Aug. 11 - Anyone Who Says Differently Is Selling Something
Title: Anyone Who Says Differently Is Selling Something
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR18 (Warning: Character Death. "On screen".)
Crossover: LotR
Disclaimer: No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Every battle has casualties. Buffy knew that going in. She just hadn't expected it to be this bad.
Word Count: 1025
Note: If you've read previous entries in my Buffy in Middle Earth series, you know that Willow, Anya, and Xander all died in the War of the Ring. Xander I've written before. Willow I still haven't managed to do justice to. This is Anya. And horrifying as it is, this was actually the cheerfullest attempt at writing this evening. I think the moral here is that I should not write after three hours driving in Friday afternoon NY-NJ traffic. I'm sorry.
The unnatural darkness and flame died with the balrog.
Buffy had lost track of how long she and Lungorthin had been locked in single combat, both knowing it was a fight to the death. The Slayer - that part that was not her, but grafted on - was roaring in victory. The spirit of the Slayer didn’t care about cost, only that the Darkness had not won.
There was no glow in this victory, however.
Willow was dead. Makalaurë was dead. Xander was wounded. Anya…
Buffy crawled - now that standing upright wasn’t absolutely vital anymore, her injured and exhausted legs refused to hold her any longer - toward where Anya lay crumpled not far from Makalaurë. She feared she was already too late.
As she drew closer, she could see a slight motion. But the rasping she could hear in the sudden silence brought her no comfort. She may not be the field medic her brothers are, but she’s been around injuries often enough by now to understand that lungs making a sound like that aren’t healthy.
“Buffy?”
Anya’s voice was not strong, but Buffy wasn’t too sure her own would be much better.
“I’m here,” she called, dragging herself the last few yards between them as fast as she could given how non-cooperative her body had become now that there were no enemies before her and the adrenaline was draining from her system.
She sucked in a shocked breath when she took in the damage.
The lungs were the least of Anya’s problems. At least one, and more likely many orcs had gotten a hit or possibly bite or two in before she took them down.
“Oh, Anya,” she exclaimed, trying not to cry.
“Don’t,” Anya snapped. On any other occasion, her brusqueness would have made it sound like an order, but it was more a plea. “Please, don’t. If you start with the tears, I’ll cry too, and I’ve managed not to so far…”
She trailed off, blinking, because both of them knew damn well that she wasn’t getting back up. Not from this.
“It’s dealer’s choice, really,” Anya continued grimly. “I was hoping for damage that would bleed out quickly, but no such luck. It’s a question of what will do me in first, the punctured lung or the gut wound.”
Buffy closed her eyes for a second.
Wishing for Ada was no good, nor was castigating herself for not being a better healer. Nor would words help. Her long years of vengeance meant Anya knew with utter clarity what her injuries meant- and thanks to her years in Arda, she knew not only how good elven healing was, but its limits as well.
“Even your father couldn’t fix this, so don’t bother trying to pretend that Glorfindel might be able to do something,” Anya said. “Not that he’s here. And you’re in no shape to run for him.”
She paused to draw another rasping breath and something that sounded suspiciously like a sob.
“With luck, he’s seeing to Xander.”
“Most likely,” Buffy confirmed. “I know he was wounded, but not badly.”
Not fatally, at least. She had to believe that. The Powers of this world were not supposed to be cruel. They wouldn’t demand three Scoobies for three balrogs. They couldn’t…
“I left mopping up the southern end to them while I-”
“Came after the real problem,” Anya finished for her. “And finished it. Xander’s alive. Good. I needed to know that.”
She drew in another rattling, painful sounding breath before she went on.
“That just leaves one last thing I need.”
Buffy paused, wondering what it could be, before it hit her.
“Anya…” she protested.
“You know what wounds like these mean,” the other woman cut her off grimly. “You know what kind of death that will be. If it was just about me, I wouldn’t ask it of you. I’d tough it out. After all I’ve done, I know that I deserve every second of this. But it’s not- I… I don’t want to put Xander through it.”
She faltered for a moment, closing her eyes. Buffy hated herself for hoping that maybe she had succumbed to her wounds before she drew another painful sounding breath.
“He doesn’t need to see this,” Anya continued. “I want to spare him that. It’s going to be hard enough for him already. And I don’t think I’m dying quickly enough that he won’t be here to see it unless he’s worse off than you knew.”
Anya was probably right about Xander. She usually was - and if there was anyone she protected nearly as fiercely as her children, it was her husband. He was going to be a wreck already, with Willow…
“I can’t…” Buffy whispered.
It wasn’t so much the doing that bothered her, as the knowledge that with elven recall, she would remember it until the breaking of the world.
“Can’t what?” Anya asked, her voice going softer. “Can’t give a friend the mercy of a kinder death than she deserves?"
She paused.
"It’s not murder or womanslaughter or whatever you’re making it in your head. This isn’t a kinslaying. I’m asking you - Xander’s sister - to do me a kindness. For him.”
Buffy bit her lip so hard it drew blood, but she finally nodded.
She had seen one of the horse lords with a fatal belly wound on a trip through Rohan several decades ago. It wasn’t something she ever wanted to see again, particularly not on someone she cared about. It had taken the man several days to die, and it hadn’t been pretty.
Anya gave her what was left of a smile. Buffy leaned over to hug her.
“Thank you,” Anya breathed. “Don’t tell Xander or Jesse and Joy what happened. Just tell them I love them. So much.”
“As you wish,” Buffy whispered.
A quick motion of her hands and she was the only one there.
She rolled onto her back to stare at the dark, starless sky - even Eärendil wasn’t visible - wondering how anyone could live with something like this for a time as long as forever, and waiting for blessed unconsciousness to make the pain go away, if only for a little while.
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR18 (Warning: Character Death. "On screen".)
Crossover: LotR
Disclaimer: No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Every battle has casualties. Buffy knew that going in. She just hadn't expected it to be this bad.
Word Count: 1025
Note: If you've read previous entries in my Buffy in Middle Earth series, you know that Willow, Anya, and Xander all died in the War of the Ring. Xander I've written before. Willow I still haven't managed to do justice to. This is Anya. And horrifying as it is, this was actually the cheerfullest attempt at writing this evening. I think the moral here is that I should not write after three hours driving in Friday afternoon NY-NJ traffic. I'm sorry.
The unnatural darkness and flame died with the balrog.
Buffy had lost track of how long she and Lungorthin had been locked in single combat, both knowing it was a fight to the death. The Slayer - that part that was not her, but grafted on - was roaring in victory. The spirit of the Slayer didn’t care about cost, only that the Darkness had not won.
There was no glow in this victory, however.
Willow was dead. Makalaurë was dead. Xander was wounded. Anya…
Buffy crawled - now that standing upright wasn’t absolutely vital anymore, her injured and exhausted legs refused to hold her any longer - toward where Anya lay crumpled not far from Makalaurë. She feared she was already too late.
As she drew closer, she could see a slight motion. But the rasping she could hear in the sudden silence brought her no comfort. She may not be the field medic her brothers are, but she’s been around injuries often enough by now to understand that lungs making a sound like that aren’t healthy.
“Buffy?”
Anya’s voice was not strong, but Buffy wasn’t too sure her own would be much better.
“I’m here,” she called, dragging herself the last few yards between them as fast as she could given how non-cooperative her body had become now that there were no enemies before her and the adrenaline was draining from her system.
She sucked in a shocked breath when she took in the damage.
The lungs were the least of Anya’s problems. At least one, and more likely many orcs had gotten a hit or possibly bite or two in before she took them down.
“Oh, Anya,” she exclaimed, trying not to cry.
“Don’t,” Anya snapped. On any other occasion, her brusqueness would have made it sound like an order, but it was more a plea. “Please, don’t. If you start with the tears, I’ll cry too, and I’ve managed not to so far…”
She trailed off, blinking, because both of them knew damn well that she wasn’t getting back up. Not from this.
“It’s dealer’s choice, really,” Anya continued grimly. “I was hoping for damage that would bleed out quickly, but no such luck. It’s a question of what will do me in first, the punctured lung or the gut wound.”
Buffy closed her eyes for a second.
Wishing for Ada was no good, nor was castigating herself for not being a better healer. Nor would words help. Her long years of vengeance meant Anya knew with utter clarity what her injuries meant- and thanks to her years in Arda, she knew not only how good elven healing was, but its limits as well.
“Even your father couldn’t fix this, so don’t bother trying to pretend that Glorfindel might be able to do something,” Anya said. “Not that he’s here. And you’re in no shape to run for him.”
She paused to draw another rasping breath and something that sounded suspiciously like a sob.
“With luck, he’s seeing to Xander.”
“Most likely,” Buffy confirmed. “I know he was wounded, but not badly.”
Not fatally, at least. She had to believe that. The Powers of this world were not supposed to be cruel. They wouldn’t demand three Scoobies for three balrogs. They couldn’t…
“I left mopping up the southern end to them while I-”
“Came after the real problem,” Anya finished for her. “And finished it. Xander’s alive. Good. I needed to know that.”
She drew in another rattling, painful sounding breath before she went on.
“That just leaves one last thing I need.”
Buffy paused, wondering what it could be, before it hit her.
“Anya…” she protested.
“You know what wounds like these mean,” the other woman cut her off grimly. “You know what kind of death that will be. If it was just about me, I wouldn’t ask it of you. I’d tough it out. After all I’ve done, I know that I deserve every second of this. But it’s not- I… I don’t want to put Xander through it.”
She faltered for a moment, closing her eyes. Buffy hated herself for hoping that maybe she had succumbed to her wounds before she drew another painful sounding breath.
“He doesn’t need to see this,” Anya continued. “I want to spare him that. It’s going to be hard enough for him already. And I don’t think I’m dying quickly enough that he won’t be here to see it unless he’s worse off than you knew.”
Anya was probably right about Xander. She usually was - and if there was anyone she protected nearly as fiercely as her children, it was her husband. He was going to be a wreck already, with Willow…
“I can’t…” Buffy whispered.
It wasn’t so much the doing that bothered her, as the knowledge that with elven recall, she would remember it until the breaking of the world.
“Can’t what?” Anya asked, her voice going softer. “Can’t give a friend the mercy of a kinder death than she deserves?"
She paused.
"It’s not murder or womanslaughter or whatever you’re making it in your head. This isn’t a kinslaying. I’m asking you - Xander’s sister - to do me a kindness. For him.”
Buffy bit her lip so hard it drew blood, but she finally nodded.
She had seen one of the horse lords with a fatal belly wound on a trip through Rohan several decades ago. It wasn’t something she ever wanted to see again, particularly not on someone she cared about. It had taken the man several days to die, and it hadn’t been pretty.
Anya gave her what was left of a smile. Buffy leaned over to hug her.
“Thank you,” Anya breathed. “Don’t tell Xander or Jesse and Joy what happened. Just tell them I love them. So much.”
“As you wish,” Buffy whispered.
A quick motion of her hands and she was the only one there.
She rolled onto her back to stare at the dark, starless sky - even Eärendil wasn’t visible - wondering how anyone could live with something like this for a time as long as forever, and waiting for blessed unconsciousness to make the pain go away, if only for a little while.