Day 4 - The Loss
Title: The Loss
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Once more unto the breach...
Word Count: 975(ish)
Warning: Scooby death. (NOT 'off-screen'.)
Note: Rushed this one a bit, because it's going to be another long day, and if I don't post now, I won't get to post at all. But I danced around this in Fic A Day last year and I really wanted to get to it this time around...
When the blade descended, Éomer, son of Éomund, briefly King of the Mark, knew he was a dead man. His own sword had just gone flying from his hand and disarmed, there was nothing he could do to stop it. The cursed Nazgul would end him, and with him the House of Eorl.
No, not so - for Eowyn yet lived. He must believe that she survived. His sister would lead their people well.
When the companion of Anariel Dagnis darted in front of him, he was startled. He scrambled madly for his sword, for he could see plainly that Xander son of Harris was already grievously wounded- at the side of the Dagnis was no good place to be in a battle such as this.
All the forces of Mordor had focused on her. It was hardly a surprise, given that she had dared name the Dark One a coward before all the host of the West - but despite her small stature, the daughter of Elrond Half-Elven had given far worse than she had gotten.
The field around her was littered with more than enough dead orcs, trolls, and Easterlings to prove her legendary reputation not unearned. Eomer had needed to yell at more than one of his own soldiers to stop gawking at the lethal grace she displayed and keep their attention on their own fights. The Dagnis herself looked as if she did not yet have a scratch on her. Her loyal comrade had not fared as well.
Alas, he was too slow- Eomer cursed himself as he saw the blade go through the older man as though his armor was just another layer of cloth.
And then, to his amazement, the man laughed.
Laughed.
As if the stroke that killed him meant nothing at all.
Suddenly the Dagnis herself blazed before them both, and Eomer could feel the heat of her fury.
Even the wraith cringed before her. The blow she struck was skilled, but not deadly - she had done something far crueler than merely kill the servant of the Enemy. She had cut off his ring. Made him visible to mortal eyes. And without his ring of power, and the shadows to hide his form, he was a no fearsome thing- a wrinkled old man, twisted from both his unnatural years and his long service to the Dark One, not fit to face even other men, let alone the elf-princess in her wrath.
For a long heartbeat, all around simply stared. The shell that had once been a Man was still insubstantial. His body had not been aeturned to him, he had merely been revealed to mortal eyes. But with his invisibility went his power to create terror in his enemies- one warrior nearby let out a great shout of laughter at the true face of the feared wraith.
Anariel Dagnis only deigned to finish him when it looked as if he would flee - when suddenly the remaining wraiths all reacted to some urgent command of their master. His head went spinning through the air as the Dagnis turned faster than mortal eyes could follow to return to the side of her stricken comrade.
It was too late, of course. The man had been run completely through.
Eomer could do nothing to help the son of Harris, but he could see that their enemies were held off long enough to allow the daughter of Elrond to bid farewell to her sworn brother.
“Nothing… but… love,” Eomer heard him murmur.
Eomer saw that the dying man squeezed the she-elf’s hand weakly before slipping from life with the curious words ‘you party.’
She folded his hands over his heart before rising, sword in hand, as someone cried out that the Eagles were coming. In that moment, Eomer thought that despite her tiny stature, she looked the very vision of the elf heroes of old. Her grip on her weapon - a thing of deadly beauty in its own right, just like the warrior who wielded it - was deceptively delicate, which somehow only served to make her look more formidable.
“Stand, Men of the West!” Mithrandir called. “Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom!”
Anariel Dagnis was the only one who moved. She took a single step toward the Black Gate before the Mountain of Fire erupted spectacularly. She showed no sign the shaking earth beneath her feet bothered her in the least as the creatures of Sauron suddenly turned to flee. She simply watched to see what the men that fought under Mordor’s standard would do, her grasp on her sword almost a caress as she waited for a reason to fight on.
Eomer pitied any of the Dark One’s creatures who were foolish enough to continue their attack. He was certain the look on the Dagnis’ face meant pain and woe to any enemy foolish enough to face her.
She actually looked somewhat disappointed when the majority of the orcs were swallowed by the immense chasms opening up - the lord of Mordor had tunneled the land extensively, and as all that was wrought with the power of the Ring failed, so did those tunnels.
He understood. When he saw his uncle dead on the Pelennor, he had wanted nothing more than to hew his enemies, to continue fighting, to sink his sword into foe after foe. Vengeance could not bring back the dead. But it did help stave off the grief.
She did not wait to see what became of the Ringbearer- she stode through the Army of the West, ignoring man and horse alike until she reached the rear, where there were still remnants of orcs and men of Sauron’s banner scattered on firmer ground.
Unsurprisingly, when she raised her sword, many Easterlings threw theirs down. They might have cast their lot with Sauron, but they were no fools - they knew death walking when they saw it.
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: Once more unto the breach...
Word Count: 975(ish)
Warning: Scooby death. (NOT 'off-screen'.)
Note: Rushed this one a bit, because it's going to be another long day, and if I don't post now, I won't get to post at all. But I danced around this in Fic A Day last year and I really wanted to get to it this time around...
When the blade descended, Éomer, son of Éomund, briefly King of the Mark, knew he was a dead man. His own sword had just gone flying from his hand and disarmed, there was nothing he could do to stop it. The cursed Nazgul would end him, and with him the House of Eorl.
No, not so - for Eowyn yet lived. He must believe that she survived. His sister would lead their people well.
When the companion of Anariel Dagnis darted in front of him, he was startled. He scrambled madly for his sword, for he could see plainly that Xander son of Harris was already grievously wounded- at the side of the Dagnis was no good place to be in a battle such as this.
All the forces of Mordor had focused on her. It was hardly a surprise, given that she had dared name the Dark One a coward before all the host of the West - but despite her small stature, the daughter of Elrond Half-Elven had given far worse than she had gotten.
The field around her was littered with more than enough dead orcs, trolls, and Easterlings to prove her legendary reputation not unearned. Eomer had needed to yell at more than one of his own soldiers to stop gawking at the lethal grace she displayed and keep their attention on their own fights. The Dagnis herself looked as if she did not yet have a scratch on her. Her loyal comrade had not fared as well.
Alas, he was too slow- Eomer cursed himself as he saw the blade go through the older man as though his armor was just another layer of cloth.
And then, to his amazement, the man laughed.
Laughed.
As if the stroke that killed him meant nothing at all.
Suddenly the Dagnis herself blazed before them both, and Eomer could feel the heat of her fury.
Even the wraith cringed before her. The blow she struck was skilled, but not deadly - she had done something far crueler than merely kill the servant of the Enemy. She had cut off his ring. Made him visible to mortal eyes. And without his ring of power, and the shadows to hide his form, he was a no fearsome thing- a wrinkled old man, twisted from both his unnatural years and his long service to the Dark One, not fit to face even other men, let alone the elf-princess in her wrath.
For a long heartbeat, all around simply stared. The shell that had once been a Man was still insubstantial. His body had not been aeturned to him, he had merely been revealed to mortal eyes. But with his invisibility went his power to create terror in his enemies- one warrior nearby let out a great shout of laughter at the true face of the feared wraith.
Anariel Dagnis only deigned to finish him when it looked as if he would flee - when suddenly the remaining wraiths all reacted to some urgent command of their master. His head went spinning through the air as the Dagnis turned faster than mortal eyes could follow to return to the side of her stricken comrade.
It was too late, of course. The man had been run completely through.
Eomer could do nothing to help the son of Harris, but he could see that their enemies were held off long enough to allow the daughter of Elrond to bid farewell to her sworn brother.
“Nothing… but… love,” Eomer heard him murmur.
Eomer saw that the dying man squeezed the she-elf’s hand weakly before slipping from life with the curious words ‘you party.’
She folded his hands over his heart before rising, sword in hand, as someone cried out that the Eagles were coming. In that moment, Eomer thought that despite her tiny stature, she looked the very vision of the elf heroes of old. Her grip on her weapon - a thing of deadly beauty in its own right, just like the warrior who wielded it - was deceptively delicate, which somehow only served to make her look more formidable.
“Stand, Men of the West!” Mithrandir called. “Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom!”
Anariel Dagnis was the only one who moved. She took a single step toward the Black Gate before the Mountain of Fire erupted spectacularly. She showed no sign the shaking earth beneath her feet bothered her in the least as the creatures of Sauron suddenly turned to flee. She simply watched to see what the men that fought under Mordor’s standard would do, her grasp on her sword almost a caress as she waited for a reason to fight on.
Eomer pitied any of the Dark One’s creatures who were foolish enough to continue their attack. He was certain the look on the Dagnis’ face meant pain and woe to any enemy foolish enough to face her.
She actually looked somewhat disappointed when the majority of the orcs were swallowed by the immense chasms opening up - the lord of Mordor had tunneled the land extensively, and as all that was wrought with the power of the Ring failed, so did those tunnels.
He understood. When he saw his uncle dead on the Pelennor, he had wanted nothing more than to hew his enemies, to continue fighting, to sink his sword into foe after foe. Vengeance could not bring back the dead. But it did help stave off the grief.
She did not wait to see what became of the Ringbearer- she stode through the Army of the West, ignoring man and horse alike until she reached the rear, where there were still remnants of orcs and men of Sauron’s banner scattered on firmer ground.
Unsurprisingly, when she raised her sword, many Easterlings threw theirs down. They might have cast their lot with Sauron, but they were no fools - they knew death walking when they saw it.