Day 2 - Bunnies!
Title: Bunnies!
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: It was an odd war cry.
Word Count: 1850
Warning: Implied imminent character death(s)
Makalaurë glanced over at the mortal woman Anya, his partner for the battle.
He had been told she knew more of death than either of the other two mortals, much of it creatively painful, which was why Anariel had trusted her to take this position with him at the north end of the canyon - they were the last line of defense preventing escape from the trap Elrond’s daughter had wrought for the army of Sauron.
This position should have been quiet, but he had suspected even as Anariel had explained it that they were trusting too much to good fortune. The terrain and the wizards were luck enough. It could not hold. Judging by the number of orcs that were now coming their way, it hadn’t.
The mortal man Xander had been tasked with setting off the traps that sealed the canyon at both ends. What used to be the broad entrance, wide enough that the orcs could enter without breaking ranks, had been reduced to a vast pile of rubble some twenty minutes ago. Makalaurë had to take it on trust that the two ends of the canyon had been sealed simultaneously as planned. There had been no time for the mortals to explain their chosen weapon clearly enough for him to understand how it functioned.
The explanation would have interested Curvo more anyway.
Anariel had chosen to make her stand at the narrower southern end of the canyon with Laurefindil, both of them primed to fight the valaraukar. They would put Anariel’s theory that they were the Light to oppose the Shadow, while the witch and wizards provide the Water to oppose the Flame, to the test. She had gone over tactics with them incessantly in the last hour before they had all split up to take their assigned stations.
He hadn’t had the heart to tell her how much it had reminded him of Findekano.
He hoped it was going well - between the darkness, the dust, and the storm raised by the wizards, he could scarce make out what was passing half a mile away, let alone the nearly five leagues to the other end of the canyon. And he had more urgent things to keep his eyes on. His arrows were nearly spent, yet there were still more orcs coming at them, in spite of the rockslides Anya had triggered after their enemies had been trapped.
If things had gone according to plan, they should have only needed to pick off stragglers.
Unfortunately, things did not appear to be going according to plan. And the increasingly frantic scrabbling of the orcs trying to escape suggested that things were about to get worse. Much, much worse.
He had never faced a valarauco before, not directly. But he had seen what happened to those who had - those who were far greater warriors than himself.
He hadn’t truly expected to survive this adventure anyway.
Makalaurë looked over to the mortal woman.
“Should a balrog come this way, you are to leave it to me. Focus on the orcs,” he ordered firmly, not a trace of his private thoughts bleeding into his voice. “Do not allow any to escape!”
It had been ages of the earth since he last commanded in the field, yet the manner still came back to him at need. She did not argue.
“If it appears I am about to be overwhelmed,” he added grimly, knowing that it was truly ‘when’, not ‘if’, “I will lead the creature to the emergency fallback. You will use it to trap the creature until Anariel or Glorfindel can reach us!”
If either of them still lived, that was. That was truly an ‘if’. After so many centuries of self-imposed isolation, Makalaurë was no longer sure he would know if they had been killed. If all three elves died…
It did not bear thinking on. He could not imagine that even the witch could take out a balrog on her own, especially not after the effort it must have taken to raise the storm and the flood.
He could only trust (and pray- he was praying as he had not since the days of the Trees) that the emergency fallback trap will function as Anya and Xander described it. If their position fell, allowing an avenue of escape, word of the ambush would reach Mordor. Reinforcements from the Black Land would easily cut off the retreat of Anariel’s team.
Assuming that there were any survivors. That, too, was an ‘if’, and one that seemed more doubtful with every passing moment.
If there were survivors, Makalaurë did not expect himself to be among them. His heart told him this was where his ill-fated sojourn in Endorë would end. He only hoped he could keep from pulling the mortal woman down with him.
His arrows were gone. He moved to hers, knowing that his skill with a bow was superior. She would need to wait for their foes to be much closer before she could be sure of her shot.
“Do you understand?” he asked urgently, without ceasing to fire, needing to hear confirmation that she had heard the order and would carry it out.
The beast would be upon them soon. He prayed urgently to any Vala who cared to listen that it may already be wounded - he was never the warrior. That had been Tyelko or Nelyo, not him. But he had to try, for this foe was beyond the mortal at his side, and likely beyond Elrond’s sons who will surely stand with their distant cousin to challenge Mordor. He could not allow it to escape.
Will you call me by name, Lord Namo? Or do I find my own way into the Darkness I committed myself to so long ago? I will go happily if it means life for any of these children.
Anya nodded, her face pale and her eyes wide with fright. To his surprise, she looked absolutely beside herself, worse even than the untried elves of the Noldorin host at the Battle Under The Stars who had not known what to expect- though he knew Anariel had been at some pains to explain to her sisters and brother exactly what they would face here. She had told them before she left Imladris, and several times again on the march East.
She had even offered all of them one last chance to leave that morning, one last chance to live. It had been almost a plea, for she had known by then that it was not one or two valaraucar she faced but three.
None of them had taken it.
Makalaurë could see the air thickening- any other day, he would have said darkening, but there had been no dawn this day - and hear a low, threatening rumble that had nothing to do with the storm the wizards and witch had created. Shadow.
There was no more time for fear or doubt now.
“Are you well?” he asked, knowing that it was a rather ridiculous question, and unsure what he could do - or would have time to do.
“No,” Anya answered shrilly, sounding panicked by her own unease as much as by their circumstances. “I’m not. I’m terrified.”
She took a deep breath.
“I didn’t think… I thought if anything, you’d be terrified and I’d be sarcastic about it, and we’d both get through this! But-“
She stopped, suddenly still, and he realized that she knew. Whether foresight, or logic, he was unsure, but she knew with clarity what was to come.
“We will not get through it,” she said flatly. “You and I are the line, and they’re going to try to cross it.”
“But they will not cross,” he replied firmly, casting about for what he could say to bolster her for what they now both accepted would be their last fight.
She nodded, oddly calm now that she knew the worst. He could see the knowledge in her eyes, and the resilience of the Secondborn startled him afresh.
“Damn straight they won’t,” she told him, her voice suddenly steel. “I may die today, but my kids are going to live, and they are not going to live in a world ruled by Sauron. We’re going to do this. No matter the cost.”
“No matter the cost,” he echoed. “We cannot fail them. If this is to be our last day, we will make it a day to sing of, no matter how it may end. For me, it comes as a relief after so long in darkness and doubt. But should you want for courage, think of your children, and on happier times.”
“I should have listened to Tindomiel,” she muttered. “I would have done things differently with Jesse and Joy the last few days. I didn’t really think that this was going to be the end.”
“This is not the end!” Makalaurë told her firmly. “What you go to after your death may be different than our fate, but I am told that there is more for Men than this.”
He gestured with his sword at the carnage surrounding them, with the dark of storm and shadow broken only by the oncoming glow of flames as the fell creature came into view. Even if her last years had been happier than his, it would be truly awful to think that this was all there was.
“It is not just memory,” he assured her, putting what power remained to him into his words. “You will see them again.”
“You really believe that?” Anya asked.
She was no child - indeed, she was older even than Anariel, her time spent as a vengeance wraith prolonging the tale of her years beyond even the Numenorian span - but she sounds just for a moment as though she were a little one searching for reassurance.
“I do,” he said firmly. “Did not Anariel say that Men believe the place they go to after receiving the Gift is what Arda might have been were it unmarred? A land peaceful and unstained? That is what awaits you. Think on spring days. Cool breezes. Clear skies. The sun on your face. Green fields. Trees. Flowers. Bunnies.”
A Singer’s power echoed in his words, and for a moment he could see Valinor of his youth. That would not be his fate - Anariel may have spoken boldly, but in his heart, he did not believe even she would be able to sway the Doomsman - but if Anya could see it, surely it must help.
“Bunnies?” Anya said slowly.
The light that entered her eyes at that word was anything but pleasant and peaceful.
“Bunnies,” she repeated, abruptly as fierce as any elven warrior, raising her sword with purpose. “Floppy, hoppy bunnies!”
Her voice grew louder with each word, until the last was a war cry, filled with the promise of wrath, ruin, and death to her foes.
It was an odd battle cry, but as the last orcs swarmed at them, trying to be anywhere but in the path of the oncoming valarauco, he decided that there were worse things to yell.
It would make a good song someday.
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: It was an odd war cry.
Word Count: 1850
Warning: Implied imminent character death(s)
Makalaurë glanced over at the mortal woman Anya, his partner for the battle.
He had been told she knew more of death than either of the other two mortals, much of it creatively painful, which was why Anariel had trusted her to take this position with him at the north end of the canyon - they were the last line of defense preventing escape from the trap Elrond’s daughter had wrought for the army of Sauron.
This position should have been quiet, but he had suspected even as Anariel had explained it that they were trusting too much to good fortune. The terrain and the wizards were luck enough. It could not hold. Judging by the number of orcs that were now coming their way, it hadn’t.
The mortal man Xander had been tasked with setting off the traps that sealed the canyon at both ends. What used to be the broad entrance, wide enough that the orcs could enter without breaking ranks, had been reduced to a vast pile of rubble some twenty minutes ago. Makalaurë had to take it on trust that the two ends of the canyon had been sealed simultaneously as planned. There had been no time for the mortals to explain their chosen weapon clearly enough for him to understand how it functioned.
The explanation would have interested Curvo more anyway.
Anariel had chosen to make her stand at the narrower southern end of the canyon with Laurefindil, both of them primed to fight the valaraukar. They would put Anariel’s theory that they were the Light to oppose the Shadow, while the witch and wizards provide the Water to oppose the Flame, to the test. She had gone over tactics with them incessantly in the last hour before they had all split up to take their assigned stations.
He hadn’t had the heart to tell her how much it had reminded him of Findekano.
He hoped it was going well - between the darkness, the dust, and the storm raised by the wizards, he could scarce make out what was passing half a mile away, let alone the nearly five leagues to the other end of the canyon. And he had more urgent things to keep his eyes on. His arrows were nearly spent, yet there were still more orcs coming at them, in spite of the rockslides Anya had triggered after their enemies had been trapped.
If things had gone according to plan, they should have only needed to pick off stragglers.
Unfortunately, things did not appear to be going according to plan. And the increasingly frantic scrabbling of the orcs trying to escape suggested that things were about to get worse. Much, much worse.
He had never faced a valarauco before, not directly. But he had seen what happened to those who had - those who were far greater warriors than himself.
He hadn’t truly expected to survive this adventure anyway.
Makalaurë looked over to the mortal woman.
“Should a balrog come this way, you are to leave it to me. Focus on the orcs,” he ordered firmly, not a trace of his private thoughts bleeding into his voice. “Do not allow any to escape!”
It had been ages of the earth since he last commanded in the field, yet the manner still came back to him at need. She did not argue.
“If it appears I am about to be overwhelmed,” he added grimly, knowing that it was truly ‘when’, not ‘if’, “I will lead the creature to the emergency fallback. You will use it to trap the creature until Anariel or Glorfindel can reach us!”
If either of them still lived, that was. That was truly an ‘if’. After so many centuries of self-imposed isolation, Makalaurë was no longer sure he would know if they had been killed. If all three elves died…
It did not bear thinking on. He could not imagine that even the witch could take out a balrog on her own, especially not after the effort it must have taken to raise the storm and the flood.
He could only trust (and pray- he was praying as he had not since the days of the Trees) that the emergency fallback trap will function as Anya and Xander described it. If their position fell, allowing an avenue of escape, word of the ambush would reach Mordor. Reinforcements from the Black Land would easily cut off the retreat of Anariel’s team.
Assuming that there were any survivors. That, too, was an ‘if’, and one that seemed more doubtful with every passing moment.
If there were survivors, Makalaurë did not expect himself to be among them. His heart told him this was where his ill-fated sojourn in Endorë would end. He only hoped he could keep from pulling the mortal woman down with him.
His arrows were gone. He moved to hers, knowing that his skill with a bow was superior. She would need to wait for their foes to be much closer before she could be sure of her shot.
“Do you understand?” he asked urgently, without ceasing to fire, needing to hear confirmation that she had heard the order and would carry it out.
The beast would be upon them soon. He prayed urgently to any Vala who cared to listen that it may already be wounded - he was never the warrior. That had been Tyelko or Nelyo, not him. But he had to try, for this foe was beyond the mortal at his side, and likely beyond Elrond’s sons who will surely stand with their distant cousin to challenge Mordor. He could not allow it to escape.
Will you call me by name, Lord Namo? Or do I find my own way into the Darkness I committed myself to so long ago? I will go happily if it means life for any of these children.
Anya nodded, her face pale and her eyes wide with fright. To his surprise, she looked absolutely beside herself, worse even than the untried elves of the Noldorin host at the Battle Under The Stars who had not known what to expect- though he knew Anariel had been at some pains to explain to her sisters and brother exactly what they would face here. She had told them before she left Imladris, and several times again on the march East.
She had even offered all of them one last chance to leave that morning, one last chance to live. It had been almost a plea, for she had known by then that it was not one or two valaraucar she faced but three.
None of them had taken it.
Makalaurë could see the air thickening- any other day, he would have said darkening, but there had been no dawn this day - and hear a low, threatening rumble that had nothing to do with the storm the wizards and witch had created. Shadow.
There was no more time for fear or doubt now.
“Are you well?” he asked, knowing that it was a rather ridiculous question, and unsure what he could do - or would have time to do.
“No,” Anya answered shrilly, sounding panicked by her own unease as much as by their circumstances. “I’m not. I’m terrified.”
She took a deep breath.
“I didn’t think… I thought if anything, you’d be terrified and I’d be sarcastic about it, and we’d both get through this! But-“
She stopped, suddenly still, and he realized that she knew. Whether foresight, or logic, he was unsure, but she knew with clarity what was to come.
“We will not get through it,” she said flatly. “You and I are the line, and they’re going to try to cross it.”
“But they will not cross,” he replied firmly, casting about for what he could say to bolster her for what they now both accepted would be their last fight.
She nodded, oddly calm now that she knew the worst. He could see the knowledge in her eyes, and the resilience of the Secondborn startled him afresh.
“Damn straight they won’t,” she told him, her voice suddenly steel. “I may die today, but my kids are going to live, and they are not going to live in a world ruled by Sauron. We’re going to do this. No matter the cost.”
“No matter the cost,” he echoed. “We cannot fail them. If this is to be our last day, we will make it a day to sing of, no matter how it may end. For me, it comes as a relief after so long in darkness and doubt. But should you want for courage, think of your children, and on happier times.”
“I should have listened to Tindomiel,” she muttered. “I would have done things differently with Jesse and Joy the last few days. I didn’t really think that this was going to be the end.”
“This is not the end!” Makalaurë told her firmly. “What you go to after your death may be different than our fate, but I am told that there is more for Men than this.”
He gestured with his sword at the carnage surrounding them, with the dark of storm and shadow broken only by the oncoming glow of flames as the fell creature came into view. Even if her last years had been happier than his, it would be truly awful to think that this was all there was.
“It is not just memory,” he assured her, putting what power remained to him into his words. “You will see them again.”
“You really believe that?” Anya asked.
She was no child - indeed, she was older even than Anariel, her time spent as a vengeance wraith prolonging the tale of her years beyond even the Numenorian span - but she sounds just for a moment as though she were a little one searching for reassurance.
“I do,” he said firmly. “Did not Anariel say that Men believe the place they go to after receiving the Gift is what Arda might have been were it unmarred? A land peaceful and unstained? That is what awaits you. Think on spring days. Cool breezes. Clear skies. The sun on your face. Green fields. Trees. Flowers. Bunnies.”
A Singer’s power echoed in his words, and for a moment he could see Valinor of his youth. That would not be his fate - Anariel may have spoken boldly, but in his heart, he did not believe even she would be able to sway the Doomsman - but if Anya could see it, surely it must help.
“Bunnies?” Anya said slowly.
The light that entered her eyes at that word was anything but pleasant and peaceful.
“Bunnies,” she repeated, abruptly as fierce as any elven warrior, raising her sword with purpose. “Floppy, hoppy bunnies!”
Her voice grew louder with each word, until the last was a war cry, filled with the promise of wrath, ruin, and death to her foes.
It was an odd battle cry, but as the last orcs swarmed at them, trying to be anywhere but in the path of the oncoming valarauco, he decided that there were worse things to yell.
It would make a good song someday.