Sad Wings of Destiny

�So, what�d you think of them, the dwarves that is?� asked Buffy, later that night in the dreamscape.

Both she and Miriel sat atop one of the hills overlooking the secluded lake near which the younger Slayer had stayed over the past several days.

Staring down at the body of water, Miriel started with, �Well,� then paused, wanting to choose her words carefully. �I think they�re nothing at all like what has been written in the histories. Mind you, I haven�t read that much about them.� She turned, facing Buffy. �The records in Minas Tirith center on our own people, and the Elves, whom we still regard highly, for the most part. I had always heard that dwarves were a greedy breed, but I didn�t find them to be that way at all. In fact, quite the opposite, I�d say. I found them to be generous and kind, though quite hairy. I didn�t realize that dwarves were so hairy. My goodness! Did you see how long some of their beards were? They nearly reached the ground!�

Delighted to see that Miriel was showing signs of recovering from her horrific ordeal, Buffy chuckled, �Yeah, I agree with you on the hairy bit. They could be mistaken for mini-sasquatches.�

�What are mini-sasquatches?� queried the puzzled young Slayer. �I have never heard of them. Are they a race of people?�

�Um, I�m not sure how you�d classify them, really,� answered Buffy. �They�re creatures, human-like creatures, but I�ve never seen one.� She furrowed her brow as she thought. �In fact, I�m not sure if anyone�s ever really seen one. I guess someone had to, for us to know about them, but so many claims have been debunked.� She shook her head, seeing that she was rambling off topic. �Any way, it�s said that they�re really big, hairy, human-like creatures that live in huge remote forests, far away from people.�

�They have long beards then?� asked Miriel, intrigued by the description that her mentor had given.

�Well, no,� drawled the elder Slayer. �They�re kinda hairy all over, their entire bodies.�

�But they have no beards?� questioned the girl. �Then how are they similar to dwarves? I�m confused on that.�

Buffy now wished she hadn�t brought up the subject at all. She was merely making a casual observation, and had no desire to debate the discrepancies in the descriptions between the two races. She should have known that only someone familiar with the legend of the sasquatch would appreciate her comments, which were meant to be somewhat witty.

�I�m ready for a change of scenery,� she finally said, getting to her feet. �How �bout you?�

Miriel was a bit leery. Not by the sudden change in conversation, she was used to that by now, but more so by the fact that she knew that Buffy�s remarks meant that she was going to take the young Slayer somewhere, somewhere in her mentor�s strange world, not Miriel�s.

�Alright,� she said with trepidation. �But I do not want to return to the mall, nor do I wish to fly on an airplane.�

�We won�t,� she answered, crossing her heart with her finger. �Promise.� The elder Slayer held her hand out, and helped the younger one to her feet. As they started down the slope of the hill, she said, �Did you notice that there were seven dwarves?�

Miriel was slightly taken aback that Buffy continued to talk about the dwarves. She thought that perhaps her mentor was more fascinated by them than she was. �What of it?� asked the girl.

The scenery then changed. They were now walking down one of the main streets of Sunnydale.

�Have you ever heard the story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs?� asked Buffy.

�No, I cannot say that I have,� replied the young Slayer, somewhat distracted by her newfound surroundings. Miriel�s eyes scanned the shops lined along either side of the vacant street. The entire area was devoid of people. Buffy thought that Miriel would be more at ease that way.

�It�s an old fairy tale that�s been tweaked over the years,� replied Buffy with a gleam in her eye. �It�s about this young girl, whose wicked stepmother is a witch - �

� - I do not want to hear about it,� interjected Miriel, instantly put off by her mentor�s use of the words �wicked� and �witch� in the same sentence.

�It has a happy ending,� countered Buffy in that optimistic voice of hers. She really wanted to share the story with Miriel. In a way, her prot�g� resembled Snow White, especially with her short dark hair, and porcelain white skin.

�When I hear the words �wicked� and �witch�, I get the impression that something bad is going to happen. Am I wrong? Is this wicked stepmother not evil? Do the words �wicked� and �witch� not hold he same meaning in your tongue as it does mine?�

Buffy pouted. �The stepmother dies in the end. And Snow White marries the prince. That�s a good thing, right?�

�So, you�re telling me that the stepmother does no harm to Snow White?� queried a skeptical Miriel, raising her brow in doubt.

�Well, she does turn into an old hag and give Snow White a poisoned apple,� remarked Buffy matter-of-factly.

Miriel stopped in middle of the street with her hands on her hips, and a frown on her face. Her mentor had walked on a few more paces before noticing that the younger Slayer was no longer at her side.

�What?� said Buffy, oblivious to the fact that her comments were having a negative effect on Miriel.

The girl�s mood had instantly soured. �I don�t know whether you�re just heartless or an idiot.�

�Hey!� interjected Buffy, considering herself neither heartless nor an idiot.

�If you cannot see the similarities between your tale and the horrors I recently experienced, then you are a foolish, heartless idiot!� she spat angrily.

Miriel then marched off in a huff, leaving a slightly dazed Buffy behind.

�Oh my God,� uttered a shocked Buffy. �Is Miriel Snow White?� She couldn�t help but now see some similarities between the two. And as Buffy said, the story had changed over the years. Could the original tale from long ago have been inspired by Miriel�s life? True, there was no evil stepmother in her life, but a lot of the other elements of the story fit - seven dwarves, poison, old hag, apples.

No way! Buffy thought, as she chased after Miriel. There�s no freakin� way that I�ve met Snow White!

Once the elder Slayer caught up with Miriel, she breathlessly said, �I�m sorry, Miriel. I wasn�t thinking. I didn�t see - �

�No, you didn�t!� barked the still wroth girl. �I�m desperately trying to put that behind me. I do not need any reminders, especially from you.�

�I�m sorry,� Buffy said pleadingly. �How can I make it up to you?�

�You can�t,� replied the seething girl, taking longer strides than her companion.

The elder Slayer had to jog to keep up with her younger counterpart. �How �bout we resume our training?� she suggested, hoping that would make peace between the two.

Miriel stopped. That got her attention. They hadn�t practice since� well, for a long while. �Really?� she asked, her tone riddled with hope.

�Really,� repeated Buffy, trying to catch her breath.

�I didn�t think you thought I was ready,� admitted Miriel. The spark had now returned to her grey eyes and the frown had left her face.

�I think you are. That whole thing with the dwarves convinced me that you are,� explained the elder Slayer. �That�s why I brought you here. I wanna take you to the place where I train, using my equipment, my gear.�

�What is it about the dwarves that changed your mind?� queried Miriel out of curiosity.

�You didn�t kill �em,� answered Buffy without missing a beat. She linked her arm with the girl�s and continued down the street. �That�s a start. At least, the way I see it. You haven�t given up on people, and that�s a plus in my book.�

Buffy took Miriel to the Magic Box. The young Slayer wasn�t thrilled to be in an establishment where magical items were sold, however, the building look like any average shop. A little different than those found in Minas Tirith, but shop-like nonetheless.

The elder Slayer led her charge to the back room where she always trained. As Miriel�s acting Watcher, Buffy planned on mirroring the actions of Giles. She wanted to divide their time with exercising the body as well as the mind. While the young Slayer wasn�t too keen on the meditation part of her training, Buffy convinced her that it was just as important as the physical workout.

�Honing the senses goes hand-in-hand with exercising your body,� she had said to the girl.

The two spent hours upon hours in that room, utilizing all the equipment on hand. In fact, they had trained so long that when Miriel awoke in her own world, it was already nearing dusk. The young Slayer had slept nearly the entire day away! After a quick meal, she set off again, following the road to the west.

For several days afterward, Miriel�s sleeping schedule changed. She spent most of the daylight hours sleeping in thickets and underbrush, and traveled at night. In some ways, she felt that this was better.

Firstly, the enemy tended to attack under the cover of darkness. At least, that had been her experience thus far. Now, she found herself most alert during the nighttime, lessening her chances of a surprise assault.

Secondly, the weather was much more tolerable. The summer sun had been intense, and with its absence, the air was much cooler, and she didn�t sweat as much as she had. When she considered the �stink factor� as Buffy so eloquently put it, Miriel couldn�t help but see that as a positive.

The only drawback was her limited eyesight. Though her eyes were able to adjust to the darkness, they could not spot animal tracks in the earth leading to possible water holes. With her limited supply of water, this would become a grave issue in the not too distant future.

Night after night, she followed the road, somewhat grateful that she hadn�t encountered any other people. To help alleviate her boredom, Miriel imagined that the hills looming ahead in the darkness was a great dragon, much like Ancalagon from the Elder Days. She pictured the menacing beast lying in wait, ready to pounce upon her when she came near enough. Then she, like E�rendil, would battle the dragon to the death. It was a silly thought, but imagining the various ways of killing such a beast really helped pass the time.

When Miriel got closer to the hill nearest the road, the one that was separate from the chain to its north, she couldn�t help but notice how different it looked from the others. Its top was flat, looking as if its topmost peak had been snapped off. Allowing her imagination to get the better of her, she wondered if, in times past, Morgoth, in a fit of rage, had snapped off the top of that hill for some reason or another. She had not studied the map thoroughly enough to know that that was Amon S�l, or Weathertop, as it was called in the common tongue.

Seven days after parting with the dwarves, the Slayer finally reached the base of Weathertop. Longing to get off the road, she began to walk along the hill�s eastern side, following its curvature to the north. The earth was rocky, and uneven, causing Miriel to stumble in the growing darkness.

From out of the west, she heard a low rumbling, following by the first flashes of lightning that she had seen since that night. The threat of rain was one she welcomed wholeheartedly, as her water supply had dwindled dangerously low. Her dilemma was to figure out how to catch the impending droplets. The tent seemed the most obvious way of collecting the rainwater. However, that was easier said than done.

Even though wild grass grew sporadically on the rocky floor, Miriel could find no way to penetrate the surface with one of her wooden stakes. There just wasn�t a big enough spot within the rocks. She resorted to plan �B�, having learned that one must always have a backup plan.

As the storm drew closer, the Slayer gathered up many heavy stones. She had decided to drape her canvass tent between two ridges, forming a hollow in its center to collect rainwater. She just needed to weigh down the edges so that the weight of the water wouldn�t cause the whole thing to collapse. Once she had finished, she crawled beneath the shelter with her bags, and waited for the rain to fall.

The first drops hit the roof of her structure. As Miriel sat there, hunched over, staring at the drooping canvass, she wondered how difficult it would be to actually transfer the water into her water skins. It then occurred to her to use her frying pan to catch the droplets as well, as one could never have too much water. She dug through her bags, retrieved her pan, and slid it outside the shelter.

Nearly bored out of her mind, Miriel sat there, listening to the storm, and staring at the pan as it filled with water. Whenever the pan became half-full, she would carefully pour its contents into a water skin. It must have rained for an hour or so before the storm finally passed.

When Miriel went to crawl out of her shelter, she somehow un-wedged the canvass, causing one side of the shelter to collapse, and spilling all the rainwater she had collected.

�Damn it!� she grumbled, angry that she hadn�t used enough care as she moved beneath the canvass.

At least, she had collected some water with her pan, though it wasn�t nearly as much as she had wanted.

Still wide-awake, Miriel decided to resume her trek. She packed up her stuff and continued to follow the curvature of the hill. She had walked for hours, forced to climb over wet, slick slopes of the hillside. By the time she reached the northern side of the mound, the Slayer was utterly exhausted. With dawn on the horizon, Miriel found shelter beneath a rock shelf, and soon fell asleep.

Now, while she slept, both Miriel and Buffy had walked along the flattened top of Amon S�l. In its center stood a broken ring of rock, the remnants of the great watchtower from long ago. To the northwest was a pathway, winding along a ridge on the hillside.

It was Buffy that spotted the bowl-shaped hollow far below on the mound�s slope, slightly west of the path. Her gut told her that that�s where Miriel should go.

Therefore, when the young Slayer awoke late that afternoon, she set off, following the curvature of Weathertop. She climbed the steep slope of what was known as the Fortress Path that linked Weathertop to the Weather Hills. Once she had reached the trail, she followed it toward Amon S�l.

Just like in her dream, she saw the sheltered grassy dell on the northwestern slope of the hill. Miriel was pleased to see the swathe of green grass growing amidst the rocky terrain. She nearly burst with excitement at finding a spring nearby. The young Slayer couldn�t help but feel an affinity for that place. She felt a sense of belonging, as if destiny had led her to this location. Even now, she could sense vestiges of the people from long ago - her kinfolk. She knew it. She could feel it. This place was most definitely part of the old northern kingdom of Arnor. And now, Miriel would call it home, if only for a while.

The Slayer was able to quickly adapt to her new surroundings. Though the area lacked trees to hide her from unfriendly eyes, the grassy hollow happened to lure coneys to the area, which provided her with an ample supply of meat. She began to collect the pelts from her kills, hoping that one day she could sew the skins together to make a coat, or some other practical garment. Unfortunately, she hadn�t given any thought to taking a needle and thread on her journey, so, in the meantime, she�d just keep the soft furry skins as trophies.

As the days swiftly passed by, an uneasiness grew in Miriel�s heart. She had spent most nights sitting or lying in the bottom of the hollow, watching as the mists rolled eerily overhead. She couldn�t help but feel that the dell was indefensible. What if Orcs gathered over the top of the valley walls and descended upon her all at once - how could she escape? It was damn well near impossible to climb Weathertop from the small valley. Its sides were much too steep. Maybe she was becoming paranoid, but Buffy told her it was always best to err on the side of caution.

After debating the issue with her mentor, Miriel had decided that it was best to spend the nights atop Amon S�l. From that position, she could survey the landscape for leagues and leagues, in all directions. Besides that, there was only one path by which one could reach the summit. At least, it would be easier to defend, or so she assumed. That move seemed to lessen her anxiety, and the girl�s life fell into a somewhat normal routine once again.

Gradually, Miriel found herself returning to a more traditional sleeping pattern - slumbering at night, atop Amon S�l. Though the stone floor was more uncomfortable than the grassy earth, it didn�t affect her sleep much at all. She came to believe that having slept in the treetops in the past had helped her to adjust to her current conditions rather easily. The only thing she found strange was that no matter how much time she spent with Buffy in the dreamscape, even if it was eight or ten hours, she�d awaken after only having slept for maybe four hours.

She found that very odd, but as her mentor had said, �Life�s odd. Look at us. It�s not every day you meet with and talk to a fellow Slayer in dreams, is it? Especially one from the future, or in my case, one from the past.�

Buffy made a good point. Some things just couldn�t be explained. Perhaps that was one of life�s mysteries.



Now it came to be that many weeks later, some peculiar things began to happen. At the time, the Slayer gave no thought to it, but in hindsight, she should�ve known better. She should have been more acutely aware of these odd occurrences. For example, a large flock of black birds had come flying out of the south, circled Weathertop a few times, and then heading back south again. It never occurred to her that they could be spies of the enemy. Perhaps she had grown too complacent - who knows? The disturbing thing was that this had not happened only once, but several times. Still, Miriel overlooked it, thinking that that was normal behavior for the feathered animals. She was no expert on birds and their habits, after all.

Not long after that, she began to hear what she presumed were wild dogs howling in the night. At first, their baying came from the south, then the east, followed by the north and west. That rattled Miriel. It seemed to her that it was not a solitary pack, but multiple packs, each creeping in toward Amon S�l from all directions. If she hadn�t known better, she might actually have thought that their cries and yips were some form of communication.

The worst part was that she could never spot them, whether in the day or at night. The region was rocky, and many thickets dotted the landscape. Were the four-legged beasts able to hide in the brush, using the mists at night to conceal them as they drew closer to Weathertop? And how should Miriel react to such creatures? Were they just some unwanted pets abandoned in the wild? Or had their former masters died, leaving them homeless? Or, (and even a more frightening thought), were they minions of the Dark Lord? She couldn�t be too careful. She had learned that the hard way.

From the moment Miriel noticed that the dogs were gathering around Amon S�l, she forced herself to stay awake at night. She had moved all her belonging to the summit of Weathertop where she kept a near constant vigil. When her body demanded sleep, she mostly napped during the day.

It was at this time that the Slayer thought it was best to wear her shirt of mail at all times. Unfortunately, she soon discovered that she no longer had it amongst her belongings. She couldn�t believe that she hadn�t realized that it had been missing for all this time. How could she have overlooked such a thing? There was no doubt in her mind who had taken it and when. She figured she must have been too traumatized to notice.

She made a point to be even more vigilant. At night, she walked along the perimeter of the summit, searching the mists below for moving shadows. A few nights after the howling had begun; she caught her first sight of the intruding dogs, slinking near the base of the hill. Since she was a good thousand feet above them, she merely kept her eye on the winding pathway, watching and waiting to see if the dogs would dare make the climb.

The dogs did not. In fact, Miriel was wrong in her assessment. These beasts were not wild dogs, but wargs, which were more vicious than any dog, or wolf, for that matter.

Unbeknownst to the Slayer, Sauron had ordered her capture. The Dark Lord was astonished to learn that she had not only survived the attack in Rhudaur, but had also escaped. He had assumed that after having suffered from her torments, she would�ve killed herself, as most women had a tendency to do after such a violent and invasive assault. She was no mere mortal, he surmised. The daughter of Denethor had proved to be resilient and strong - a definite asset to his dark forces.

Sauron had dispatched messengers to both Moria and Goblin-town, promising a great reward for the capture of the Slayer. Whoever would bring her to his throne in Barad-d�r would receive treasures from the days of Gwaith-i-M�rdain which Sauron had been given whilst under a different guise, items so rare and beautiful, that the likes no longer existed in Middle-earth in the Third Age.

His minions in Moria sent out fifty of their greatest Orc-warriors, thinking that that amount would be sufficient for capturing a lone mortal girl, Slayer or not. Those from Goblin-town had already encountered Miriel once before and had seen her skill in battle. Therefore, they had sent out seventy-five of their roughest and toughest soldiers, which they thought would guarantee them the prize and favor of the Lord of Mordor.

The spies of Sauron had informed both groups of Orcs that the Slayer was on Weathertop, and had been there for many weeks. To pinpoint her exact location, the goblins had sent out their wargs first. However, they were not far behind.

Whether by chance or not, both groups of Orcs met up on The Great East Road, none too happy to see the other, for each team desired the promised reward. But, instead of fighting each other, the two Captains grudgingly agreed to join forces and split the prize between the two factions, though neither Captain intended to keep his promise, for goblins were evil through and through, and lusted after the works of Man, whether mortal or elven in nature. Whichever team failed to capture the Slayer would kill the other to ensure that they would receive the reward.

Like Man and Elf, the Orcs too were familiar with the lay of the land. They knew that if the Slayer was on the summit of Weathertop, they would have to climb the pathway from the northwest. From all indications, she was somewhere on the northwestern slope of the hill, for that�s where the wargs had congregated.

No longer employing stealth, for the night was slipping away, the Orcs jogged along the curvature of the western side of Weathertop, following the yips and howls of their four-legged companions.



Beneath the light of the full moon stood Miriel, still and silent, at the top of Amon S�l. From out of the west, blew the ever-constant breeze, cooling the sweat that had formed on her face and neck. Down below, she could make out dark shapes within the fog that lingered over the land. Occasionally, she could see a glimmer of metal in the moonlight, an obvious sign that the enemy had arrived.

She shifted her gaze to the silver orb above, wondering if its appearance would always be indicative of battle. To Miriel, it seemed that the enemy always chose to attack beneath the cold, silver glow of the moon. She couldn�t help but feel disdain for that orb, preferring the pitch-black darkness to the light.

She turned her eyes back toward the pathway that led up the hill. Already, her muscles were tightening, a Slayer�s reaction to an impending assault. That tingling sensation that normally accompanied the tenseness began to spread throughout her body too. Her senses were awakening.

The region was no longer quiet, as Miriel could now hear noises coming from below. She could hear the sound of marching feet, metal banging against metal, and the grunting of warriors, not of her race. She wished the haze would lift so that she could see how many she would have to confront. Just how many of the enemy were coming her way? From the sounds of it, this was no mere traveling band of villains, but more, much more. Could she endure the assault? And from what position? Was it folly to wait upon the summit, or should she take the battle to them?

The dogs were now clambering up the path. Miriel continued to stand where she was, watching and waiting. Instinctively, each hand went to hilt of the sword that hung from the belt on either of side of her waist. Though her own blade had been broken, there was still enough metal attached to the hilt to inflict damage on her foes.

Then, it seemed to her, that some higher force had answered her prayer, and the mists near the base of the hill began to dissipate, revealing the enemy�s numbers, which left her with no hope of victory. Her courage wavered. Her mouth instantly went dry. Her bottom lip quivered, as a coldness swept over her.

I�m going to die, she thought in a moment of hopelessness. There is no way I can defeat that many Orcs.

With her heart thumping madly in her chest and the palms of her hands becoming sweatier, she swallowed the lump in her throat.

Do not think that way! encouraged that voice in the back her mind. Never give up! Never surrender!

Miriel�s eyes remained fixed on the dark figures running up the winding path. In that moment, she mustered her courage, convincing herself that if she were to die, then she�d take as many of the enemy with her as possible. That was her duty, her <i>sacred</i> duty, as the Slayer. Her senses kicked into survival mode, driving her to action.

She started down the steepest part of the path, not wanting a confrontation to take place on the summit of the hill. If she were to remain on the top of Amon S�l, it would be easier for the enemy to swarm in around her, which would ultimately lead to her defeat. No, she wasn�t about to have that.

The Slayer concluded that it was best to meet the enemy about halfway down the path. She thought that that would be advantageous for a number of reasons. The trail was so narrow that no two creatures (of any kind) could climb the slope shoulder to shoulder, thus Miriel would only have to fight one combatant at a time. She also believed that her position on higher ground would be more beneficial.

There was also the perilous drop on one side of the path. There was always the possibility that she might be able to knock some of the enemy over the edge and to certain death. Though the same could happen to her. She too could fall to her death. But, Miriel wasn�t afraid of dying. Her greatest fear was to be taken captive, like before. And there was no way on Eru�s green earth that she would ever let that happen again. If worse came to worst, she�d jumped off the damned ledge herself.

As the dogs ran along the bend of the road beneath her, she could see that they were not dogs at all. They were bigger, much, much bigger. Their size more closely resembled that of a pony than some mere dog.

Wargs, she told herself, wondering why she hadn�t realized that sooner.

Miriel pulled both Bregolas� blade and the remnants of her own from their scabbards, readying herself for the onslaught. Her adrenaline was pumping. Her breathing quickened along with the beating of her heart. Those last few moments of waiting were just awful.

The first warg then raced toward her. Its hackles stood on end, and its lips were curled back, revealing long, sharp teeth, glistening with saliva. The snarling beast sprang up from the path, flying toward her with its mouth widening.

The Slayer swiftly dropped to one knee, hoping that in doing so, she could use the beast�s own momentum against it, as well as lessening any chance of her being flung over the ledge. She awkwardly gripped the hilt with both hands, pointing the tip of Bregolas� sword toward the airborne warg�s underbelly. As the creature zoomed closer, Miriel drove her blade upward, nailing the beast in the breast. It let out a brief shrill yelp, as its body crashed down on top of her. The weight of the creature caused her knees to buckle and she fell backwards, cracking her head on the rocky path. Not only did she see stars, but the heaviness of the animal knocked the wind out of her.

Groaning, she struggled beneath the vile smelling beast as she rolled it off her, and over the ledge. Once free, she gasped for air. Not a second later, she saw yet another warg rapidly approaching. Easing her bottom backwards, up the slope, she let go of the broken sword, as she grabbed the hilt of her good sword with both hands.

The second warg leapt at her, as the first one had. She swung her blade, lopping off the head of the furry four-legged creature. The head bounced against the wall, before rolling down the slope, as its body collapsed onto the trail.

Miriel swiftly picked up her broken blade before backing up a bit more, wanting to put more space between her and the next warg. She desperately wanted to get back on her feet. She had a moment of good fortune as the charging beast coming up the path stumbled on the body of its fallen comrade, and then slipped over the ledge.

That allowed the Slayer the opportunity to get back on her feet. With the back of her head throbbing, she glanced down at the twisting road below her. The first Orcs were winding their way up the pathway, armed and garbed for battle.

As Miriel continued to fend off the wargs, she found herself constantly stepping backward, going back up the slope.

The few wargs that had separated her from the goblins had been destroyed, and now she faced her first two-legged foe. O� how she wished she had her crossbow with an ample supply of bolts. That would�ve come in handy at that moment. The more space between her and the enemy, the better.

She fought as hard as she could, killing the first Orc. Much to her amazement, as the horde pressed on, some were actually tossing their cohorts over the edge in their attempt to get nearer to Miriel.

As she was forced to continue to step backwards, up the slope, a loud snapping noise rang out over the enemy voices. In the second that followed, the skin on Miriel�s left calf burned like hell, as a thong of leather wrapped tightly around it, pulling her off her feet. Her stomach lurched, as she landed hard on her butt bone and let out a sharp cry. The Orc at the other end cackled, yanking on the whip, causing her rear to painfully skid along the stone slope.

Whenever Miriel found herself in such perilous situations, time seemed to come to a standstill, and her thoughts drowned out all other sounds. Having her leg bound brought to mind her past torments and triggered something within her - her will to live. She wasn�t so keen to die just yet. She couldn�t help but notice how dangerously close she was to the precipice to her left. In that split second, she feared that another Orc would push the one that had her captive over the edge, sending both her and him to their deaths.

The Slayer bucked and kicked, trying to loosen the leather strap around her leg. The goblin drew closer, looking much taller than he actually was. Miriel hacked at the cord with her sword, hoping it would break in two. One blow was not able to break the leather strap, even with her Slayer strength.

With her heart pumping frantically, the goblins behind the one pulling on the whip were becoming more agitated, pushing and arguing. Miriel just knew she�d end up going over the edge. She hacked at the cord again, which finally snapped in two.

The moment her leg was free, the Slayer hastily scooted her rear up the slope, waiting for the chance to get back on her feet.

The Orc brandishing the whip was suddenly shoved over the ledge by the next barbarian, who then charged at Miriel. He lunged at her. As he flew through the air, she kicked up her feet, hitting him square on his armor-covered stomach. Knocking him off balance, he flew over the edge of the pathway, but managed to grab hold of the rocky ledge, clinging on in desperation. That was until the next Orc came rushing up the trail, stomping his comrades gloved fingers with the sole of his boot, which caused the dangling goblin to loose his grip, and sent him plummeting to his death.

Miriel�s senses tuned back to her surroundings after having escaped from a potentially fatal situation. With her hearing now normal, it sounded as if the goblins had become more riled up, as if they were starting to fight amongst themselves. Regardless of what was going on with the Orcs, the diversion allowed her to get back on her feet, just as she was rounding the last bend in the roadway.

Hugging the hillside, she continued to back up. She was hesitant to engage the enemy near the curve of the path. Once the road straightened out a bit, Miriel took the fight to the Orcs, battling them with both weapons.

Now, the goblins from Moria had insisted that they be at the forefront of the line, having no knowledge of the skill and resourcefulness of the Slayer. Their numbers were dwindling, which increased their frustration and anger. The desire to kill Miriel was beginning to eclipse their orders to capture her.

The Orcs from Goblin-town were far wiser than their comrades from Moria, (if one could use the word wise when describing Orcs). They had a greater knowledge of Slayers in general, and of this one, in particular. Not only had some seen her in combat, but they were also privy to the events that had taken place on the farm in Rhudaur. And they knew this girl was no typical Slayer. While their orders were to bring her to Mordor alive, Sauron had said nothing about her not being injured.

The way their Captain saw it, was that the Slayer would eventually tire herself out. That was inevitable, especially with the numbers on their side. His goal was to let her take out as many of the Orcs from Moria as she could, lessening the �dirty work� they�d have to do themselves. Then, as she grew fatigued, they�d strike, and, if need be, break both her arms and legs, so she couldn�t escape. Wounds and bones can be mended! Besides, if they broke her too badly, they had one in their midst to heal such wounds. Goblin-town had not endured for all these years without being under the direction of someone with greater powers than they.

As the Orc Captain watched the bodies of those from Moria plummet over the precipice, he couldn�t help but smile to himself. He had observed the young Slayer in the Misty Mountains, had witnessed her strength firsthand. Never before had he seen a mortal woman fight as she had. A part of him desired to take her back to his home, to make her his bride. Her appearance was most pleasing to the eye, not to mention the strength she possessed. For a few brief moments, he fantasized about how enjoyable it would be to make little hell-spawns with that girl. If only�

He then wondered what Sauron�s intentions were with the Slayer, and if they mirrored his own desires. He knew that once the girl was taken to Mordor, her looks would undergo a drastic transformation. Although, he thought, if any could endure the Eye of Sauron, it just might be this girl. However, if the Dark Lord could not break her will, then most certainly the torture devices of Barad-d�r would.

The Orcs continued to press on, forcing Miriel to continue stepping backwards. While she had been successful in killing many of the enemy, they kept on coming. It seemed never-ending, and she was already beginning to tire. When she reached the steepest part of the slope, she had to make a decision, and quick. There was no way she could climb it backwards. So, that left her with the choice of turning, and climbing to the top of Amon S�l, or, admitting defeat and leaping to her death. Neither option seemed appealing, but Miriel wasn�t ready to give up just yet. There was still some fight in her.

She just needed some more space between her and the villains. Suddenly, it dawned on her. She dropkicked the nearest goblin, which, in turn, caused a domino effect. That gave her what precious time she needed to begin the ascent up the steep slope, as there was no way she could fight and climb at the same time.

She scrambled up the hill as fast as she could. When she heard arrows ricocheting against the rocky wall beside her, tears came to her eyes. She didn�t want to be shot in the back. That�s not the way she wanted to die. Her muscles felt so tight, so tense, that they ached. Trying to maintain her hold on the hilts of her swords was also problematic. She dearly wanted to wipe the sweat from the palms of her hands but that was damn near impossible.

Words could not describe the sense of relief she felt when she finally reached the apex of Weathertop. Miriel turned, facing the path, deciding that that was where she would make her last stand. There was nowhere to run, except over the ledge.

Seeing how the Slayer was blocking the path to the summit, the Orcs resorted to using flying projectiles to force her out of the way. This came in the form of arrows and spears. Those goblins nearest the top could no longer resist the urge to go for the kill. Too many of their brethren had fallen at the hands of that Slayer, and they were most eager to hack her to pieces - if they could just get close enough.

The flying missiles diverted Miriel�s attention away from those goblins nearing the top of the hill. She had to defend herself by ducking and swatting the various projectiles. One spear, in particular, caused her to dive out of the way. While she managed to turn her dive into a forward roll, it displaced her from the pathway, allowing the first few goblins to reach the surface of the summit.

The instant she turned to face her adversaries, she heard the snap of a whip, and the leather cord zipped at her, striking the knuckles of her left hand. The sudden, searing pain forced her to drop her weapon. She glanced down at her hand and noticed that the skin had been shaved off. As she tried to shake off the pain, the Orc lashed his whip at her again, striking her chin. As he snapped the whip back, Miriel grabbed hold of it, only to discover that sharp metal barbs stuck out from the leather cord. She grimaced in pain as the spurs sank into the palm of her hand. She then jerked the whip. Still maintaining his hold on the other end, the Orc lurched forward. When he stumbled within striking distance, Miriel ran the broken blade in her right hand across his throat. Black blood sprayed from the incision, raining down on the Slayer like a warm, morbid waterfall.

Releasing her hold on the whip, she hastily picked up Bregolas� blade with her now bloody left hand. She squeezed the hilt tightly, hoping that the pressure would help staunch the flow of blood, as well as lessen the pain.

Miriel had maybe a three second reprieve from battle before she resumed her counterattack. Her situation was becoming dire with each Orc that popped up over the crest of the hill. While she did her best to defend herself, the goblins were beginning to encircle her. It would only be a matter of minutes, perhaps less, when they closed in on her, bringing about her defeat.

For a brief moment, Miriel�s thoughts turned to H�rin Thalion, the legendary Adan from the First Age. She couldn�t help but think that her current predicament was somewhat similar to that mightiest of warriors. According to the Annals of Gondor, he slew seventy, single-handedly, during his last stand in Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

Thinking of her ancient kinsman renewed her vigor, if only for a brief time. After each kill, she shouted the same phrase that H�rin had, �Aur� entuluva!� (Day shall come again)

Alas, much like H�rin, fatigue had overcome the Slayer. In that one, single moment when she was preoccupied in combat, goblins jumped her from behind, thrusting her face first to the stone floor. Orc after Orc then piled on top of her, crushing her with their weight. The rigidness of their armor dug into her flesh, as their hands poked and prodded her body in the most unpleasant and unspeakable of ways. If only her reflexes had been quicker. If only her senses had honed in better on the enemy behind her, things might have gone differently. Miriel assumed that she�d suffocate to death, for there was no hope of breaking free.

Her senses were dimming. She could barely hear the muffled grunts and vile whisperings of those goblins heaped on top of her.

Miriel�s thoughts suddenly turned to Buffy, and what her mentor would have to say about the manner in which death was about to take the young Slayer, and how she had failed to live up to her potential.

�Don�t give up!� she heard Buffy demand in a faraway voice. �Fight, Miriel! Fight!�

Instantly after hearing the elder Slayer�s words, the weight on top of Miriel began to lift, becoming more bearable. A stream of air slipped in between the bodies of two Orcs. The girl breathed deeply, sucking in as much of the cool air as she could. There seemed to be something in the air that renewed the Slayer�s determination. The more air she drank in, the stronger she felt.

As the weight became less, she was able to move her body beneath her foes. A cacophony of sounds reverberated on the hilltop. Miriel could hear metal striking against metal. It sounded as if the Orcs had begun fighting amongst themselves.

When the last goblin fell off her back, Miriel was able to clamber onto all fours, gasping for air. Her hands had gone numb from the weight of so many crushing on them that she wasn�t able to handle either weapon at the moment. She was desperately waiting for the feeling to return. She eased her bottom onto the back of her folded legs, waiting for her eyes to come back into focus, her vision blurred as the result of oxygen depravation.

Miriel then felt a hand on her shoulder, warm breath against her sweaty neck. Without even turning, her balled fist automatically went flying backward, striking her foe in the fleshy part of his face. She then sprang to her feet, trying to blink her eyes back into focus. Only able to make out indistinct shadowy forms, the Slayer began to attack any figure within striking distance.

Gradually, her eyes began to focus and she could see that men, mortal men, were also on the hilltop. She had not noticed them earlier, and assumed that they were in the company with the goblins. The sight of those mortal men actually added to Miriel�s anxiety. Admittedly, she was more frightened of them than the Orcs. After what she had been through, how could she not be.

As she battled a goblin, she could see, from the corner of her eye, that the men were actually fighting the Orcs too. She found that odd, but only for a moment. Surely, these men had something more unbecoming in mind. Life�s experiences had proved that to be true. She could only surmise that after the men had killed the remaining Orcs, they�d try to claim her as their prize. The Slayer would die before letting that happen.

�Watch out!� one of the men shouted, pushing Miriel so hard then she lost her balance. As she fell, she felt a blade graze the skin across her left shoulder blade. She hit the ground as one of the men jumped over her, killing the goblin that had come from behind.

Hurrying to her feet, she turned, facing the one that had knocked her to the ground. Wielding both of her weapons, she charged him in an attempt to slay him. To her surprise, this mortal was able to block every blow she delivered. She found that frustrating. How could it be that Orcs were easier to slay than a mortal man?

�I don�t want to hurt you,� he panted, still blocking every one of her strikes.

There was no way Miriel was about to fall for that line. �That�s what they all say,� she snapped back, angry that she couldn�t get in a fatal blow.

The man then stepped back and held up both hands, one still grasping his blade, which seemed to glimmer in the moonlight. �Truce,� he said.

Miriel took this opportunity to swing her blade at him one last time. The man�s blade moved in a blur of motion, once again blocking her blow. He then used his own weapon to force hers down, toward the ground. Her body was trembling from a combination of fatigue and pain. Seeing that she was losing this test of strength, she resorted to one last desperate attempt to defend herself. She kicked the man hard in the testicles, a move that immediately brought him to his knees, and caused him to drop his weapon, thus freeing hers.

Miriel brought back her blade in an attempt to hew off the man�s head, when, from out of nowhere, someone jumped her from behind, putting her in a choke hold, as they both fell to the ground.

�Aragorn! Aragorn!� she heard some of the others shout out.

The man on Miriel�s back had such a hold on her throat that she had to drop her weapons so that she could work on releasing his grip.

�We do not want to fight you,� the man said, keeping a tight hold on Miriel so that she couldn�t even roll over.

The Slayer raked her fingernails across the man�s forearm. She could actually feel the strips of skin under her fingernails. But, the man, merely grunted, refusing to loosen his grip.

Seeing that she was about to blackout, Miriel whimpered. The stars she saw were not the ones faintly lingering in the sky above. It was over. She had lost. As she slipped into unconsciousness, she couldn�t help but think of what kind of horrors she�d be subjected to by these new captors�