Aug. 7 - All That's Left To Say
Title: All That's Left To Say
Author: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR
Disclaimer: All belongs to Whedon & Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Xander knows how his story ends, and he's at peace with it, even if others aren't ready to let go yet.
Word Count: 1315
Aragorn had been walking the camp for several hours when he finally came upon Xander. Though they marched in the morning and would need their rest, many of his men were having a sleepless night - himself included. It was one thing to say in the light of day, even the weak light of days such as these, that you would march on Mordor. It was another thing to actually do it.
Xander was sitting before Anariel's tent, gazing in the direction of Minas Tirith (though the city was beyond mortal sight) his remaining eye looking like he was lost in memory. He might well be. Aragorn knew that when he had still been a young man, Anariel and the Scoobies had travelled widely. He has not heard all the tales of what they did in that time, nor is he likely to, for only two remain to tell them.
All too soon there will be only one.
“Thinking of the White City?” Aragorn asked quietly.
Xander didn’t jump - he can’t remember ever seeing Xander jump - but he did have the air of a man who’d been startled back from elsewhere.
“Mmm,” he replied with a nod.
“The damage is less than it might have been,” Aragorn said conversationally.
“I hear it’s still pretty extensive,” Xander said grimly, thinking of the twins’ descriptions of huge gaps in the walls inflicted by catapult and siege engines and hoping that the destruction was not as bad as he was picturing. “How long do you think it will take you to restore it?”
“Longer than we have,” Aragorn grimaced. “If we fail, the city will fall in short order, for with the gaps in the walls, it is all but indefensible.”
“Not what I meant,” Xander clarified with the ghost of a smile. “How long once Sauron is dealt with?”
“You take our success as given?” Aragorn asked, startled.
If Xander’s expression was more melancholy than a smile should be, Aragorn could scarce blame him for it.
“Kid, you’ve got Buffy the Vampire Slayer on your side. You’re going to win. Beating the bad guy and saving the world is what she does. And she’s been at this longer than you have.”
“You do not expect to see the victory, though,” Aragorn murmured. He could not continue the pretense that he did not know the older man was mortally wounded.
“No,” Xander quietly confirmed. “I won’t. But I do know it will happen.”
“You are so calm,” Aragorn said, unable to keep the surprise from his tone.
“My death is old news to me,” Xander told him. “I don’t know that I’ve gone through all the stages of grief- I’m not too sure I’ve even gotten past denial for Anya and Will yet- but I have had a little more time than you for it to sink in.”
He sighed.
“Also, dying becomes less frightening when the people you love have already gone ahead of you. Will and I were best friends our entire lives. And I know Anya and I may not have looked like a tale for the ages, but I loved her. To the point where it’s almost a relief not to have to learn how to live in a world without her in it. We’ve been together long enough that I’m not sure I could make that adjustment, even with Jesse and Joy around. My kids are in good hands, the best they could possibly be in if they can’t be with me and Ahn, so I know I’m checking out with everything in order.”
“You do not have to march with us,” Aragorn told him. “Your time is short. No one would think less of you for passing what little of it is left to you in comfort.”
Xander snorted.
“Maybe you wouldn’t, and Buffy and the brothers El might not, but I’d think less of me,” he replied. “I can’t be with my kids, but the time that’s left should be just enough to get me to the last battle and maybe give me a crack at doing something more useful than adding to some already overworked healer’s chore list. Besides, I’ve always preferred to be with the people I care about while they march into danger.”
Aragorn opened his mouth to argue, but that was as far as he got.
Xander smiled and shook his head.
“Listen, Estel,” he began. “I’m older than you, and while the elves may say I’m barely more than a kid, by the lights of the mortals in the world I was born in, I’m old. So let me tell you something that Elrond and his sons can’t teach you - part of being mortal is dying. They tell me that with your Numenorian heritage, you’ve got quite a few years ahead of you. But you’ll face this someday too. They call death the Gift of Men here. But every day you’ve had with the people you love- with Arwen, with the kids you’re going to have together, hopefully with your grandkids and maybe even their kids - that’s a gift too. Treasure it. Treat it like the precious thing it is. Be the best man you know how to be in that time. And if you do that, it’ll be easier to let go when your time is done.”
“And this is your time?” Aragorn asked, feeling like a green youngster still learning how to be a man and looking to the only other mortal male in Imladris for guidance on what being a Man meant.
Xander nodded.
“It is. I really hope you get to make the choice of when to go, that your hand won’t be forced by war like this. If you’re lucky, you’ll have years of peace and one morning you’ll wake up and know it’s time, and you’ll set your affairs in order and lay you down to sleep.”
He paused.
“But if not, if the end comes like this in battle or war- know it doesn’t have to be worthy of song, just as long as it's not worthy of shame.”
“This still does not explain why you march,” Aragorn sighed.
“What else should I do?” Xander replied mildly. “Willow and Anya have both gone before me. I’ve been following Buffy into battle pretty much since I first met her. She’s marching come morning. Unless death takes me tonight, I’ll be marching right next to her, watching out for her as best I can one last time. Dying in battle may not be the same for elves as it is for us, but I’d still rather she didn’t.”
Aragorn nodded. He’d rather she didn’t, too. And Xander was probably the person with the best shot at keeping her from doing something fatal in her grief.
“I do not know what else to say,” he confessed. “I had hoped to talk you out of it, but I see now that was foolish.”
Xander shrugged.
“It’s ok, you meant well. But since I’m going to die either way, I’m going to stick with my family. There’s no place in the world I’d rather be. So there’s really not much else to say.”
He paused.
“Actually- I know I should really wait until after the battle to say this, but I don’t think that’s in the cards this time. Pretty sure saying it now won’t jinx things, but still…”
He glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then motioned for Aragorn to lean in so he could whisper.
“I’m proud of you, kid. You did good.”
It is just as well Xander had him lean in, because Aragorn can feel tears sting his eyes at this. He’s not sure he deserves such confidence, much less the brotherly hug that goes with it, but it heartens him all the same.
“Now,” Xander said, all mock sternness, “go get some sleep. We’ve got a big day tomorrow. Off to save the world.”