Day 26 - There Were Three
Title: There Were Three
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Buffy went looking for balrogs. She just didn't get the math quite right...
Word Count: 2335
Note: This one's a little rushed. Will try to make up for it tomorrow- I had a bunch of thoughts while I was swimming earlier, just not time enough to write any of them out this evening...
It was nearly nightfall when they finally caught a glimpse of what they had ridden East to find.
The previously buoyant mood sobered quickly when the Scoobies raised their spyglasses to see what the elves could see without them.
There weren’t two balrogs leading the army to Mordor.
There were three.
Willow and Anya exchanged a taut glance as Xander tried gamely to lighten the mood.
“Hey, now there’s one for each of you. Glorfindel might still defend his balrog slaying title!”
Glorfindel was silent. He had seen the look in Anariel’s eye when she caught sight of the third balrog, and the memory it brought to mind was not comforting. He had seen that exact expression on Turgon’s face at Tarnin Austa so long ago - for the king of Gondolin had known the fate of his city the instant he saw the hordes of Morgoth pouring over the Echoriad.
Anya had gone rather pale, but after a deep breath, voiced the thought that had occurred to the others as well.
“Are we biting off more than we can chew here?”
“It’s a little late to worry about our teeth now,” Xander pointed out equably. “We knew we were looking for trouble when we left Rivendell.”
Buffy pulled out the map that had cost them so much time - and more than a little blood - to make years ago. She’s put too much effort into this to back out. And it needed to be done, now more than ever. She didn’t want to imagine the havoc three balrogs could wreak on Gondor. Minas Tirith was going to be dancing on the edge of a knife as it was.
“You’re all free to turn back at any time,” she said quietly. “It was risky enough as it was. I understand if it’s too much now. You don’t have to do this. If you leave tonight, you can probably still reach Erebor before it’s besieged. But this needs to be done. I’m committed.”
“By yourself? That’s suicide,” Anya said flatly. “Even you can’t take on three balrogs and an army alone.”
“Good thing she’s not alone then, isn’t it?” Willow replied grimly, her resolve face steelier than anyone had ever seen it. “Xander’s right. There’s no point in backing out now. I came here for this. I’m not leaving until it’s done.”
“If you stay, I stay, Anariel Nairallë,” Makalaurë said quietly. “But three valaraukar may be too much. Even two was going to be a challenge. Perhaps the mortals should leave. We three can make the attempt.”
“That’s really not how this works,” Xander told him, his voice stern. “We came here with her. She stays, we stay.”
“I can even the odds for you, Buffy,” Willow added. “Not as much I could have if Tara were here. But I’ll do what I can, and I promise it won’t be nothing.”
“I think we can still do this, if they’re following the route I think they are,” Anariel said slowly. “Look.”
She pointed at the map that was now even more valuable than she’d foreseen.
“They’re trying to keep their movement screened, that’s why they’re keeping to this side of the mountains even though they would be able to move more quickly on the western side, where the terrain is easier. But as the mountains peter out, they’re going to be concerned about elven watchers spotting them across the brown lands - it’s flat plains.”
The others crowded around the map to follow her explanation.
“This canyon would shield them from view for several leagues. Even Grandmother would need to be practically to the foothills before she could see them. By the time they emerge, there’s no way anyone from an elvish position could reach them before they’re safely to the Ered Lithui.”
“Are they not aiming to enter Mordor from the East?” Glorfindel asked, startled. “I expected they would make for the eastern end of the mountains.”
Anariel shook her head.
“No,” she said decisively. “That would add weeks to their march. There are several fortified passes in the mountains. Crossing through either of these ones will take them straight through to the Plateau of Gorgoroth. Allies can enter easily enough, but enemies would be decimated. Even orc archers could hold off vast numbers from Cirith Carchren.”
Most enemies, moreover, wouldn’t even know the passes existed. Not unless they’d gotten close enough to scout them - and she was certain that by the last ten years at the latest, to get that close meant death.
Xander grinned.
“You’re right, I like that canyon. Check out how it narrows at the southern end - and it’s an uphill march for them nearly the entire way. It’s as close to perfect ambush terrain as we’re going to get.”
“Even better, that was once a riverbed,” Willow noted. “It will be easier for me to call up water on land that remembers it so well.”
Buffy smiled grimly.
“Good to know someone up there likes us.”
She glanced to her cousin and grandfather for their thoughts.
“All we have to do is wait until the majority of the army is within before we spring the trap,” Glorfindel noted. “Close the jaws of the canyon before them and behind them, and their numbers no longer work in their favor.”
Buffy nodded.
“That’s the idea. The balrogs may be able to get out, but orcs carrying battle gear and trolls will have real trouble. The canyon walls are too a steep climb for most of the length, so really only the ones at the southern end will have much of a chance to escape. Especially if we have a few other things to keep them busy.”
“I’d say we have plenty to keep them more than busy,” Anya said drily.
In particular, they had a generous amount of what California Earth would recognize as Composition B.
The explosive had been her major contribution to Project Balrog. It turned out that Anyanka, in addition to more traditional methods, had really appreciated explosives once they’d been invented. She had kept up with developments in the field right up until giving up vengeance. They offered so much potential for mishaps, and such scope for willful misinterpretation of a heartbroken girl’s wish…
And, as it turned out, it was absolutely possible to manufacture them in Middle Earth. Anya had taken charge of the process. Between her knowledge and Xander’s soldier memories, the pair had carefully compounded the small arsenal the party were carrying - and then meticulously and systematically destroyed all traces of what they had done before departing Imladris. They did not intend to leave Middle Earth with such double-edged knowledge.
As Xander had said, it was probable that Men would eventually discover such things on their own, but there was no reason to give them bad ideas to speed the process along.
“How much of the substance will be required to make the canyon impassable?” Makalaurë asked. “Will we have enough?”
The gleeful smirk on Anya’s face was more reassuring than any words could be that they had more than enough. Glorfindel’s question whether or not there was enough to be a reserve in case there is no other way to take down one of the creatures was answered only after a lengthy debate, but ultimately, the decision was that there should be.
After that, the rest of the waning daylight was spent refining the details of their battle plan now that they could finally get specific. They’ve known the rough outline for several years - get between the reinforcements they knew would be marching to join Sauron and their goal, the Ash Mountains that form Mordor’s highly defensible northern border. Pick a good spot to fight, and destroy them. The further away from Mordor they could manage this, the better.
Their canyon was a bit further south than Buffy had originally hoped, but given that the next stage of her plan - assuming she survived, of course - was to ride to Osgiliath to do anything she could to disrupt the attack on Gondor directly, she wasn’t too put out about it. She was pretty confident that even if Sauron spotted what they’re doing here, he was not going to waste his strength sending out reinforcements just to swat them. From where he was sitting, three balrogs would look like more than enough to put her down.
Heck, if Dark Lords did popcorn, he was probably waiting by the stove to hear the first pops.
The army was far enough away that they ought to have a full day to prepare the ground, and with luck, one more night’s sleep before the battle. If anyone was able to sleep, that is.
When they set up their camp that night, they made sure to choose a site that will hide their modest campfires from the eyes of their oncoming enemies, who would march through the night.
---
It was long after midnight when he heard the noise, nearer to dawn, if there was to be a dawn. The days have been growing darker, and not just figuratively speaking.
Makalaurë wasn’t surprised to see it was Anariel who stood gazing in the direction of their foes, aware of their position even with so little light to see by.
She slipped away after glancing back to the fire to check that the others were sleeping soundly. Despite her brave words, he had been surprised that she managed to be so calm with the mortals after seeing that they were up against much worse than she’d expected.
He didn’t have to think about whether or not to follow. He moved as silently as he could, hoping to let Laurefindil sleep. He needed the rest. They all did.
Makalaurë found her just over the next ridge, head pillowed on her knees. He didn’t need to see the tears to know she was crying. Her misery was better concealed than they day he had first met her, but the cause was plain enough this time. She knew as well as he did the slim odds of her mortal brethren surviving the battle to come.
Even with all she had done to prepare - and he could not fault her, she has done all that she could, working toward this for longer than any outside her immediate circle knew - they were still only six against an army.
He sighed as he sat down next to her. It seemed he was once again to be the one to dry her tears.
“You could send them away,” he suggested quietly. He used Quenya, in case they should be overheard. While Willow may be able to understand it, the other two certainly don’t. The strength of Anariel’s mortal siblings was that they had all focused on different skills over the years. When brought together like this, they became something truly formidable, their combined might greater than the sum of their parts.
It reminded him of what he had once had, when he had been one of seven.
“No, I can’t,” she replied quietly, her voice muffled by both her current posture as well as the effort to keep her tears silent.
He could see by the few stars that are still visible in the sky - including her grandfather Eärendil, keeping watch over her as always - that her face was wet. He folded her into the hug he knows Elrond would give her were he there to do so.
“Pitya,” he sighed. “We can fight and die just as well without them. Do not behave like the Numenorians at their fall, who would gladly take others with them.”
“That is not what I meant,” she whispered. “It’s not like that at all. It’s… I could tell them to go, I want to tell them to go. But it wouldn’t do any good. They won’t. They’ll stay. For me.”
She drew a ragged breath before continuing.
“It’s stupid of me to want to send them away, and selfish. They’re adults, we’ve been doing this long enough that they know what they’re doing. I know they’re mortal so of course they’ll have to die sometime, but-”
When she finally found the words, it was the voice of a small child, younger than he has ever seen or heard her.
“I just want it to not be tomorrow. It’s too soon. Just a little bit longer…”
He did not know what to say to that, for many reasons. Mortality was not something Makalaurë was familiar with. The only mortal loss he had ever faced was Elros. And his foster son had been lost to him long before accepting the Gift of Men, before choosing mortality even.
Besides, he was certain that no matter how long they were given, it would never be long enough. No mortal lifetime could stretch to forever. Anariel had given her heart freely to her foster brother and sisters before she had known that their fate and hers were so very different. Without them, Arda will ever after be emptier for her. There is nothing they can do to change the fate of mortals, and nothing they can do to ensure anyone survives the morrow, not even themselves.
He had no words for this, only questions whose answers were only to be found in the Uttermost West - if they were to be found at all.
So he did what he knew to do when face with a crying elfling - sang softly, while rubbing her back in quiet sympathy until she calmed herself.
When the tears finally waned, she sighed, leaning into him for whatever scant comfort he could give.
“Thank you, haru. I will be better,” she promised. “I have to be. I can face it now.”
When they returned to the fire, her eyes were clear, and free of tears. He knew Anariel would brave whatever the morning might bring as if she never doubted. She would stand straight and proud as any prince of the Noldor while she prepared for a battle that should never have been hers to fight.
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Buffy went looking for balrogs. She just didn't get the math quite right...
Word Count: 2335
Note: This one's a little rushed. Will try to make up for it tomorrow- I had a bunch of thoughts while I was swimming earlier, just not time enough to write any of them out this evening...
It was nearly nightfall when they finally caught a glimpse of what they had ridden East to find.
The previously buoyant mood sobered quickly when the Scoobies raised their spyglasses to see what the elves could see without them.
There weren’t two balrogs leading the army to Mordor.
There were three.
Willow and Anya exchanged a taut glance as Xander tried gamely to lighten the mood.
“Hey, now there’s one for each of you. Glorfindel might still defend his balrog slaying title!”
Glorfindel was silent. He had seen the look in Anariel’s eye when she caught sight of the third balrog, and the memory it brought to mind was not comforting. He had seen that exact expression on Turgon’s face at Tarnin Austa so long ago - for the king of Gondolin had known the fate of his city the instant he saw the hordes of Morgoth pouring over the Echoriad.
Anya had gone rather pale, but after a deep breath, voiced the thought that had occurred to the others as well.
“Are we biting off more than we can chew here?”
“It’s a little late to worry about our teeth now,” Xander pointed out equably. “We knew we were looking for trouble when we left Rivendell.”
Buffy pulled out the map that had cost them so much time - and more than a little blood - to make years ago. She’s put too much effort into this to back out. And it needed to be done, now more than ever. She didn’t want to imagine the havoc three balrogs could wreak on Gondor. Minas Tirith was going to be dancing on the edge of a knife as it was.
“You’re all free to turn back at any time,” she said quietly. “It was risky enough as it was. I understand if it’s too much now. You don’t have to do this. If you leave tonight, you can probably still reach Erebor before it’s besieged. But this needs to be done. I’m committed.”
“By yourself? That’s suicide,” Anya said flatly. “Even you can’t take on three balrogs and an army alone.”
“Good thing she’s not alone then, isn’t it?” Willow replied grimly, her resolve face steelier than anyone had ever seen it. “Xander’s right. There’s no point in backing out now. I came here for this. I’m not leaving until it’s done.”
“If you stay, I stay, Anariel Nairallë,” Makalaurë said quietly. “But three valaraukar may be too much. Even two was going to be a challenge. Perhaps the mortals should leave. We three can make the attempt.”
“That’s really not how this works,” Xander told him, his voice stern. “We came here with her. She stays, we stay.”
“I can even the odds for you, Buffy,” Willow added. “Not as much I could have if Tara were here. But I’ll do what I can, and I promise it won’t be nothing.”
“I think we can still do this, if they’re following the route I think they are,” Anariel said slowly. “Look.”
She pointed at the map that was now even more valuable than she’d foreseen.
“They’re trying to keep their movement screened, that’s why they’re keeping to this side of the mountains even though they would be able to move more quickly on the western side, where the terrain is easier. But as the mountains peter out, they’re going to be concerned about elven watchers spotting them across the brown lands - it’s flat plains.”
The others crowded around the map to follow her explanation.
“This canyon would shield them from view for several leagues. Even Grandmother would need to be practically to the foothills before she could see them. By the time they emerge, there’s no way anyone from an elvish position could reach them before they’re safely to the Ered Lithui.”
“Are they not aiming to enter Mordor from the East?” Glorfindel asked, startled. “I expected they would make for the eastern end of the mountains.”
Anariel shook her head.
“No,” she said decisively. “That would add weeks to their march. There are several fortified passes in the mountains. Crossing through either of these ones will take them straight through to the Plateau of Gorgoroth. Allies can enter easily enough, but enemies would be decimated. Even orc archers could hold off vast numbers from Cirith Carchren.”
Most enemies, moreover, wouldn’t even know the passes existed. Not unless they’d gotten close enough to scout them - and she was certain that by the last ten years at the latest, to get that close meant death.
Xander grinned.
“You’re right, I like that canyon. Check out how it narrows at the southern end - and it’s an uphill march for them nearly the entire way. It’s as close to perfect ambush terrain as we’re going to get.”
“Even better, that was once a riverbed,” Willow noted. “It will be easier for me to call up water on land that remembers it so well.”
Buffy smiled grimly.
“Good to know someone up there likes us.”
She glanced to her cousin and grandfather for their thoughts.
“All we have to do is wait until the majority of the army is within before we spring the trap,” Glorfindel noted. “Close the jaws of the canyon before them and behind them, and their numbers no longer work in their favor.”
Buffy nodded.
“That’s the idea. The balrogs may be able to get out, but orcs carrying battle gear and trolls will have real trouble. The canyon walls are too a steep climb for most of the length, so really only the ones at the southern end will have much of a chance to escape. Especially if we have a few other things to keep them busy.”
“I’d say we have plenty to keep them more than busy,” Anya said drily.
In particular, they had a generous amount of what California Earth would recognize as Composition B.
The explosive had been her major contribution to Project Balrog. It turned out that Anyanka, in addition to more traditional methods, had really appreciated explosives once they’d been invented. She had kept up with developments in the field right up until giving up vengeance. They offered so much potential for mishaps, and such scope for willful misinterpretation of a heartbroken girl’s wish…
And, as it turned out, it was absolutely possible to manufacture them in Middle Earth. Anya had taken charge of the process. Between her knowledge and Xander’s soldier memories, the pair had carefully compounded the small arsenal the party were carrying - and then meticulously and systematically destroyed all traces of what they had done before departing Imladris. They did not intend to leave Middle Earth with such double-edged knowledge.
As Xander had said, it was probable that Men would eventually discover such things on their own, but there was no reason to give them bad ideas to speed the process along.
“How much of the substance will be required to make the canyon impassable?” Makalaurë asked. “Will we have enough?”
The gleeful smirk on Anya’s face was more reassuring than any words could be that they had more than enough. Glorfindel’s question whether or not there was enough to be a reserve in case there is no other way to take down one of the creatures was answered only after a lengthy debate, but ultimately, the decision was that there should be.
After that, the rest of the waning daylight was spent refining the details of their battle plan now that they could finally get specific. They’ve known the rough outline for several years - get between the reinforcements they knew would be marching to join Sauron and their goal, the Ash Mountains that form Mordor’s highly defensible northern border. Pick a good spot to fight, and destroy them. The further away from Mordor they could manage this, the better.
Their canyon was a bit further south than Buffy had originally hoped, but given that the next stage of her plan - assuming she survived, of course - was to ride to Osgiliath to do anything she could to disrupt the attack on Gondor directly, she wasn’t too put out about it. She was pretty confident that even if Sauron spotted what they’re doing here, he was not going to waste his strength sending out reinforcements just to swat them. From where he was sitting, three balrogs would look like more than enough to put her down.
Heck, if Dark Lords did popcorn, he was probably waiting by the stove to hear the first pops.
The army was far enough away that they ought to have a full day to prepare the ground, and with luck, one more night’s sleep before the battle. If anyone was able to sleep, that is.
When they set up their camp that night, they made sure to choose a site that will hide their modest campfires from the eyes of their oncoming enemies, who would march through the night.
---
It was long after midnight when he heard the noise, nearer to dawn, if there was to be a dawn. The days have been growing darker, and not just figuratively speaking.
Makalaurë wasn’t surprised to see it was Anariel who stood gazing in the direction of their foes, aware of their position even with so little light to see by.
She slipped away after glancing back to the fire to check that the others were sleeping soundly. Despite her brave words, he had been surprised that she managed to be so calm with the mortals after seeing that they were up against much worse than she’d expected.
He didn’t have to think about whether or not to follow. He moved as silently as he could, hoping to let Laurefindil sleep. He needed the rest. They all did.
Makalaurë found her just over the next ridge, head pillowed on her knees. He didn’t need to see the tears to know she was crying. Her misery was better concealed than they day he had first met her, but the cause was plain enough this time. She knew as well as he did the slim odds of her mortal brethren surviving the battle to come.
Even with all she had done to prepare - and he could not fault her, she has done all that she could, working toward this for longer than any outside her immediate circle knew - they were still only six against an army.
He sighed as he sat down next to her. It seemed he was once again to be the one to dry her tears.
“You could send them away,” he suggested quietly. He used Quenya, in case they should be overheard. While Willow may be able to understand it, the other two certainly don’t. The strength of Anariel’s mortal siblings was that they had all focused on different skills over the years. When brought together like this, they became something truly formidable, their combined might greater than the sum of their parts.
It reminded him of what he had once had, when he had been one of seven.
“No, I can’t,” she replied quietly, her voice muffled by both her current posture as well as the effort to keep her tears silent.
He could see by the few stars that are still visible in the sky - including her grandfather Eärendil, keeping watch over her as always - that her face was wet. He folded her into the hug he knows Elrond would give her were he there to do so.
“Pitya,” he sighed. “We can fight and die just as well without them. Do not behave like the Numenorians at their fall, who would gladly take others with them.”
“That is not what I meant,” she whispered. “It’s not like that at all. It’s… I could tell them to go, I want to tell them to go. But it wouldn’t do any good. They won’t. They’ll stay. For me.”
She drew a ragged breath before continuing.
“It’s stupid of me to want to send them away, and selfish. They’re adults, we’ve been doing this long enough that they know what they’re doing. I know they’re mortal so of course they’ll have to die sometime, but-”
When she finally found the words, it was the voice of a small child, younger than he has ever seen or heard her.
“I just want it to not be tomorrow. It’s too soon. Just a little bit longer…”
He did not know what to say to that, for many reasons. Mortality was not something Makalaurë was familiar with. The only mortal loss he had ever faced was Elros. And his foster son had been lost to him long before accepting the Gift of Men, before choosing mortality even.
Besides, he was certain that no matter how long they were given, it would never be long enough. No mortal lifetime could stretch to forever. Anariel had given her heart freely to her foster brother and sisters before she had known that their fate and hers were so very different. Without them, Arda will ever after be emptier for her. There is nothing they can do to change the fate of mortals, and nothing they can do to ensure anyone survives the morrow, not even themselves.
He had no words for this, only questions whose answers were only to be found in the Uttermost West - if they were to be found at all.
So he did what he knew to do when face with a crying elfling - sang softly, while rubbing her back in quiet sympathy until she calmed herself.
When the tears finally waned, she sighed, leaning into him for whatever scant comfort he could give.
“Thank you, haru. I will be better,” she promised. “I have to be. I can face it now.”
When they returned to the fire, her eyes were clear, and free of tears. He knew Anariel would brave whatever the morning might bring as if she never doubted. She would stand straight and proud as any prince of the Noldor while she prepared for a battle that should never have been hers to fight.