Title: The long way – Traveling soldiers

Author: Lilya

E-mail: Action/Adventure/Angst/ Drama/Romance… Personally I think there's a bit of everything.

Summary: After the breaking of the Fellowship, Frodo, Sam and Victoria started venturing through the Emyn Muil. Looking for a road to Mordor, they found the most unexpected guide: Gollum.

Main characters: Frodo, Victoria (OC), Sam, Gollum, Faramir.

Pairing: slight Frodo/Victoria

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer. This story contains: Peter Jackson's movie "The Two Towers – Extended Edition" 47 and J. R.R. Tolkien's book 3. Ergo, the remaining 50 should be mine.

If you have already heard it, read it or seen it somewhere else, then it's not mine.

Thanks to: My big sister Veronica, Alessandra and Lara. What would I do without ya…

Special Thanks to my English teacher, prof. Flavio Sarni, who helped me with the transcription of the song you can find in the last chapter.

And what can I say about my incredible beta-reader, Daughter of Olorin? I don't think I'll ever thank her enough for her work and her suggestions. THX!

I know, I know… I should have finished it – and posted it – long ago… Hope it'll be fine nonetheless.

" " speech

'' thoughts

/ Elvish.

Italic foreign language (Italian, Gondor local speech, Piedmont local speech, Latin)

Italic paragraphs flashbacks

Italic & bold emphasis

THE LONG WAY

Part Two: Traveling soldiers

CHAPTER I: THOUGHTS IN THE DARK

The rhythmic and soft ticking of the rain against the window glasses was the only sound in that gloomy winter afternoon. The only light in that red-and-yellow room – his House's colors – was the trembling fire in the fireplace, which wasn't enough to drive away the cold or the darkness.

But the cold the boy felt would never be driven back by a flame, even if it was the breath of a dragon. Soul-trapping ice is not easily melted.

The boy passed a hand over his forehead, running his fingers through wisp of hair as black as ink, then he took off his glasses and cleaned them with his t-shirt. He put them on again and went back to studying the photograph in his lap. From the sheet of paper, the violet eyes of a tanned girl were staring at him and the girl's dark brown hair badly tied framed her face, falling carelessly on her shoulders. She did not smile, nor did she make faces at the camera, as the students usually do when taking pictures for the year-book. Deciphering the emotions that stood out on that face and those eyes was very difficult. He could glimpse a pain that couldn't be measured or understood, deep wounds that would never heal, a burning anger and a deep hatred…And in those eyes there was something else, an alarming spark that would have scared anybody. Few could meet that gaze.

The boy shook his head: a lot of people said that it was the look of a mad girl, a lunatic… but he thought that it was just the reflection of all the tears she had cried in her young life.

He lowered his eyes. He couldn't bear the accusations that girl screamed even when she was silent. He who had defeated Voldemort more than once, the young hero of the Wizardry World, the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter the epitome of the Gryffindor could not look at Victoria Cross, the Last Slytherin, in the face. He couldn't even look at her picture.

If he closed his eyes, a thousand images flashed behind his eyelids. He remembered how she had been during her first years in Hogwarts, he remembered her with Flint, Pucey and Malfoy, at that cursed match in his sixth year. He remembered her desperate screams, her sobs echoing in the whole stadium, her accusing looks, so strong and so angry, sharp and deadly as daggers, inerasable. He had never thought that someday those looks would have become even sharper, that those eyes could hold more hatred.

He felt a burden on his chest that cut off his breath, a lump in his heart. And he knew perfectly well why.

He looked at the photo again. A long time had passed from the last time he had taken it out to look at it. That day, Hermione had caught him and she had gotten very angry. She had told him that there was nothing he could do, at least not now. He could not waste his time dwelling on the past, he had to concentrate on the war and the next battle. In the dark, he curved his lips in a bitter smile: there was always a "next battle" the Boy-Who-Lived had to think about.

His thoughts drifted back to Victoria Cross, to the conversations they have had on the bridge outside Hogsmaede. They had met there two or three times, then he had started avoiding that place. He didn't want to meet Victoria, he didn't want to talk to her. Victoria's eyes troubled him, maybe even scared him a little. Her words did that, too. She always mixed up his whole world, shook it from its roots and turned it upside down completely….She tore down the walls of his certainties and left him in the power of the wind. Just like she was, after all: in the power of the cold wind, a prayer to the waves of life.

Slytherin tricks, Ron called it.

A point of view different from our own, Harry defined it.

And even if it was different, if didn't mean that it was evil. A whole House had to be destroyed before he realized that.

He turned his gaze on the decoration that adorned the bracket of the fireplace: Hogwart's Coat of Arms, with the emblems of the Four Houses. Here it was Slytherin's snake, in his quarter opposite Gryffindor's lion.

Another bitter smile. In the middle of a war there were certain people who had the nerve to fuss to have the school's Coat of Arms changed. At least, as long as Dumbledore and he lived, this would never happen. The Lost House of Slytherin would have been remembered at least upon that shield. It was the very least they could do.

Harry Potter stood up and slipped the photo between the pages of the book from which he had taken it. Slowly, he walked to the window: through the rain, he could see the towers and the huge walls of Hogwarts soaking wet.

The Last Slytherin had disappeared long ago. They waited for her at school months before, but she never arrived. Nobody knew where she was, she had no one to turn to. Her mother had been killed, her father had been found dead about eleven days before she disappeared without leaving any trace. Dead were her friends and her Housemates. Some people said she had run away to join the Death Eaters, but Harry knew that even the Imperius Curse wouldn't have brought Victoria Cross on the Dark Lord's side. Or on theirs, for all that mattered. She had said it loud and clear in that May afternoon, on the bridge. He could still hear her voice, "I don't fight with murderers."

Some people said she was dead. But Harry was quite sure that they were wrong. Victoria Cross was still alive, she was still out there. Harry Potter did not know it, but he was right only about the first point. And he was wrong to believe that he was the only one who still thought about her. The world is not so small as we think. And the Universe is even bigger than we can ever imagine. Elsewhere, very far away, there were other people that were thinking about Victoria Cross. The sunrise was close and the three hunters had conceded themselves a few hours of rest, for two of their companions had been captured by the Orcs and a third had been killed. For the whole day and a good part of the night they had but followed Saruman's creature, using all their energy to gain ground and not to lose the trail. But now, in the dark, their thoughts went back along the road they had taken, to the lake bank where they had been attacked, where their paths had taken different directions. They thought about the Ring Bearer, about his faithful friend – and about a girl they had left behind, a girl who had wanted to take the opposite direction. But in spite of the different roads they had taken, their final purpose was the same.

Aragorn could still see Boromir's last moments in his head, he could hear his words… The Ranger hung his head low. Boromir was strong, yet he had fallen. And he had made him a promise, a promise he was going to keep. He was a soldier, he knew that every war required some victims – when he thought so, he could almost hear a voice in his head. 'Go to say that to Victoria, let's hear what she'll say…Oh, you know very well what she'd tell you if you told her such a thing!' –

And yet, this time he wondered if there had been something he could have done not to lose that comrade. Things between the two of them had never went well right from the start, from the Council of Elrond. But…there was always that possibility.

At least Victoria had tried to prevent his fall, had stood by him. What if it had been something he had done or said that had annihilated all her work? After Gandalf's loss he had become the leader of the Fellowship, it was his duty to keep them together – but he had failed. And in that bloody Sunday, then, he had made two promises quite similar to two different men regarding the same person, but he had not kept them. When Frodo had asked him to "keep an eye on Torey," he had asked him to keep her by his side, not to let her follow him. A few minutes later, with his last strength left, Boromir had asked him, no, had begged him to take care of his daughter. What a strange fate.

Frodo and Boromir.

Divided by the Ring, united by that girl who had come from a distant land.

But he had betrayed them both, he had let her go. Now she was far away from them, they couldn't keep an eye on her, nor take care of her. He closed his eyes, praying to the Valar for Victoria to be fine. He had already lost Boromir, he would never forgive himself if something had happened to his daughter. He couldn't let him down again. For the nth time, he wondered if he had made the right choice.

Gimli tossed and turned under his cloak. Incredible but true, he couldn't sleep. And, even more incredible, it wasn't the memory of the Lady of the Golden Wood that kept him awake! Immediately, he felt a strange pang in his heart. He had thought that if that little nuisance had been there, she would have surely started teasing him for his crush. But she wasn't there and he missed her. For the whole journey from Rivendell to Rauros, even before the journey started, he had always complained because of the presence of that tenth, unwelcome member of the Fellowship. He didn't miss an occasion to remind that, in his opinion, females should be left at home, that that was no place for a woman, but, obviously, they didn't pay him any heed and the first not to listen to him was said cursed brat! How many times he had cursed her poisonous tongue! And he had never thought that someday he'd miss her.

In fact, as soon as they had been out of her earshot, Gimli had started saying that leaving that half-mad girl on her own, or rather giving her leave to go with the Hobbits hadn't been a wise decision!

'Who knows what that fool has done! And letting her cross the lake on one of those boats…all right, they belonged to the Lady Galadriel, but what the Mordor, she's always a girl, after all! Let us just hope that the boat hasn't been upset and she has not drowned. And even if she'll manage to cross that damned puddle, I'm sure she shall be discovered by the Orcs and shall alarm them. Who knows if she shall manage to find the other Hobbits…Maybe she shall not, in thirty years from now she shall still be there, wandering on those damned shores and we shall have to go back and get her home. That's if she shall be still alive! It would almost be better if she does not find them, she is quarrelsome and hot-headed… She shall get herself and the two Hobbits killed, so we shall be doomed!' And he kept on imagining the most tragic sceneries, from Victoria starving to death after she had lost her way in the Emyn Muil to the Orcs tearing her into pieces and so on. He turned on his back, mumbling. 'Bah! After all, that was her choice, wasn't it? Now she has to deal with it, doesn't she?' He turned on his side again. 'That wretch had better come back safe and sound, or I shall cut her head off personally!'

A few meters away from him, Legolas sat against a tree, his eyes open. He looked like he was immersed in the deep slumber typical of his people, but it was not so. His eyes looked back toward the Golden Falls and his ears were strained, trying to catch the Falls' song carried by the wind. But that was a fruitless search and he should have known: they had run for the whole afternoon and part of the night, they were too far.

The Elf raised his eyes toward the sky, begging for the protection of the Lady of the Stars. He wondered if the stars and the constellations that shone upon Middle Earth were the same that Victoria saw from the Earth from which Vicky came. He had never asked her. Maybe he would never have a chance to do so. He tried to drive back that thought, but it was hard, it was almost impossible. Deep in his heart still remained a thin vein of apprehension, fine as a web but strong as the roots of dog's-tooth.

He studied the sky above them. It seemed to him that the stars were smiling encouragingly. He hoped that they shone also on the young witch wherever she was and that they could give her strength and comfort.

'Who knows if Victoria is fine…who knows what she is doing now.'

Wrapped in her blanket, Victoria Cross did not sleep. Her eyes were wide open on the darkness around them, but she was not keeping watch. Her hands clutched the silver cross she wore around her neck as silent tears fell on her white-and-green scarf. Her thoughts were not there, among those bare rocks, but on the banks of the river she had left behind just a few hours before. The new wound she had received was very deep and bled abundantly. In the silence of the night she cried and prayed for her father's soul to find peace. And between tears and invocations of her distant God, from the bottom of her heart and soul she cursed the One Ring, who had forged It and who looked for It! She would have given anything to see that hated thing destroyed.

Suddenly, a moan of pain rose in the nightly air, but it wasn't her. Victoria turned to her two sleeping fellow-travelers and saw Frodo tossing and turning in his sleep, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. She immediately ran to his side, shaking him awake and gently calling his name. Finally, the hobbit threw his eyes open wide. As soon as he focused on a figure bending over him, he backed away violently, freeing himself from her gentle hold and automatically bringing a hand to the Ring.

"Calm down, Frodo. It's just me…" she said softly, taken aback by his reaction.

"Oh, Vivi. I…I had not realized that it was you," he panted.

The girl sat down next to him. "Do you wanna talk?"

"About what?" he asked.

"About the nightmare you've just had," she replied.

"Well…I…" He looked away. "No, I'd rather not to. I don't even remember what it was about exactly," he added hurriedly, not giving her enough time for a reply.

Victoria looked at him with her clear eyes and ran her hands through her hair. "Okay, as you wish. But remember that, if you need something…" she trailed off suggestively.

Frodo nodded and lay down again, but he did not fall asleep because he was thinking about his dream. He had lived over again Gandalf's fall. His eyes filled with tears, for that wound had not healed yet.

Frodo laid a hand on his own chest, exactly where the Ring was – he could feel it through his clothes. A few hours ago, he had said that he was glad that he was not alone – but that was not completely true. He recalled Galadriel's warning: 'To bear a Ring of Power is to be alone…One by one, It will destroy them all.'

The Hobbit shivered as he remembered the encounter he had had with Boromir in the woods near the river. The Man had almost tried to take the Ring from him – and he had been afraid, just like he was now. Victoria was a witch, but she belonged to the Mankind – what if the Ring had managed to reach her? What if It would have done to her the same thing It had done to her father? The Ring Bearer had left the Fellowship to protect her and the others, but he had not foreseen that she'd have followed him. Frodo wondered why Aragorn and Boromir had not detained her – but, knowing her and how her mind worked, it was almost sure that she had not asked for their permission. He wondered if she had followed him or the Ring and the thought hurt him, hurt him a lot. Maybe because he feared that the right answer to the question would be his second option, maybe because he felt guilty for doubting her…But he could not help it. Victoria was a woman, step-daughter to Boromir of Gondor, one of the Mankind.

And everybody knows that Men desire power above everything else.

Victoria stared at Frodo's back. She knew that he was awake, but he didn't want to talk with her, she wasn't going to force him.

Being excluded like that did hurt her. She had always been closer to him than anybody else, he used to say that she was the only one who understood him and that this was the only thing that mattered – and now he was shutting her out. And she was not inclined to let it happen without a fight. The young witch wondered what he was thinking about, if she would be able to help him somehow. She wondered if she would be able to save him from the Ring, since she had failed with her own father.

The girl sighed. She badly needed a cigarette, but she had run out of them.

She clutched her cross between her hands. That damned Ring had taken the only father she had ever known away from her, now she'd not allow him to take Frodo as well. He was everything she had…and he didn't deserve to carry such a burden on his own, whatever Mrs. Know-It-All could think.

'She should go to predict the future at the corner of the street, maybe a truck would run her over!' she thought angrily.

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