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The Warrior and the King

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Summary: A short tale of Buffy's life with Eomer

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Lord of the Rings > Buffy-Centered > Theme: Post FellowshipSSanchezFR1811,9823262,0021 Mar 131 Mar 13Yes
All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon and Fox or whatever, and the LOTRs belongs to the Tolkien family.

Just a short, rather dramatic story to help me get through the longer one I'm working on. Do you guys like Buffy and Eomer fics? Is there an interest in reading a longer one? Let me know what you think.





He watched her skip across the wall like a boy playing war games. Tiny and delicate she appeared but he knew better. Her plait shot out from her back as she twirled and stabbed her sword at enemies unseen. Her movements and transitions were fluid and foreign. When he asked her whence she learned to fight, from what master, she laughed at him. The truth was impossible to glean from her explanations unless he believed the tales of warrior girls and time or star travel. Her clothes and weapons were as unusual as her manner of speech was unintelligible, and she knew nothing of women’s work or business. She is and will always be a warrior.

She came to Rohan in the spring five years after the war. Eomer walked outside the entryway of Meduseld and found her bloody and broken on his doorstep. His heart stopped, a child left murdered on his doorstep, his rage was instantaneous and he would have leapt onto a horse to find the beast that dared leave him this message if she had not coughed just then and moaned at his feet.

She healed remarkably fast and before he knew it, she was asking all sorts of ridiculous questions in the daytime and roaming the folde at night. She refused to stay in her quarters or wear a dress outside them unless it was a formal affair, and attempting to force her to do so was unwise. She always had more than one weapon visible and the king suspected more hidden beneath her clothes. When pressed, Eomer would say he allowed her to stay and act in this manner because he did not wish to offend the father of a princess for surely she was royalty that lost her way and when her father came to collect her the King of Rohan would not be seen treating a royal guest with anything less than honor. The girl warrior was far too intelligent and used to getting her way to be a peasant. The fact that she had enough leisure time in her youth to be trained as a warrior, and educated to such a degree was more than enough evidence to support this theory. Some accepted this answer as at least partially true, but it was hard to miss the way his eyes followed her and the smile she always had for him.

Half the men were in love with her, and all were afraid of her. He could send ten well trained men at her, and they would fall fast, never hurt badly, but down. He never tried more than ten, because quite frankly he was afraid to know the number of men it would take to bring her down. She moved quick as a snake and strong as a troll, and could wrap herself in silence and disappear. The first time he left her at Edoras to hunt game in the mountains she followed them for six days before she showed herself, and only because the camp was attacked and outnumbered by orcs.

His first glimpse of the warrior was terrifying. He has seen her fight before this, but it was not battle, just play, especially for her. In war she fought with such calm deadly accuracy and was as unafraid of the orcs as a child its mother. It was more a homecoming than a battle. This was not the solemn dutiful destruction of evil, this was almost joy in killing. Sweat and blood and passion and he could not take his eyes off her, and even standing away from the battle looking on in amazement he was sweating and shaking too, they all were. Used to cloistered women and spending weeks away from home with only men, this was more than they were capable of understanding. It was a carnal pleasure they did not know how to associate with battle. War was ugly violent and bloody and belonged to men, but she confused it, as she did everything else.

With barely a flick she could cut off an arm then a head and another. She could anticipate their movements, and toyed with them in their own language witch frightened his men more than anything else she did. How could she know the black language? He watched as she took out almost all of them, leaving him with little to do except defend his people should a stray slip by her, none did.

She told him before of her translator but he did not believe the necklace she wore was anything more than a trinket, but when she snagged an orc, tossed him to the ground and gave the king her necklace he could understand the beast and communicate with him. The pendant was meant to help ease her troubles communicating with the various kingdoms she had dealings with, and was a gift from a very powerful friend in her homeland. It served her well in Middle Earth, and she was able to travel and learn from many of the beings and peoples of the world.

Without a second thought she changed fighting styles, weapons, clothes, and hair as often as she liked. He had not been aware there was more than one way to fight, or more than one per kingdom and that was more a matter of style, but she listed off all manner of fighting styles and demonstrated what she knew of each. The one thing that remained unchanged in the months that followed her arrival in Rohan, was the unwavering trust she had in her friend, Willow the witch. Everything was planned and executed around the presumption that this great lady would find her and take her home. Even after the queen of Gondor came and told her that it would be a very long time, perhaps a lifetime before she would see the red witch again, Buffy would not or could not believe her.

She watched the horizon for two years expecting to see the girl and only stopped when Arwen returned with Aragorn and whispered her visions to Buffy that made her disappear into the night until dawn, red faced and angry. Aragorn watched her curiously and seemed always on guard around her, but when they left it was with a promise from her to visit in the coming year. Eomer’s sister was almost as enamored with her as any of the Rohirrim. A shieldmaiden like the tales of old, the stories she wanted to hear over and over again as a child. Faramir indulged his wife, though Eomer didn’t think it was an indulgence when he didn’t have the power to stop it, and invited the girl to stay with them for several weeks in the summer.

Something changed during that trip to Gondor and a part of her began to consider the possibility that she would not be found by the witch. The wall of hope she lived behind slowly coming apart brick by brick, and there behind it a scared girl like any other far from home. At the palace in the daytime she was all smiles, and excited to travel to the other kingdoms of Middle Earth, but at night she came to him, violent sobs, shaking with rage and terror, grief and despair. Her family and friends were lost to her, maybe forever and her sadness made him feel useless and willing to put the full force of Rohan’s army against something, anything that might stay the pain she felt.

It was not the first time he wished to consult Gandalf after he sailed to the Undying Lands. The old elf witch of Lorien and Lord Elrond were said to be gone as well, and he knew of no other being that could get her home. Though he promised to find such a person if she would but stop the terrible sobbing. He promised her many things those nights, and though he knew she didn’t believe him, it calmed her to hear it.

She clung to him at night even after her tears stopped she kept coming to his rooms and then they were lovers passionate and tangible. She needed flesh and blood to feel alive on the battlefield and off. And he, afraid the red witch would come to claim her, held tight to her flesh and they were one like no other in his life this woman was his and he hers. The miserable part of his life without her was over and in him she found more than love and friendship, she found an equal.

Delirious with love, impregnated they wed. Occasionally her tears would overwhelm her and it seemed she might burst with agony and pain, but as the years drew on the stabbing pain turned into a dull ache and melted away almost entirely. As her children grew and the city accepted her, she tucked away her old life, and embraced the new one.

As queen she was admired and appreciated the likes of which she could not have hoped for anywhere else in Middle Earth. Despite Eowyn’s struggles to fight in the last great war, Rohan gave women, at least in theory and myth more respect than other kingdoms. Buffy would suffer nothing less, and it didn’t hurt her cause that the men feared her, and the women loved her and their children. Her decisions as queen were not without criticism, but few contradicted her without reason. Eomer found out early that his prejudices and stereotypes however ingrained would not be tolerated and as her existence proved them wrong anyway, he didn’t bother arguing when she pointed out his “silliness” as she called it. Though her tone had an edge that would slice through rock and he knew better than to think it was anything less than a warning.

Their children, of whom there were many, did not have the same mystical strength and speed that she possessed, but the children of warriors, generals and kings could be nothing if not strong leaders and fighters. With Eomer, Buffy and their children ruling the kingdom, Rohan grew beyond its former glory and most importantly the people were happy and as healthy as they could be. Their children grew up in this renaissance and whenever they did something extraordinary beyond what a normal person could, she reminded them that these qualities were in her before she was chosen, they were the reason she was given power, not the result of it.

Unfortunately or not she aged more slowly than he did and Arwen guessed she would live the lifetime of the Dunedain or beyond. Buffy outlived Eomer, and she was there whispering to him of heaven and happiness, clinging to him in their bed as she always did, when he passed on. Buffy lingered on longer than the Dunedain might. She watched her children age and die and her grandchildren grow old before old age and grief were too much to bear alone. She walked west to the ocean and pushed off into Belegaer, the Great Sea in a little boat given to her by Cirdan. Passing through the shadowy seas and by the Enchanted Isles, her first glimpses of the Undying Lands was of Tol Eressea and the Pelori standing sentinel, and Buffy felt the struggle of life so tightly coiled begin to unravel. A firm tug toward Tol Eressea called to her and there Willow stood, glowing in the mist on the shores of the green island waiting to take her the rest of the way home.

The End

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