"I died." Bleary-eyed, she turned to Gandalf. "Didn't I?" The hand that wasn't held by Celebrian moved over her heart, where part of Tara's mind told her there should be a bullet hole.

He nodded. "Yes."

"But how did I get here?"

Gandalf sat back and pulled out his pipe. These answers, at least, had been given to him. "You were brought." He paused to let that sink in. "The place where you lived is a different world, a different dimension. You understand?"

Tara nodded. "Like the hell dimension Angel went to, or the world without shrimp."

Elrond raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Gandalf just nodded. "You were killed in your home dimension, but instead of moving on to the afterlife you were brought here."

"But why?"

Gandalf puffed on his pipe, recalling the information the Valar had given to him. "To heal. I must say, the Valar picked a good place for that." He smiled at Elrond. "You must heal, emotionally. They have given you time for that." Tara opened her mouth to speak, but Gandalf cut her off. "You need to heal in your soul, not your body. And once you have, your 'Powers that Be' will give you a choice."

"Choice?"

Gandalf shrugged. "You'll know when they ask, not before."

"And Willow?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

"She is not here."

"But... did she die? Her shirt... there was blood..."

"I don't have that answer for you," Gandalf admitted.

"What does your heart tell you?" Celebrian asked softly. She was still sitting on the edge of the bed stroking Tara's hand soothingly. "Look inside yourself. Part of you knows."

Tara hesitated, looking intently at each of her 'rescuers'. Finally she took a deep breath and turned her thoughts inward.

It was unsettling at first. The magic within her body was the same as always, but different, so different from the energy that pulsed through the world around her. She looked deeper, to the place inside that was filled with her love for Willow. She faltered, afraid. "I don't know," she said. Celebrian's hand tightened around her own. Tara took another shaky breath and took the plunge.

Immediately her mind was filled with Willow: the smell and feel of her, the taste of her. Her laugh, her hair, the way it felt when they did spells together, when they made love. Tara sorted through the images, emotions, textures, scents, looking for those last moments with her lover. She remembered blood splashing onto Willow's shirt, and then falling. Tara froze that moment in her mind and focused on Willow.

Eventually she opened her eyes. "She's alive." She let out a deep breath. "She's still alive."

Gandalf glanced at Elrond, who seemed relieved. "How about we give Tara time to rest, hmm? She must be exhausted." The two of them stood and prepared to leave. Celebrian hesitated but stood.

"Wait!" Tara said. "I still have questions!"

"We can talk more later," Elrond assured her. "Sleep for now. Someone will be nearby if you need anything." All three of them left, leaving Tara alone.

She tried to sleep. She really did. But every time she tried to clear her mind Willow was there. After what felt like ages Tara gave up on sleep. Instead she took a seat on the floor and began to meditate. Mentally she explored the energies of the world around her, attempting to acclimate to this new magic of this new place. It wasn't easy. Quickly the meditation drew her in, absorbed her mental focus and allowed her rest, though not sleep.

When Celebrian returned to Tara's room a few hours later, she found the young woman not in bed as she expected but sitting cross-legged on the floor. Tara's hands lay gently on her knees, her eyes shut. When Celebrian entered the room, Tara's head tilted slightly to one side before turning toward the door. The late afternoon sun slanted across her face and cast delicate shadows. Tara opened her eyes. "Oh," she said. "Hello..." She blushed. "I'm sorry, I forgot your name already."

"Celebrian," the elf said with a gentle smile. "Are you feeling rested?"

Tara shrugged but nodded. "Where's the b-big grey g-guy? I still h-have questions."

"I know," Celebrian said. "Mithrandir—Gandalf—is in my husband's study. If you feel up to it, I'll take you to them and you can ask all you like."

"Okay."

Tara followed the older woman from the bedroom where she'd woken, through hallways to a set of decorative double doors. Celebrian paused. "Ready?" she asked. Tara nodded. Celebrian looked her over and, apparently satisfied, opened the doors.

Elrond and Gandalf stood over a solid oak desk. Both looked towards the door when it opened. "Ah, you're up!" Gandalf exclaimed.

"I have m-more q-q-questions," Tara said.

"Naturally." Gandalf gestured to a grouping of chairs near a window. They all moved and sat, with Tara slumped forward into a guarded position. After a moment she jolted back to her feet.

"I can't sit," she said. "I—what's g-going to happen to me?"

"You'll stay here," Elrond said. He clasped his wife's hand, watching Tara as she paced restlessly. "With us. You will have everything you need to heal for your choice, especially time."

"Time. How much time?" Tara asked. "How long will it t-take to heal? Weeks, months?"

"Years," Gandalf corrected. "More likely decades. It is not physical healing, you must remember, but emotional, psychological. Your body is whole, but you suffered much in the place where you were, did you not?"

Tara paused, her fingers twisting anxiously. Brain-sucking hell goddesses, sadistic vampires, homicidal professors, resurrected friends... "I'd say that's an understatement."

"You will have time here," Gandalf reiterated. "Lord Elrond, Lady Celebrian, their people, are immortal. Elves." He waited a moment for that to sink in. "The land is at peace. Things are calm and steady. Here there will be no sudden deaths, no great trauma. You will be safe and protected for as long as it takes."

"This is a good place for healing," Celebrian added. "The trees, the rivers. There is a kind of magic here. We have been blessed by the Valar."

Tara looked at each of the faces before her, hands shaking. She took a deep breath and rested them on the back of her empty chair. "As long as it takes."