Author's Note: This is the missing chapter.
Author's Thanks: Brutal2003. Thanks. Yup, you get to find out (kinda) what happened to them, though I will leave much of it up to the imagination. It was during her captivity that she was rendered blind. Really hope you don't mind all these long pauses between postings, I've been working on it but RL and other stories have taken up my time.
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Faith led the hobbits away and sat down, legs swinging over the edge of the ledge. "So, what do you do for fun?"
"Fun?" Pippin repeated, as though he did not understand the word. Most likely, due to the circumstances of their journey, he did not. Or rather, he had forgotten. Sitting down beside her, he looked up for clarification.
"Something you do to lose the boredom," she said.
"Ah!" Merry smiled, sitting by her other side. Reaching into his pack, he removed a pouch and pipe. "Smoke. Drink. Tell stories. Have a party. That sort of thing."
"Though I do not think that it is appropriate to speak of those things now. Gandalf has fallen into shadow. He is no longer with us," Frodo softly observed.
She glanced over at him, "Would he want you to bury yourself in grief?" Her head shook as she answered her question. "No. I do not think that Gandalf is the type to dwell in such unhappiness and misery. I believe that he would want you to celebrate his life. While you might grieve for he was loved by you, you shouldn't allow it to swamp you."
When no answer was forthcoming, she knew she was right. Faith wouldn't push her point with Frodo any longer. The hobbit had lost a dearest friend, he would mourn in whatever manner seemed most fitting to him. Who was she to tell him that he was wrong?
Looking out over the white trees into the deep, starlit sky, she breathed deeply and relaxed. Though she was far from comfortable in this place of light, the slayer found that she was able to relax into the moment.
"The first two things, I can handle. Easily. Telling a tale, I doubt I know any that are appropriate for your ears," she paused, sighing as she slipped into a more comfortable role for her. Living in the moment had always been her thing. "The party is also beyond my abilities to provide."
Soon enough, the four were blowing smoke rings into the air, though hers were small and didn't last half as long as the others. Merry and Pippin regaled her with tales of Gandalf and the Shire. In the intervening hours of the night, she learned much about them that made her want to protect the innocence in the lives for their sake, not just because she was a Slayer.
It had become personal to her. This war was no longer just something she was involved in because she wanted to get home. What they were, the innocence they represented was something she wanted to keep safe. To shelter and let it continue to grow in the peace that they had always known in their beloved Shire, a peace she had never known but had always desired for herself.
Angel and Spike stood unnoticed in the background, quietly conversing. "It took us so long to reclaim her. Then that snobbish, pointy eared git came along and shot all of our hard work to Hell."
"Haldir was just doing his job." Angel dispassionately observed, though the words left a vile taste in his mouth. The idea of defending the elf when he had hurt one of his friends-his family-left him shaking with rage, though he knew he was right to do so.
"Oh, shut up. You feel the same way I do, don't bother to deny it, Angel. It's disgusting, this act of yours," he glared at the elder vampire, daring him to contradict him.
"Whether I do or do not is not the point, Spike," he mildly rebuked. "These trees have ears and we are their guests. We should not be harsh in our words towards them."
"Angel, Red is our own," he hotly contested, facing him fully. "We protect our own. Or, at least, I do. Which, may I remind you, was one of the things that you taught me. Even you can't be that ashamed of that particular teaching of Angelus'. I ought to find that elf and teach him a lesson or two."
"You will do no such thing, William." The tone in his voice brooked no argument. "I will not have you rushing in and overstepping them bounds of decency. Think for once, if you can bring yourself to do so. We need them."
"Are we let to let this offense go unavenged?"
"Do not make me restrain you," he warned, more than a little bite to his words. "I will have your word on that which you honor most that the only retribution you seek will be taken out upon the evil we find, not on Haldir."
"But," he started, angry at how ineffectual he sounded.
"Your word, William."
The two vampires locked gazes before Spike snarled and bowed his head. "You have it."
"Say it."
"I will harm only the evil forces, Haldir's life and sanity will be safe from me," he spat out the words viciously. With them, Angel had to be content.
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Sam watched quietly as the two daemons tended to Willow's visible hurts. His tender heart winced as she shrank away from their loving touches. He hurt for her, an ache burned that nothing could appease within him.
"We saved Xander," Oz quietly said. "How soon can we leave for Gondor?"
"Gondor?" Giles asked, shocked at the idea. "I do not believe that Gondor is the place for us to go right now. The Eye of Sauron watches it, thinking that the Ring will be there. He waits for It to arrive."
"Then where? We can't go back to Rivendell even if the mines weren't blocked. And we can't stay here, I feel sickened by the lack of balance here. Is there any place safe?"
Giles contemplated the question, bothered by the reference Oz made to feeling sick. He had known there was a chance that they'd all feel it, but hoped that it wouldn't happen for a few days. They really needed this time to rest and recuperate. And he still wasn't sure what to do about the Fellowship and their journey. He knew that Aragorn was expecting them to continue to travel together.
But that just wasn't feasible. Shaking off his thoughts, he turned to answer Oz. "I believe that we may have a chance in Rohan, even with Saruman turning to darkness."
"Gandalf," Sam chocked on the name and paused to regain him composure. "Gandalf said that Theoden King is not well. That he might be paying tribute to Mordor."
"That can't be true. I know the people of Rohan," he exclaimed, disbelieving. "I must write to the king's son, Theodred. If anyone knows how things truly are, he will."
Lost on a world of misery, Willow lay motionless between their hands. Every once in while, she twitched away from their continuous touches. Mostly, though, she lay there and shivered in reaction to the slightest thing. Wave upon wave of painful memory crashed down upon her, dragging her under the waves with its strong undertow.
If I don't move, she thought, they will go away. They always get bored if I do not react. The words circled her mind as a mantra that kept her sane.
What felt like a blow to her solar plexus had her biting back a gasp of pain. Fresh blood from her torn and bitten lip dripped down to mingle with the other fluids that decorated her clothes in bright, dullness and a pungent fragrance.
"Little rag, little rag." A new voice taunted. "We never said you could close you eyes."
Thick fingers grasped them and pulled them open, shoving his hideous features into her sight. Bloodshot eyes in a swollen face with blackened teeth and a slash across his cheek revealed a whitish cheekbone, stared down at her. His awful breath chocking her.
She screamed and jerked back. This one was new to her. This one had intelligence in its eyes. Cowering away, she winced at the sound of raucous laughter.
Failed. Again, she miserably thought. An endlessly, repeated cycle of failure. She didn't know why it hurt. It was all she was good for anyway.
Giles sighed. "That's all I can do. The rest is up to her."
Oz nodded, rising. "I shall let the gang know."
"Not yet," he stopped him. "She isn't ready for visitors. Give her a little while. I should see about that letter before more time goes by. We need to have a plan; we can't just keep going off helter skelter and hope to land on our feet. We've been lucky so far, Oz, but that luck can't hold out for much longer."
"I'll watch her," he offered, dropping back down to the ground.
"Thank you," he rose and wearily walked away. As he retraced his steps, he became aware of a presence beside him. Glancing up, he was shocked to see Haldir with him, a curiously hesitant look on the haughty face. "What?"
"The redhead," he hesitantly spoke. "How is she?"
"Lost in a darkness we barely managed to save her from before," Giles snapped.
"I was doing my job and protecting our borders."
"From what threat?" he demanded. "Orcs and goblins would've been killed immediately had they trespassed. I cannot believe that Lady Galadriel didn't inform you that there was a dwarf within the Fellowship. You aren't stupid, don't act like I am."
Haldir did not try to say more in his defense. Giles would not listen to him. He would not be lectured by one who did not have authority over him. It did not even matter that he had not heard of the Fellowship until that day. He knew the truth, he was in error here.
Besides, Giles was now asking him something. Perhaps he should listen and find out what it was before he gave him an even worse opinion of him than he already had.
"…is Celeborn?"
"In the library," he replied, hoping that he'd guessed right. "It is this way." Moving off to the right, he ascended into the canopy. As he did so, he wondered if Giles would follow him. He wondered what he would do if he did not.
After a moment's debate, the watcher walked up after him.
"Lord Celeborn, Master Giles wishes to speak with you," he said as he pushed aside the filmy curtain that separated the hall from the library.
Celeborn looked up from his place and nodded. "Have you been to see the Lady, Haldir?"
"I have not, my lord." He informed him, bowing humbly.
"Then you had best hasten your steps. She wishes to speak to you before the night is over," he advised him.
"I shall join her immediately," he left.
Pushing aside the book he'd been studying, he rose and walked to Giles, gesturing for him to join him inside. "Please, come inside. I assure you that I am quite harmless," he half added, trying to ease the tension.
It fell flat.
"Harmless is not something I associate with elves." He replied, entering the room and letting the curtain fall behind him.
"An excellent point," he murmured, watching him. Although he seemed to be less hostile than his companions, Celeborn was not going to take him on his appearance alone. While he did not have his wife's gift for reading people, he did have an ability to read what kind of people they were by simple observation.
Watching as Giles looked about and his gaze lingered lovingly on the books, he decided that he was, by nature, a calm and peace loving man. "Would you care to have a seat? I prefer to do my business sitting down. It seems to be less hostile that way."
"Thank you," he said. Following him over to the window, they sat down on the seat carved into the tree. A thick cushion rested along the bark behind him, cushioning his back against it.
"What can I do for you?"
"What do you know of the situation in Rohan?" he asked.
"Only what I have been told, and there is little enough knowledge about it that it might not do you any good. Gandalf had heard from one of his sources that the Rohirrim pay tribute in horses to Sauron. Theoden is under the influence of one Grima Wormtongue."
Giles cursed harshly, startling him.
"You know of this man?"
"Not much of a man if you ask me," he acidly replied. "He is a craven liar. A cunning serpent that lies in wait and strikes a fatal blow of fear into the hearts of those he dwells near. There is poison in that tongue of his that has been carefully cultivated over the years to do the most damage. Subtle is his art and twisted is his nature. Yes, I've heard much about him."
"He is the king's main advisor, the voice he listens to above all else. But that is not as troublesome as the fact that the Northern Men have been restless, they have been moving southward and destroying all that lies in their path. It is a quest for conquest-and they do not seem desirous to halt their movements. Rather, they sit back and watch it all happen from their Golden Hall."
"It seems to me that if Wormtongue is advising the king, then the events are related."
"Is it important for you to go?"
"I feel that the atmosphere there will be better for Willow," he explained. "Lovely as your land is, it is not the best place for any of us really. You don't seem that surprised."
"The Lord of Rivendell thought it best to warn us.'
"He did?"
"I believe he thought it best since you may pass through our lands at some point. How are the rest of you faring?"
"Other than being angry, they are as well as can be expected. One of our group, Xander, has been through a difficult time. The wounds he sustained in the Mines of Moria are beyond our feeble aid to heal."
"Shall I send our healers to you?" he began to ask, then thought better of it. "Why do you not have him come to us? Though we have kept our distance from your sidhe, we are still in our lands. This may still prove to be harmful to her."
"Her name's Willow," he spoke sharply. "I don't want her to be referred to by a label. She would not refer to you as an elf."
"Very well," he conceded. "Do you wish to write to someone in Rohan? Is there anyone there who knows you still? It has been sometime since you have walked amongst us."
"Is Theodred still alive?" he asked.
"Theoden's son? I believe that he is, though I had heard that he has suffered terrible injuries while fighting some orcs on patrol."
"I became acquainted with him in my earlier years," he replied. "We became excellent friends. I shall write to him, see how he is. Hopefully, he remembers our scatter speak and will reply. If he is not there, then no harm shall come from the writing. We agreed that only we two should know it, though he might've taught Eowyn. If I remember correctly, she had a fine memory for such things while he had a hard time retaining it."
"You may use whatever you find on the desk. We have many courier birds for use. I do not think that they will accept a message from an elf. Not only do they not know that many things about us but it will seem suspicious to any spying eye if a Lothlorian elf were to travel through the Lands of the Riddermark."
"Thank you, Lord Celeborn." Rising and approaching the desk, he gathered the items together before sitting down. Deep in thought, he cast his mind back a few years to his time here and pulled up the old language.
This letter would be difficult to write for he hadn't seen Theodred in a while. For all he knew, the jovial man with the slight picky tendencies and suspicious nature had given into it fully. And as these were not the best of times, he could ill afford to upset the man.
Finally, he decided to try one of their older, more tricksterish messages. If Theodred responded to it favorably, then he would know that there were friends waiting in Rohan for them. Friends who would greet them and keep them safe from harm until they had all had a chance to regroup and figure out what to do next.
If not…Giles refused to finish that thought. It was unthinkable at the moment.
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Xander sat alone on the edge of the platform. His eyes stared sightlessly at the scene before him as he waited for Giles to return. His left hand clutched into a tight fist, cutting into his not yet healed palm.
Blood dripped through his fingers, lightly staining the board beneath him.
A perverse feeling of satisfaction filled him at the sight of it. Though small, he had managed to mar the perfection of their world, just a little bit with the touch of humanity it had been lacking. The pain it caused him did not matter. As easily as breathing, he could ignore the pain. These things had become second nature to them all.
"For what it is worth, I am sorry for the pain we have caused your sidhe, your friend."
Xander didn't even look up at the Lady of the Woods. "Her name is Willow," he dully commented. "And I believe you."
Galadriel approached and sat down beside him, noting him flinch. "You are weary and badly hurt. Why have your wounds not been treated?"
Sighing in resignation to the idea of having a conversation, he turned towards her and met her gaze evenly, with no evasion. Of them all, he felt no fear of her and what she would see in his mind. Let her see what she would, he had nothing to hide.
"There was no need at the time," he honestly replied. "I have been seen to before, thus my wounds are not as grievous as they could be."
But his answer was murmured for he was studying her dress intently. It seemed to him that there was a luminescent quality about it he had never seen before. He wondered if such a garment would help Willow. Even if she could no longer see the light, may be feeling it would bring her back to them.
The Lady knew what was on his mind. "It is not possible."
"Why?" he asked, almost belligerently.
"We no longer have the ability," she softly told him. At his disbelieving look, she shook her head and asked. "Why do you find this so hard to believe?"
"I have heard that you are the fairest and the wisest of all the races in Middle-Earth. Why do you think that I don't believe you?"
She contemplated his question. "Our feud with the dwarves has taken a toll on our ability to give freely. That level of love is rare. It is hard to achieve a pure love that would sacrifice all for another. To weave this kind of garment, one weaves with starlight and moonlight itself. Starlight is illusive, ephemeral. It is hard to hold onto when there is discord within for it burns and stings those whose hearts are full of discontent."
"My Lady," Haldir tentatively began. He had come down when he heard her voice murmuring and saw them sitting there. It hadn't taken him even a second to recognize the young man sitting with his queen.
"Will you excuse me?" Galadriel asked.
Xander faced the elf, but there was no fury in his eyes, just a bottomless well of tiredness and pain. "Haldir," he greeted and introduced himself. "Xander Harris."
"Master Harris," he returned the greeting warily, surprised by it.
"Xander," he corrected absently. Pushing himself to his feet, he retraced his steps and paused, turning back to face them. "Willow would say that you are not at fault. She's generous like that. Though it's hard for me to say this, she's right. Stop beating yourself up over it. You were doing what you had been trained to do all your life."
"Thank you," he faintly said, surprised at the understanding within the young man's voice.
"Don't thank me," he replied in a hoarse whisper. With no further sound, he slipped to the ground, unconscious.
Haldir knelt beside him, resting his hand on his forehead. "He is burning up."
"Do you require anything?" Galadriel asked, watching him as he stripped off the outer layer of Xander's grimy clothes. Her nose wrinkled up slightly as the sickly smell of infection wafted by in the air.
"Perhaps we should send for Lord Elrond. He may be beyond our capabilities," he answered. Making a thorough examination of the open sores, he shook his head. "He has had some treatment for these wounds. Many have been cleared with Lord Elrond's own medicines. It has not been enough for him."
"Very well," she walked away.
Haldir knew it was to summon Lord Elrond. If not to ask him to come, then to ask for his counsel on how best to treat Xander. He just hoped that he was not making a mistake in asking for him to come. Two elves of the authority of Galadriel and Elrond may be more harmful than beneficial.
Taking care, he lifted the man into his arms and made his way to a pool of clean water. It was distressingly easy to carry him and the elf worried over it. Cautiously, he lowered the semi-clothed body into the water and peeled the rest of the clothes away. Gasping, he turned away from the sight of the extensive damage wrought upon him for a moment.
His stomach roiled about and wanted to be set free from confinement. But he resisted.
It was neither the time nor the place. After a moment, he composed himself and returned to the distasteful task before him. Thankfully, the pool of water was warm and carried away much of the dirt and blood that he so carefully removed from Xander's body.
"Lady Galadriel sent me to assist you."
Haldir nodded absently, letting his sensitive hands clean the body. Once he knew for sure what he required, he turned to the female elf hovering in the background, telling her what was necessary to heal him. "And bring some loose clothing," he added as she turned away. "The last thing he needs is something restrictive."
Picking up the clothes, she turned to leave. "I will have these burned." She held the clothes away from her, not liking the coarse feel of them. Or the inelegance of them.
"Don't," Xander faintly protested. The whispery sound of his word startled them and they glanced at each other before looking down into his half-opened eyes. Within their earthy brown was a desperate need as they focused on the clothes.
"Why?" Haldir asked, though it was most unwise to press the young man at the moment.
"Present from Buffy and Willow," he softly replied. "Please, don't," he repeated before his eyes gave up the battle to remain open and shut once again.
Exchanging another glance, they were silent before Haldir nodded. "See if they can be cleaned. I doubt that they shall ever be fixed. The damage is to extensive."
Though her nose wrinkled up in distaste, she nodded and left.
By the time Haldir was done, the water was blackened with dirt, blood, and excrement that had yet to be swept away by the tide. The elf was thankful to be done, though deeply concerned with everything the cleansing had revealed.
The damage was widespread and vindictive. Crisscrossing scars. Deep bruises. Tiny pinpricks from burrowing bugs. Haldir could only shake his head in disgust at the sight.
Hearing footsteps, he turned to see her return with her arms full of supplies. Placing them to the side, she stood at Xander's right. Together, they lifted the weakened, semi-emaciated man from the water. Using warmed towels, they gently rubbed him down until he was dry and warmer.
Dressing him was a bit of a difficult task as his body wasn't fit for the clothes. But they finally had him covered. Picking up a brush, she started to comb out the tangled hair, facing Haldir after a moment. "What are these?"
He glanced at it and sighed, shaking his head at his own foolishness. He should have expected to see it. "Lice. Humans are known to get them from time to time. I will take care of them."
"How do you know how to do these things?" she asked, after listening to his directions.
"Lord Elrond," he replied. "There was a time when I traveled with Aragorn. Knowing of humans and their peculiar plagues, Lord Elrond thought it best to prepare me for any eventuality."
"Are we in danger from them?"
"No. Our body chemistry is different, they could not adapt," he said. His hands found what they were looking for before he picked up the comb and began to search for the nits within the dark hair. "Hand me the scissors. Some of these knots must go."
"How is he?" Galadriel asked walking into the room where they had moved him once they had finished with most of the major cleaning and bandaging. Her careful eye studied the young man and noticed that his appearance had improved. He looked much more healthy and comfortable.
Was it merely the accumulation of dirt and grime that had made him look so ill? She shook her head slightly, knowing it for the foolish thought it was.
"Now that he is clean and the lice have been temporarily dealt with, he is in much better shape than I had originally judged him to be in. Of course, I do think that he should be seen by Lord Elrond."
"He will come as soon as he is able to," she told him. "Haldir, come with me."
Rising from the bedside, he followed her out.
The female elf left behind studied the young man curiously. To her eyes, she saw nothing remarkable about him like one saw with Aragorn. Or even Lord Boromir. There was nothing distinctive about him.
And yet…he exuded something that those two men did not.
With a shrug, she covered him and replaced their supplies before leaving him. She figured that no harm would come to him if she left him alone for a few minutes. Clearing her throat, she waited outside the library for permission to enter. Once it was granted, she peered inside and found who she was looking for. "Master Giles, Master Harris is ready to be taken to your dwelling place."
"Thank you," he murmured, startled at the mention of Xander. What could have happened to him? Following her, he looked about curiously and enviously. What a wondrous place to spend time in. Time in which to relax, to rest. To read and not worry about what was to come on the morrow. It was not that he resented Willow's pressing need, but he'd heard much about Lothlorien and wished to see more of it than the fringes.
Yet, he could not.
All things around him spoke of undeniable beauty and serenity. How he wished that his family and comrades could enjoy it as it was meant to be enjoyed. It was an impossible hope, but it was one he could not suppress.
They were his own and he wished them nothing but the best.
"Giles."
"Angel," he returned the terse greeting. "How?"
"Haldir says that he is doing much better," the elf replied for the vampire.
"Excuse me for asking," Giles pointedly asked, "but who are you?"
If she was shamed by the attitude, it did not show on her face. "Forgive my lack of manners, I am Halissa, sister of Haldir."
"Oh, yes. Haldir, our generous guide." There was a slur on the word that Angel could not stop, even had he wanted to.
She did not even flinch at the sound. It was something she had been expecting after all they had been through. "Haldir is an excellent warrior, if a trifle overanxious to fulfill what he perceives to be his duty."
"Halissa," he quietly said as he entered the room. "Though I thank you for the defense, it is not necessary. I was in the wrong and will do my best to rectify my error."
"You think you can, mate?"
He met the blue eyes evenly. "I believe that there is only one who can truly forgive me and she lies in sickness. A sickness that I caused by my actions. You may take Master Harris with you. Lord Elrond will soon be here to aid him in ways that I am not equipped to."
The night passed in relative peace, Willow and Xander rested from their hurts.
The hobbits slept off to the side, Frodo's rest was broken occasionally by a soft cry of distress. Faith and Oz spoke quietly on the far side while Angel and Spike sat in silence, neither willing to break it. Giles sat with Sam, who was staring guiltily at Willow.
"We did her no favors, expecting more from her than she could rightly give, did we?"
"No. Unfortunately, she is all to used to it."
"She should not be," he argued. "No one should."
Giles studied him. "How do you feel?"
"Better than her last…illness for she has not latched onto me," he spoke bitterly. "I wish that she had. That she would do so now. This is killing her!" His hand reached out and held hers as gently as possible.
Willow shuddered, pulling away as though shocked.
Sam looked helplessly over at Giles, who could only gaze back at him, looking as lost as he did. Both continued their vigil long into the night in silence.
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Frodo awakened, no longer able to ignore what was happening in his dreams. As he looked around, he wondered what could be bringing them into being. He had not had such dreams since the Ring had been bound. By binding the Ring, Willow had stopped his nightmares.
Yet, as impossible as it seemed, Frodo knew that it was the Ring.
It seemed to sense that something drew near. Without thought, he picked it up and walked out of their sleeping quarters. He saw Boromir and Aragorn and stopped, hesitating on his next move. His desire to talk with Aragorn warred with his mistrust of Boromir.
"Frodo," Aragorn called, startling the young hobbit. "Is something wrong?"
When he did not answer immediately, Boromir stood and stretched. "I will leave you two to speak in peace."
"Please," Frodo spoke in a halting, nervous voice. "Stay."
"Are you sure?" he asked, hesitating. Well did Boromir know of Frodo's desire to have as little to do with him as possible. He knew that it had to do with his words about the Ring, for he did not realize that they had to be said. "You are worried and in need of private counsel with a friend. I do not wish to intrude."
"Yes," he replied, still in that shaky voice. "It is not your presence that causes my hesitation in speaking. It is the Ring."
"It has been growing stronger," Aragorn sighed. "It is as we feared. The closer the Ring draws to Mordor and Its Master, the stronger It becomes."
"Than I am not imagining it," he said, relieved. Then the relief fled. "If It is regaining strength, the Eye of Sauron will find us, will it not? Guided to our position by the Ring?"
"He will," the answer was swift and positive in its coming. "Our journey has become even more precarious for the awakening."
"Why do we not ask Willow to destroy It?" The question burst from the hobbit before he could stop it, not that he wanted to. This was something that he had often wondered about and had not been able to come up with a plausible reason that she could not do it.
Both looked to Boromir for the answer and he sighed. A sigh that resonated with deep regret and fear. "You may ask her if she even returns to us. But I do not think her answer is one that will bring you much joy or contentment."
"What do you mean?"
Boromir looked at them. "How much weight will a spider's web carry before it breaks under the strain?"
"I do not understand," Frodo said after thinking over the question, though he tried.
Aragorn's eyes were sad as he comprehended the truth behind the question. "I do."
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"They call me Gunn. Where did you say I was?" he gasped.
A whistle shattered the air instead of a reply. Taking that as a signal, the knife was dropped and the soldier moved back. "One false move and I will not hesitate to kill you where you stand." The warning was low and full of confident intent.
"Gunn? That is a most unusual name. One quite unknown to these parts." A young man, who appeared to be not much older than Gunn himself was, stepped out from behind the trees. Tossing aside the cloak that concealed him from sight, he walked closer to them, keeping a wary eye on him. "What do you mean when you say they?"
Though young, he had an air of easy authority and walked with firm purpose. Gunn decided that he could easily like this stranger. As the man walked closer, he studied him, noting that he was studied in return.
Gunn had the oddest feeling that he should recognize this man. There was a certain something…familiar about him.
"My friends. It's my last name," he said. When he saw the blank expression stare back at him, he elaborated reluctantly. "My first name is Charles. I find it to be a rather pompous name for the kind of work I'm called to do."
"What kind of work is that?" he asked. As he spoke, he circled the man, taking in his strange clothes with a faintly disapproving look on his face.
Gunn bristled at the implication behind the look but forced himself to remain calm. He knew better than to try to take on an unknown in a world he had no experience with. He'd learned that lesson back on Pylea.
A lesson he was not eager to repeat.
"I fight the forces of evil," he hesitated to say more. After all, explaining that he was from another world to this man might not be a wise idea. For one thing, he might just think he was crazy. For another, how would he prove it? He didn't even know how he got here in the first place, though he was pretty sure he could track it to Glory.
"Evil?" he asked skeptically. "With what weapons?"
"I did not know that I was to come here," he snapped. It was the eyes he recognized. The same fire, the same spirit burned in them. A fire he'd seen in the eyes of another man, a man who looked a lot like this-and not just because they had the same large nose. "So I did not bring any. I do not always carry weapons, you know. To many chances for awkward questions to be asked, questions that have not easy answer. You're Faramir, aren't you? Boromir's much loved younger brother."
"How do you know that?" he asked, suspicious. Approaching, he stared him in the eyes, long and hard. As if to see into the very mind and soul of this stranger, this man who dared to claim knowledge of his brother. Though he knew it was probably not wise, he stood before him, weaponless.
"Let's just say, he's a friend of mine," he paused, debating for a moment on whether or not to risk mentioning her. Deciding that he would take the chance, he finished with a decisive, "and Willow's." He knew he'd make the right choice when the man went pale.
In the farthest corner of Gunn's mind, he wondered why it was that the mere mention of her name got so many people's attention-and so quickly. Even strangers reacted to it. He wondered why that would be so.
"Sir, should I shoot him?" The soldier with them asked, staring at Gunn with angry, narrowed eyes. Her captain's reaction to the name caused her defenses to rise and make a swift choice about what to do. Fingering the bow, she pulled it taut but held it, awaiting his word.
"No," he whispered after a moment, shaken. Boromir spoke words of truth, he thought numbly. Every word he spoke to me of this strange place he had visited for so many days that they blended into one long cycle of time was the pure and simple truth. Forgive my skeptical belief, my brother.
"No," he spoke more firmly, finding his voice. "My brother knows this man. He is from a place in the West that is newly born. Come with me, Master Gunn."
"It's just Gunn, sir," he corrected.
"Yes, of course. My brother mentioned that your society is very informal compared to our own. Very young," he mused softly. The two men walked along in silence for a bit, ignored for the most part by the men with them, and then Faramir hesitated as they approached a hidden fork in the forest road.
"What is it?" he demanded, knowing that it wasn't going to be something he was going to like. But he could tell from the reluctance of this man that he felt uncomfortable about doing this.
"I need to blindfold you for a bit," he spoke tentatively. "We are going towards one of our secret hide-outs."
Gunn's hand rose. "Say no more, I know where you're going with this. Go ahead. If I was in your position-and make no mistake, I have been-I would do the same." Once blindfolded, they continued to walk for a bit.
He heard the sound of a waterfall and felt a few drops of water hit him before they entered somewhere cool. There was a slight echo to their footsteps and Gunn realized that they were in a cave. The farther into it they walked, the more a faint feeling of claustrophobia pressed upon him.
He wondered how Fred and Cordelia were doing. A thought struck him and he nearly stopped, startled by it. Could it be possible that they were here? In this place that they called Ithilian, should he mention it to Faramir and ask him to search for them?
If they were here, they would be as ill prepared to face these men as he was. They would need all the help they could get. Did this man trust him enough to listen?
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Author's Note: That thing about the noses, the actors who played Boromir and Faramir both pointed it out. Well, Sean Bean mentioned that they looked alot alike-and not just their noses. When they told the actor who played Faramir that, he said that yes, he supposed that they did have big noses. It's on the extra features from the extended DVD.
