurt, the wound would heal with a speed even greater than that of the firstborn. She was a fierce warrior, a proud shield-maiden, and she paid little attention to the restrictions or etiquette of Gondor's court.

So many years ago, when her lack of aging could no longer be ignored, dear Éowyn had cornered Buffy in the halls of the White Lady's home in Emyn Arnen. In her usual blunt manner, she had explained that even though Buffy was lacking in everything that made an elf an elf (exquisite, ethereal beauty, pointed ears, and height - to name a few), she was also romantically involved with an elf, lived with the elves, had a strange fondness for weapons, was aloof, and _wasn't aging_. In the eyes of the people, this not only made Buffy strange, but also fearsome, worrisome, and untrustworthy. While the word 'witch' hadn't been mentioned, Buffy still got the picture. In her words, she was creeping out the locals.

That summer Éowyn had made it her mission to school Buffy in all ways of the courtly life. And thus began her lessons in genteel smiling, regal hand-waving, and all around perfecting the portrayal that even though she may occasionally be loaded down with enough weapons to outfit a garrison, she was entirely harmless. As Eldarion regained his feet, he couldn't help but feel that despite Éowyn's best efforts, the White Lady had failed. And while his heart quailed at the thought of losing Legolas, Gimli, and Buffy on top of the all too recent loss of his parents, Eldarion couldn't help but think that perhaps it was for the best. Despite the best efforts of his father, Buffy had never found her full welcome in Minas Tirith. Perhaps in the land of his mother's people could she finally find the home that she had long been denied.

The king waved away the wary merchants, noting grimly as they eagerly took their leave, before smiling warmly at this fixture of his childhood. "Lady Buffy, you have returned," he greeted as she paused before him just long enough to clasp her fist to her heart, before sweeping into a low curtsy in the fashion of the elves. He could feel the heavy weight of the eyes of the court upon them both, and he knew that it was for them that she greeted him such. Perhaps she wasn't as oblivious to the mood of the people as he had hoped.

"_Mae govannen_, King Eldarion," Buffy returned sweetly with a wry twist to her lips as she gracefully straightened, her hands falling loosely to her sides. Her actions screamed, _See? No threat_, even as she sent him a quick wink, her bright smile then dimming beneath her next words. "I'm most happy to report that my errand was completed per your instructions."

"All went well?" he queried, and though his voice was light, he knew that Buffy could sense the great weight that dragged upon him. It had been nearly two months since his father had passed and his mother had left the city in Buffy's care, and while the pain lessened with the passing of each new day, it was still blinding with every subtle reminder. He had been given ninety blessed years with his parents, and yet he would have gladly taken ninety more. Their loss would forever cut him, and yet in the two months that Buffy had gone, Eldarion had no choice but to settle into his new role as King of Gondor, with all of the headaches and joys that entailed.

"My party encountered a band of Mountain Men a week into our journey, along the Great West Road," Buffy admitted with a small, negligent shrug. "They weren't of real concern and were swiftly dealt with. The package remained unmolested," she quickly assured when she caught sight of the alarm that thrummed through his body.

"Nonetheless, I will ensure that our patrol of the Road is increased, and will send word to the King of Rohan to ensure that he does the same within his own borders," Eldarion returned, hearing the faint rasp of quill to paper as the court scribe made note of his promise.

"A wise decision, my lord," Buffy returned in that same, stifled sweet voice with a grave nod of her head that had her chin brushing against her collar bone. The move was so formal and utterly alien for Buffy that it had Eldarion fighting a smile that would be wholly inappropriate in the current setting. And she was doing it on purpose, too. On the few times that Buffy had ever attended his father while in court, she had always made it a game to see if she could get Eldarion to act in a way that was deemed inappropriate by his tutors, minders, and keepers. Between her, his uncles Elrohir and Elladan, the hobbits Merry and Pippin, and Legolas and Gimli - it seemed as though Eldarion was always in trouble for something. Something that was most usually not his fault.

How strange to think that now, the only person that Eldarion was truly accountable to was himself.

The thought was sobering, and again, the young king saw that Buffy sensed his change in mood as her playful smile dimmed in kind. Eldarion forced a small smile as he nodded to the small blonde. "I thank you for your report and ask that you now take time for yourself. Your journey has been long, and as it is some time yet before the evening meal, you may wish to take rest until then. Though... wait," he murmured, his brow creasing as he suddenly realized that someone was missing. "Lady, wherever is Lord Gimli? Were you not to meet in Edoras before making the journey here?"

At his question, Buffy's expression briefly flickered with guilt before smoothing over into a bland facade. "My apologies, my lord, but upon my arrival in Edoras I was informed that Lord Gimli was regrettably delayed with pressing business in Aglarond."

With a sigh, Eldarion immediately knew what went unsaid. Buffy had beat Gimli to Edoras, and instead of waiting in a city filled with strangers where her welcome would have been lukewarm - particularly amongst such a superstitious people - Buffy had left without the dwarf and made the return trip on her own. Despite his annoyance at her blatant disregard of his worries about her safety, Eldarion also knew that the slayer had obviously handled herself well on her journey. As Buffy always said, there was no use worrying over spilled milk - and besides which, he was sure that Legolas would be angry enough on both of their behalves.

The thought was enough to cause Eldarion's smile to return - something which caused Buffy to frown in turn. "I see," he stated, his voice equally as bland even as his grin broadened. "Well in that case, I won't keep you," he murmured as he waved an airy dismissal and turned back towards the group of merchants that had followed their every word as closely as everyone else in the room.

With a puzzled frown Buffy dropped into another deep curtsy, muttered a quick _my lord_, and then turned back towards the door. She made it only a few steps before Eldarion called over his shoulder. "Oh, and no worries, my lady. I will be sure to have a messenger at the main gates awaiting Lord Legolas' return. That way he can be promptly informed of your return and the _details_ of your trip."

It was only thanks to the keen hearing gifted to him by his half-elven parentage that allowed him to hear Buffy's muttered, "Of course you will." With more grimace than smile, Buffy threw him another curtsy before hurrying from the room. In her absence, the large room once more filled with the deafening ring of voices.


End file.
