Author's Note: 654321 shows any major changes in p.o.v. And you will note that I am in favor of non-canon couples. For example, Faith and Oz or Eowyn and Boromir. So, don't be too surprised by any pairings that spring up between the BtVS/AtS groups.
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"Angel," he nodded at the vampire who'd come up behind Faith. "You realize that that statement is not very comforting."
"Boromir," he returned the greeting. "And it may not be to your liking, but it is quite true."
"But why? What did I do?" he asked.
"It's more like what you didn't do, mate, that's got her hunting your blood."
Willow's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Spike's voice. "Boro?" she sleepily inquired, recognizing his face. "Whatyaherefor?" she slurred the words.
"Hey, little one," he softly greeted. "And I live here, remember?"
"Tay," she nodded somewhat drunkenly, quite proud of her coherency. Snuggling further into his warmth, she yawned widely. "Buffy's gonna kill you. Like major kill you. Making you the dead thing, you know, dead? Good thing you've kept fit 'cause she's no slacker herself."
The Gondorian's nerve was wracked by this calm pronouncement of his fate-and description. All this composed talk about his impending doom bothered him. And the laughter of his men wasn't helping. He could excuse them for it though because they had no knowledge of the slayer.
Female warriors they knew of. Living next door to Rohan had opened their minds to the fact that women can be trained to defend. Though as men of Gondor, they felt more comfortable with their women out of battle and kept safe.
But knowing of someone like the slayer? No, they had no conception of such mystic warriors. Living where they did, they had no need of a slayer who was chosen to fight against the supernatural forces of evil.
Still…"would you stop saying that?"
Faith grinned. "Sure. Guess you don't appreciate friendly warnings anymore."
"Friendly, yes. Unnervingly truthful, no." Boromir corrected with a smile, even as the heckling of his men increased. Still, there was no reason for their behavior even if they'd never experienced what he had.
No, that wasn't quite true. Some of the blame rested upon him. If he had only mentioned that the world he had visited had great female warriors, he would not be going through this now. Of course, doing so would have implied that he had said something to his men.
Which he had not, only his brother knew the truth.
"What? You think Willow's lovely tale of what will become of you due to your jilting of our dear slayer's feelings was unnerving?" Spike drawlingly asked. "I found it quite refreshing and amusing."
"Of course, you did," he dryly replied. "Still, talking of one's imminent demise is rather uncomfortable."
"If you say so," her irritated voice replied.
For a moment, he thought it was something he had done. Or not done, for that matter, one could never tell with her. But, as he followed her line of sight, he saw that her gaze was focused off to the side where the Elves of Mirkwood and the dwarves were arguing.
Willow's renewed shaking brought his attention to her and he ignored all else as he wrapped her in his cloak. Pulling her closer, he wondered if there was something more he could do.
A hobbit approached him, somewhat timidly. "I'm Samwise Gamgee," he softly introduced himself. "I take it that they have been here before, though none of them seem to remember the occasion."
"Boromir," he returned the introduction with a slight bow. "And, no, they have never been here. I went to their world a few months back. What has happened to bring them here?"
"Now, that is a question we do not have an answer for. But Willow appeared before our eyes at The Prancing Pony. Later on we were joined by the others."
"Others?" he raised an eyebrow in query.
"Masters Angel, Giles, Spike, Oz, and the Mistress Faith. She is rather scary," he finished.
"Faith can be that way on the first meeting but she is a great person," he agreed.
"I do not that think I want to get to know her," Sam avowed.
"Not up to trying new experiences?"
"I think I have had enough new experiences to last me for my life time."
"That is your choice. Why is she like this?" he asked, relieved that the hobbit was answering his questions.
"She passed out in a river while we were fleeing from the Nazgul," Sam told him.
"Probably overextended her reach," he guessed. Sighing affectionately, he shook his brown head. "Little Willow has a bad habit of doing things like that."
Finally, Faith couldn't stand the arguments any longer and stormed over to the argumentative group. Grabbing one of the axes, she slammed it into the ground with all her slayer strength behind it.
Shhh'crack!
Splintering into thousands of pieces, the remains of the axe glistened in the evening light.
They stared at her in shock-especially the dwarves. For they knew what she did not. They recognized what that axe had been created from. To break an axe so easily…this was no ordinary mortal woman, though what she was, they could not say.
"I thought that you were mature beings. This behavior is more suitable for two year olds in a nursery. Must I teach you better manners on the edge of this nice, sharp, pointy stick?" She idly twirled what was left of the handle in her hand, glaring at them in challenge. "I can you know. And with a joyful smile on my face."
As the sons of Elrond returned from the stables, they heard the distinct voice of the dark haired woman say coldly. "Or will you ruin my fun and behave?" Oz followed after them and took in the situation with a glance.
"Honey, calm down." He spoke soothingly, approaching her with his hands held out in surrender.
"I most certainly will not. They are acting like children," she snarled. "It's bugging me."
"It's the darkness and danger in the air," he corrected. "I feel it as well."
"That's no excuse. Their behavior could be hurting Willow," she firmly stated before allowing him to lead her away. Oz made sure that Spike and Angel followed them. The last thing they needed was for the vampires to make an impression on the company they found themselves in so soon after Faith did.
The werewolf sighed. Sometimes, he thought, being logical and adult rotted.
He couldn't even really depend upon Angel for help. That whole one-upmanship he had going with Spike being a deterrent for any aid. For a mature and sometimes reasonable vampire, he could be remarkably childish when it came to his relationship with the younger man.
Elrond had returned in time to witness this display of slayer prowess and his eyes narrowed, almost angrily.
Looking from Gandalf to Giles, he realized that both were unsurprised by this feat of strength. Icily, he addressed them. "A word with you gentlemen? My people will see to the comfort of your friends when they have had a chance to cool off."
"An excellent idea, my friend." Gandalf indicated for Giles to go before him and the three made their way to Elrond's library. Albeit, the watcher most reluctantly. Though he trusted in Oz's ability to keep Faith and the vampires in line, sometimes she escaped and cause havoc first. And when one considered that Spike was with them…he shuddered at the idea of the consequences of those two putting their heads together.
The other reason for his reluctance was Boromir. He had to speak to him before the man said anything to the gang from Sunnydale-about Gandalf's true identity. For his identity was intertwined with that of the Istari's-and no one knew the truth about him. The worst they knew of him was his rebellion in his teen-age years that brought about the Eyghon demon.
No one knew who and what he really was.
Not even his slayer. And keeping a secret from Buffy was tearing him apart.
She relied on him for guidance and direction and he was essentially betraying her. The sound of a throat clearing brought his gaze upward from its study of the ground and he met Gandalf's eyes.
It was a stern look, unaccustomed to his gaze, yet completely right. Yet, there was also compassion there. With one last glance behind him at the assemblage in the courtyard, the trio entered the cool sanctuary.
The elves and dwarves glanced from each other to the shards glinting in the sun on the ground.
Mithrill, a metal prized for its indestructible nature, lay between them in ruins-symbolically significant in the face of what was happening in Middle Earth these days if they did not unite. Chased for its beauty and strength while being incredibly light, and one swing from that odd girl had destroyed it.
"What do you say we not anger the dark haired woman and keep our quarrels between us and away from this place?" One of the dwarfs asked, glancing up at the elf that seemed to be the leader of the elves.
Prince Legolas looked at the dwarf, somewhat surprised by the relative kindness in his voice. "A fine idea, master dwarf."
"Gimli, son of Gloin, Prince Legolas," he introduced himself stiffly.
"Legolas Greenleaf," he introduced, hearing the sharp intake of breath. "Yes, our fathers know each other." His words were highly paradoxical considering the past that surrounded the relationship he was referring to.
"Know each other? Your father threw me into the dungeon without so much as a by your leave!" A graying dwarf stated angrily, pushing his way to the front to stand in front of the elf prince, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. Though his body bore some signs of aging, his ability to fight remained as agile as when he was the dwarf who'd traveled those many years ago with Bilbo.
"Father, not while that female may hear you," Gimli whispered warningly.
"I am not afraid of some puny, human female, no matter what she did to an axe. In fact, I say bring her on!" he growled. "I can take her any day of the week with one hand tied behind my back."
"Is that so?" she challenged. "Then why don't we have at it, old man? You and me, right here. Right now."
Oz sighed, shaking his head. Though he'd tried to get her away from the area, she had decided to go back and see what was going on with Willow and Boromir. "Faith, this is not our home. We have no right to challenge them."
"Yeah, missy, listen to your young fella. A little thing like you could not take a hardy dwarf like me," Gloin taunted.
"Master Dwarf," Oz faced him, eyes snapping. "Take this in the manner it was meant for I mean you no offense. Kindly, shut up."
The dwarves gasped, shocked by the sheer audacity of his words. It had been some time since anyone-save Mithrandir-had dared to address their king in such a fashion. In their opinion, the elves' words meant nothing and were discounted as so much dust to be trodden upon.
Some of the elves hid smirks behind their hands, not willing to turn the wrath of the strange girl called Faith upon them. In their estimation, the dwarves were more than welcome to the trouble she could-and would-cause.
"You dare speak to me like that?"
"That's my Oz," Faith smiled smugly. "Never one to let an empty headed blowhard insult his friends and family." She consciously chose not to use the term pack because she didn't know how they would react to it. Considering their reaction to her fairly normal behavior, she figured it was a good idea.
"Empty headed blowhard?" Gloin approached her and studied her. "I do not see any points on your ears but you sound like a fickle, flighty elf."
"I have not now, nor have I ever been accused of such a thing." Faith's eyes narrowed in consideration before she suddenly bent down and tackled him. After a few moments of tussling, she pinned the dwarf under her. "So, now whose the little one?"
Gimli started forward, not sure if he was going to help or attack the odd female. But he stopped in his tracks, startled at a sound.
His father lay there, pinned beneath the stranger, and he began to laugh. Loudly and uproariously, especially when Faith pulled back and looked at him, shocked. "You are more than you seem, missy. I am Gloin, leader of these dwarves and you are?"
"Faith, adopted child of the Summers family." Rising to her feet, she hoisted him up easily.
Brushing off his hands, he glanced at her in consideration. "Mayhap you would be willing to teach me that move?"
"Sure, if you'll teach me that one that nearly had me pinned," she bargained.
"Done!" he agreed. "Tell me, do you drink beer?"
"Never on duty," she cheekily replied.
"Well, take it from me, you are officially off duty. Come along, Mistress Faith," he started off down the path that would take him to the rooms he knew he'd be staying in.
"I'll come-but only if you stop calling me missy and call me Faith, shorty."
"Then I shall be Gloin to you," together they walked off. "And if ye ever call me shorty again, I will take your head off with my axe."
"You and what army, shorty?" she challenged teasingly, oddly touched by this dwarf.
"Like I would need one, missy," he retorted.
"That woman of yours is a very strange female," one of the elves commented once they were beyond sight and hearing.
"She isn't mine. Faith is the Slayer and belongs to herself alone," Oz quietly countered before disappearing himself.
One of the elves leaned over and whispered. "What do you make of them?"
"With the exception of the dwarves, I chose not to make any unwise judgments about the guests of Lord Elrond. He has his reasons," the elf loftily responded.
"As you say," he replied. "Though I think it odd that such strange outsiders are allowed to be amongst us."
"Do you not think that we are strange to them?"
Lady Arwen had watched the whole exchange, a small frown on her face. Deciding that there was nothing to be done about it now, she crossed over to where the Gondorian stood with his burden. The fact that Sam was with him did not surprise her.
Clearing her throat, she waited for them to look at her. "My Lord Steward? If you would be so kind as to follow me, we shall soon have Mistress Willow tucked up comfortably in her room where the healers shall see to her benefit."
Sam felt there was something he should say as they ascended the stairs. High above the noise below, in a secluded wing of the building, Arwen stopped. Both hobbit and man looked about curiously, never having seen anything like the home of the elves.
Wide windows opened up to greet the morning sun. A large bed, with a thick quilt of blue, sat in the center of the room. Two posters carved with care into the tree itself anchored the ephemeral canopy above the bed. Beside the bed, a dresser sat with a light bowl of water where some white flowers floated, adding a hint of perfume to the air.
The room was lovely, delicate in the elfish way, yet built to endure for all time.
Yet, it didn't feel right for Willow.
She watched them look around the room and, believing that they were looking for her father, told them what he was doing. "As soon as my father has finished conducting his business with Gandalf and Master Giles, he will tend to Mistress Willow."
"It is not that, Lady Arwen. We were just curious," Boromir said. Walking into the room, he placed Willow on the turned down bed. So as not to disturb her, he covered her as gently as possible.
Arwen followed his movements with probing eyes. This was the first man she had ever really seen for she did not count Strider as one of them, and he did not match the description she'd drawn in her mind of what men were like. In fact, he was nothing like she'd been told mankind was like.
This steward had an odd kind of barbaric grace to him. He was gentle with this girl and compassionate with the hobbit. There was no sign of impatience with the situation or greed when he looked about their luxurious dwelling. Or at least, there was none to be seen as she watched his actions.
It puzzled her.
There would be time later to figure it out and she felt it best they leave the healers to their work. "My Lord Steward, why do you not join your men? Mistress Rosenberg is in safe hands, you need not fear for her any longer. As for you, Master Gamgee, I am sure that your friends, Masters Baggins, Brandybuck and Took are looking for you."
Figuring he had been given his orders, he stroked Willow's sweaty forehead once. "I shall return soon," he promised. Turning to leave, he nodded at the elf who'd entered and took his place.
Sam followed after the two, giving one look behind him. Something tickled his mind relentlessly. Something felt disturbingly wrong about how the elves handled Willow's condition. It did not seem quite right.
He could not explain it to himself, so how was he to explain it to the elves? They who were the wisest of all creatures in Middle Earth, experienced in ways of life and healing that he was not. After all, he was only a hobbit who tended to a small patch of earth. They had tended to the whole of Middle Earth for centuries.
What did he know of such things?
Seeing Frodo's concerned look, he could only lift his shoulders in a shrug. The two went to find their friends, meeting them on the stairs. Merry and Pippin deluged the two in their anxious questions about everything that had happened since they parted.
"Please," Sam wearily held up a silencing hand. "Let us discuss this somewhere else. I need to sit down."
"Are you all right?" Merry asked.
"I am tired," he shrugged off the concern easily. "It was a rough night. You only got a taste of Mistress Faith, she is a lot more intimidating the more time you spend with her."
"Shall we be on our way?" Frodo asked his cousin, turning the light of attention away from the uncomfortable Sam. Although he had been there since the previous day, he was still unsure of where everything was.
Merry and Pippin, on the other hand, had taken to exploring and moving about Rivendell with the ease of old time travelers.
"Right this way, gentlemen," Merry cheerfully gestured towards the right. "We have been situated together on the lower level, near the kitchens. Sam, we get as many breakfasts as we want, with as much food as we want."
"And you have never seen such food in all your life," Pippin proclaimed, smiling dreamily at the thought of it. "Nor tasted. And they actually feed us all of our breakfasts. Oh, it is absolutely delightful." They cheerfully talked all the way to their rooms and by the time they arrived, Sam was feeling much better.
Meanwhile, the Ring remained as It had been. Encased and imprisoned, unable to seduce and betray. It could not even summon aid to Its side.
Even the wretched creature, Gollum, was beyond Its touch.
It could only wait for Its freedom to come. Wait and plot Its revenge.
Days passed slowly by as the delegates continued to gather and work out their positions for the coming conference. There was a lot on the line now that Isildur's Bane had been found and brought to light. The Gondorians especially worried over what was to come because it was due to their king that the Bane still existed.
And Boromir's distraction was not helping matters any. The son of Denethor should be among them, not acting like a nursemaid to some strange girl. That oddly ill and pathetic critter was in the best of hands. Lord Elrond was a known healer. He would best help her and did not need the Gondorian Lord to act as a fetch and carry boy.
Nor should he be teaching that weird creature with the scandalous dress and attitude about warfare-no matter how highly skilled she was. That female had no manners and very little sense of how to treat a highborn lord.
And she was a woman of questionable repute, warrior or not. Though comfortable with the idea of female warriors, after all they were seeking an alliance with the Rohirrim, who had a heritage of fighting women. They did not need to see one running one of their own ragged.
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Faith wandered about the place, bored and uncomfortable.
Partly because her newest friend, Gloin, was unavailable for a few rounds of wrestling, drinking, and storytelling due to this conference that everybody was tied up in knots about. The spins that dwarf could put on things was vastly entertaining-and helped clarify a few things that bothered her.
And Oz had been captured by those blasted elf twins, again. It had been a while since she'd seen him alone. Her other outlet, Boromir, was in counsel with those old fogies who needed his help desperately. Angel and Spike were off hunting. The elves, being squeamish sorts and Willow still being out of commission, the vampires had had to find other resources.
Although, they wouldn't have fed off the elves anyway, they did have morals. Not many, of course, but some. Besides, something about what they were offset their blood, making it no better than dead blood to the vampires.
And there was no way on this planet or any other they might come across that Faith was baring her neck to them. She wasn't Buffy, after all. No vampire was going to bite her if she had any say in it.
Not that having either around would've done her any good, she moodily thought. Spike couldn't practice with her, while Angel spent an awful lot of time with that Strider fellow.
But mostly she out of sorts because of the long, flowing elven dress she wore. Being transported suddenly rarely gave one time to properly pack, so she had nothing to wear save these frippery things. At times, she thought, the outfits of the dwarves would've been preferable. They might not have been feminine or beautiful, but they were more practical and would suit her purposes better.
Finally, she couldn't take the way it curled around her legs and tripped her up any longer and took out her knife. Hacking away at the long skirt and tearing at the sleeves, she transformed the dresses into something that she was more comfortable with-and wouldn't shock the elves.
Well, anymore than she already had.
Standing back, the elves watched her walk by in her new outfit in utter bafflement. It showed off an indecent amount of leg and what exactly was that above her knee? Did they have any right to be seeing it? They decided at last that the strange alterations she'd made and the colorful decoration of the creature must have some cultural significance and that it was best to say nothing about it.
Still, the wanton destruction of good clothes did nothing to improve their estimation of mankind.
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Elrond felt like he was drowning in uncertainty for Willow remained captive to the deathlike condition she was in when she first arrived. All his knowledge meant nothing in the face of this sickness. Nothing that he or anyone else did helped.
If he had known what the expression being at one's wit's end meant, he would've agreed with it whole-heartedly. As it was, he could only sit by her bedside and do his best to heal her.
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Sam sat in the garden and stared out at the plants, feeling strangely disconnected.
Frodo watched from the side, worried. This apathy was unusual for a hobbit. Oh, Sam hid it well enough but they had been friends for years. There was something holding onto his friend tightly and it was not letting him go. It was more than just worry for Willow; it was something that seemed to be eating him up from the inside.
Suddenly, the gardener jumped right up and ran to him, "I think I know what is wrong."
"What?" he blinked, not understanding where this had come from.
"Willow is not getting better because she has been uprooted."
"What?" Frodo asked again. "What are you talking about, Sam?"
"Listen to me, Master Frodo, I know that I have got it. The first time we saw her weakened from magical usage, was after she went against the Nazgul, right?"
"Right," he slowly agreed.
"Well, Master Angel told her to ground herself in the living. I think he must have meant the living earth," he earnestly explained. "I helped then, like at the Ford. She drew strength from me. I think she is still doing it because she is up there in that tower room. But it is not working. She needs to feel the earth beneath her."
"Sam, that is brilliant." Frodo complimented, understanding dawning at last. "We need to get her down here. Where are Merry and Pippin?"
"Right here," Merry said, an apple in his hand. Realizing that something was happening, he asked, looking between the two of them. "What is going on?"
"We are going to help Willow," Sam told them. "I just do not know exactly how right now."
"But we do know that she needs to be closer to the earth," Frodo offered, taking some of the pressure off of Sam. It was the least he could do for his friend after all Sam had done for him over their journey. "We have some idea about how to go about it." He then outlined the conclusion Sam had come to and what it meant.
"So, you want us to carry her down here?" Merry asked, wanting to make sure he got the gist of the idea.
"That would be the basic idea, yes," Frodo nodded. He seemed to think there was nothing wrong with the suggestion that they move the tall human girl down a couple flights of stairs and into the garden unassisted by others.
"You do realize that she is bigger than us, right?" Merry asked, somewhat dubious of the simple sounding plan.
"With the four of us working together, it should not be to hard. Come on, she helped us without even knowing anything us except our names." Sam pleaded, a slightly desperate look on his face. "Lord Elrond would not help us for all we have to go on is my gut feeling and I have little real knowledge of this kind of thing. And finding Boromir would be most difficult in this press of bodies.
Pippin shrugged. "Well, it sounds all right to me, Merry."
"If you are confident that this is the best course to take," he hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. After all, what did they have to lose? "Then we might as well do it."
"What do we do first?" Pippin asked.
They looked at Sam, who didn't know what to say. Slowly, the words tumbled from his lips as an idea slowly formed. "Willow's in bad shape. The earth is what she needs to feel most, so I think we should look for a place not many visit so that she can get her rest but do whatever it is she does so that she can heal."
They were silent with thought, trying to figure out if they knew such a place. At first, nothing came to mind. Then Merry had an idea. "Come on. I know just the place."
Leading the way, Merry took his friends down a path. They rushed passed the strangely companionable Legolas and Gimli, both of whom turned to watch them go. "What do you suppose they are up to, Master Elf?"
"I do not know," Legolas slowly replied. "We should inform Elrond of their behavior."
He snorted derisively. "Mayhap the good elf would think we have let our wits go as many of my company believes of me for spending time with you."
"You may have a point, Master Dwarf. But my keen eyes picked up the anxiety on their faces that your smaller, less adept eyes would miss." Legolas couldn't resist the dig.
"Master Elf, your eyes may be sharper than my own, but your intelligence leaves much to be desired. In the case of hobbits, I fear that you have little knowledge and are judging them through your own limited experience with creatures other than your own."
"Are you saying that I am less than informed as to the true nature of those not of elven birth? What makes you such an expert on hobbits?" he contested, eyes twinkling in anticipation of the coming statement. This dwarf might not have been his usual preferred company and, considering the past of their people, that was no surprise.
Yes, he was far from someone Legolas would've spent time with under other circumstances.
But he was vastly entertaining and so, he often sought out his company when things became a little to boring. The Council was slowly taking shape but it would be a few days before they would actually begin.
Here a sly grin crossed Gimli's face. "Art thou forgetting that my father and a company of dwarves that I personally know traveled much with the company of a hobbit known to the both of our people, one Bilbo Baggins?"
"And art thou forgetting that I have a stronger claim on him?" Legolas slyly inquired. "For your Master Bilbo has spent much time in the company of my father." There reminder was pointed, for it was common knowledge that Bilbo had spent more time with elves than any other beings that he'd met in his travels.
Gimli scowled slightly, but there was no real malice behind it. Oddly enough, he had found this elven prince to be…sufficiently tolerable. Thus, he did not find it to burdensome to spend time with him. "Mayhap that is true, but he doesn't seem all that fond of your father, considering all the time he spends among Elrond and his people."
"As do you," Legolas said.
"Ah, but Lord Elrond is the most gracious host. He is by far the best elf I have ever had the pleasure of being associated with."
"Do you have a vast experience then, Master Gimli?" he asked. "Maybe you should accompany me to the Halls of Mirkwood and enjoy my own brand of hospitality."
Gimli snorted. "A trip to Mirkwood and see the infamous dungeons of your people? I think I would prefer to hear the stories-and remain free and clear of them."
Legolas smirked slightly, unable to stop himself. He thought it best to redirect the conversation before it lost its humorous tone and became less friendly. "Still, I do not think such behavior is normal with hobbits. Bilbo has often said that they are rather restful creatures, unless a good time is to be had."
"All right, elf, ye've made your point. We shall see Lord Elrond once I have defeated you."
"You defeat me? That day will never come," he asserted.
"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you, Master Elf? But it is my turn to chose what skill we deal with this match," he taunted.
"Any game or skill you choose, I shall always outwit you," he retorted. "And thou knowest it, foolish one."
"We shall see then, shan't we, daft elf?"
With one last, worried glance behind them to where the hobbits had disappeared, Legolas followed the dwarf. "Indeed, we shall."
Merry led them to a bridge and they crossed over, heading up a small, grassy knoll to a shady spot. Lightly tinged with autumnal colors, the leaves still held the vibrancy of spring. Standing back, they watched Sam walk around the area. It looked as though he was mapping it out in his mind, planning a garden or something.
Holding his breath, Merry waited anxiously. "Well?" he asked, bursting with impatience.
From his position on the ground, the hobbit was feeling the warm soil. Sam looked up, brought out of his contemplation by the voice and nodded to himself. Slowly, his smile blossomed in delight. "It will work, Merry. The light, the water, and the soil is just right for our needs. It is perfect."
"Well, what do we do now?" Pippin asked.
Brushing off his hands, he rose and shrugged. "Make a place for her to rest. I just do not know if it should be under the ground or if lying on top of it would be all right. I really wish there was someone we could talk to."
"What about Master Giles? Wouldn't he know?"
"I thought about him but decided that if he knew, she would not be up there." Sam indicated to one of the towers. "No, I think we are on our own this time." So saying, he turned to go inside and get a few things.
Furtively, the four of the smuggled out a few blankets and something for Willow to rest comfortably upon. Once they had finished, they made their way up the stairs with Pippin the lead. The young hobbit may have been the most mischievous of them but he was also the quickest to spot any trouble and move them out of the way.
Although, this useful talent usually only came out when they were doing something they knew they shouldn't.
Entering the room, they made sure that no one was there and walked over to the bed. "She looks dead," Pippin whispered fearfully. This was the first time he'd set eyes on her since the Ford and he didn't like to see her like this. It just wasn't natural to the Willow he'd come to know.
The pale, pale girl lay on the bed, nearly disappearing into the white sheets. The pixie face was so thin they could see right through it. Wrapped in a clean gown, she should've been warmer but it didn't do much except hang limply around her body. Her red hair seemed dirty and lackluster, though they knew that the elves had been cleansing her daily.
Signs of life were scattered about the room.
Sunlight streamed in from the wide window off to the right and the smell of perfume lightly filled it. A vase of flower blossoms decorated the vase by her bed, adding a bright dash of color to the soft brown dresser. The chair Elrond could often be found in rested against a wall, a large book resting in the seat, contrasting with the sea green of the seat with its velvety black cover.
None of this mattered.
Willow looked as if she'd been prepared for a funeral-and not the one they teased Boromir about. But her own funeral.
Taking hold of her, the four made their way out into the hall and down one of the lesser-used stairways. It was easier to carry her than they had feared, testifying to the amounts of weight she had lost over her incarceration.
"What do you think you are doing?" a voice demanded harshly from behind them.
