Chapter Two
Willow was aware of the falling. In her mind it lasted forever, but in reality maybe only a few minutes. The blue glow vanished and Willow fell to the ground in a heap.
Ground, she was on ground. Brushing dirt away from her face, she came to the conclusion it was an outdoorsy kind of ground. Her head ached, throbbed, pulsed, and all those other words that describe shooting pains in one's head. Unfortunately for Willow, it seemed to be doing all those actions at once. Dimly she heard voices above her.
"Where'd she come from?" Came the lightly accented whisper. Willow frowned into the dirt. Scottish? Irish? Both? Something European at least.
"What do we do with her?" Came another whisper.
"I do not know, we have other problems on top of a strange person falling out of the sky."
"Look at that hair, never seen a color like that before. Not on a mortal head, anyways."
"You think she's an Elf?"
"Nah, her ears are normal enough. This here is a Woman."
"Mister Frodo, don't you think we should be moving along. No offense to the young lass, but we do have the black riders to worry about."
"Sam's right. We must get to Buckleberry Ferry, and soon. But we can't just leave her here. What if the black riders do come? What if they harm her? I wouldn't be able to live knowing that Sam."
"Then wake her up and bring her along. Come Pippin, help me with the lady."
Willow heard shuffling noises. She looked ahead and saw four pairs of big hairy feet, two of which were moving slowly towards her. Willow looked up and saw the most astonishing thing she had ever seen. And since she's lived on the Hellmouth her entire life that was saying a lot.
The big hairy feet were attached to small bodies. They couldn't have been more than 3 ft tall. They had small pug like bodies and heads full of curly mops of hair.
Willow had always prided herself on being a rational being. So she did the most rational thing she could think of. She freaked.
"Whoa! Whoa!" She cried, crab walking backwards from the approaching . . . Whatever-they-weres. Her back hit a tree and she continued moving until she was upright.
"Little midgets with big feet who speak with European accents," she stated hysterically. "I must be dreaming again."
The four creatures looked at her quizzically. They were really adorable, but their presence was just not calming Willow in any aspect.
"Yup, must be dreaming," she repeated frantically. "Dreams are full of unexplainable things, non rational things. The subconscious is a tricky thing, pulling images out of left field. Of course, if you listen to Freud, the so-called expert on subconscious, he'd say that this is significant. So you gotta wonder what my subconscious is telling me with four munchkins with big hairy feet. And I can assure you it is not my biological clock because I just turned 21."
The four creatures stared at her in wonderment. Willow ignored them and continued on with her babble.
"Of course, who's to say Freud had all the answers. It's just like Spike always says: 'It's not an internal urge so much as being fucked up in the head'. And Spike's lived longer than Freud, so he has the advantage of experience. Of course there is always Angel who is a good 125 years older than Spike. He'd probably say it's just because of the stress from withdrawal. Yeah, that's it! I'm stressed from the tensions of withdrawal. It's making me dream the funky," Willow spat out, running out of breath.
The four creatures still stared. Willow stared back. It might have continued on this way if it hadn't been for that weird guy dressed in black jumping into the fray with his possibly psychotic horse.
The four little ones panicked and fled. Willow watched them run off into the night, before realizing only three had done so. She turned back to the rider. He had cut off one of the little ones and was trying to corner him.
"Mister Frodo, come on!" Came the cry from the others. Willow looked up at the rider and in an instant knew. This guy was bad, and he was going to hurt the midgets. Squaring her shoulders, Willow did the only thing she could think of.
She grabbed the reins of the horse and then deftly punched the horse in the mouth. The animal wailed and spun around frantically.
Wasting no time, Willow grabbed the remaining midget and took off in the direction his friends had gone. She heard the rider recover and take up the chase. She ran faster. Soon, a small dock came into view. The other midgets had climbed onto a raft and were slowly separating themselves from the dock.
"Hurry! Hurry!" They cried.
Willow scaled the fence before the dock in a single leap. Thank God Spike thought it necessary for her to train like the Slayer.
She sped down the dock and then jumped. Her, her midget, and another midget were knocked onto the floor of the raft. Willow dared a glance back. The black rider had stopped at the edge of the dock. He turned around and galloped away; joining two others just like him.
"How long to the nearest crossing?" Asked her midget.
"Brandywine Bridge," replied one of the rowing midgets. "Twenty miles."
"Twenty miles, eh?" Willow repeated. The midgets looked over at her. "That should be enough time for you guys to explain exactly what is going on."
*****
The five odd companions huddled in the dark of the trees. Frodo, the mid- no the hobbit with the dark hair, stared across the street. There a looming wooden gate separated them from the town of Bree.
"Come on," he whispered urgently. The group trotted across the road. Willow wrapped the cloaked loaned to her tightly around herself. It only came down to mid-thigh, but it was better than nothing. She and the hobbits agreed having her roam around in her green leather pants and light green tank top would have brought about unwanted attention. Well, more unwanted attention, considering they would be getting some. Four hobbits and one human girl together as a group is more than likely to turn a few heads.
Frodo knocked on the wooden door. There was some shuffling, two peepholes opened in succession.
"What do you want?" Came a gruff, squeaky kind of voice.
"We've come to stay at the Prancing Pony Inn," Frodo replied.
The door swung open and an old looking man with wet, stringy gray hair stood before them.
"Four hobbits and a mortal girl," he exclaimed. "What business have you in the town of Bree."
"We're making for the inn," Willow replied evenly. She gave the man her best resolve face. "Our business is our business."
The guard moved aside and ushered them in, all the while apologizing. "I meant no offence lass, it's me job to ask questions. There's talk of strange folk running around these parts."
Willow nodded absently at him and followed the hobbits into the city. This whole place was full of strange folk, at least to Willow. During the raft ride down the river, the hobbits had told her much about this place Middle Earth. Middle Earth. Middle of what exactly?
Willow shook the thoughts out of her head. No use mind babbling on it. She had related much of her story to the hobbits, much more than what Frodo had told her. Willow knew he and Sam were keeping a secret, she just didn't know what. She didn't push it, not like she told them about her last joyride into the black arts. No, secrets were fine. No harm done by them and Willow really needed the hobbits. She was in a strange and foreign place, most likely a parallel universe. She needed all the help she could get. And help is what the hobbits promised her.
"Gandalf will help you," Frodo had ascertained. "He knows lots of magic, he'll help you."
So here she was, in Bree, heading to the Prancing Pony Inn with four hobbits and about to meet a gray bearded wizard. Yup, Willow was one lucky girl.
She felt a tugging on her sleeve. She looked down at Pippin Took. He motioned towards a large hanging sign. The Prancing Pony Inn. She smiled down at him, took his hand and walked towards the entrance. Maybe she could be home within the hour. Yeah right.
Inside Frodo was speaking with the barkeep. "Gandalf, yes I remember him," the barkeep was saying. "Gray beard, pointy hat. Haven't seen him in six months."
Frodo turned confused and scared eyes on the rest of his group. Willow frowned. No magical wizard, this was not good.
*****
They were seated at a table, their rooms had yet to be prepared. The five had insisted on Willow rooming with them. It raised a few eyebrows, but they didn't care. They had no Gandalf and would be damned if they got separated at the Inn.
And so they ate. They really really ate. Willow was astounded. She had been starving when they arrived and yet the hobbits had individually consumed twice as much food as she had. It boggled her mind.
Sam had noticed her wonderment and happily told her Hobbits were a food loving people. And since the barkeep kept bringing the food without a hint of astonishment, Willow decided it must be a well-known fact hobbits ate like no tomorrow. As she was trying to seem as if she fit in, she did her best to ignore the food consumed by the little ones.
Instead she decided to concentrate on the strange man sitting in the dark corner on the other side of the room. He had been watching them, really watching them. Not in the "what are four hobbits and a girl doing hanging out together" way either. It was like he was appraising them.
Merry came back to the table, with a huge jug of what Willow knew had to be some form of alcohol. Pippin looked over at him in shock.
"What's that?" he inquired.
"This my friend is a pint."
Pippin looked up in earnest. "They come in pints," he squeaked disbelievingly. His face took on a determined look.
"I'm getting one too," he stated, hastening away from the table.
Willow smiled after him. Pippin was a hoot. However, she still had the strange man in the corner to worry about.
"Frodo," she drew the young hobbits attention. "That man in the far corner has been watching us for a good half an hour."
Frodo looked up concerned. He stopped the passing barkeep and inquired about the man.
The barkeep looked over and turned to them with a grave face. "He's one of those Rangers. Don't know his real name, but in these parts they call him Strider." With that the barkeep moved away, as if he was trying to visibly distance himself from Strider and his quarry. Willow frowned, this was getting bad.
All of a sudden, she felt power. Great, evil power. It overflowed her senses.
She closed her eyes, it was dark magic. And it repulsed her. She looked up and saw Frodo, sitting with his eyes closed, as if he were listening to a far off voice.
The dark magic was calling him, and he looked about ready to answer.
Willow reached across the table and pinched the hobbit's nose. He gave a yelp and stared at her in confusion. Merry and Sam were staring at her too. She stayed focused on Frodo.
"Whatever it is Frodo, I want you to ignore it," she instructed. The hobbit looked at her in wonder and a bit of shame. "It's not your fault it's enticing, but you need to resist it. No good can come from whatever it is."
Merry looked between the two. He started to open his mouth when Pippin's voice wafted over to them.
"Baggins? Of course I know a Baggins. Frodo Baggins, he's right over there. He's me cousin twice removed on his mother's side . . ." Frodo rushed over to Pippin, pulling his arm and stopping Pippin's free flowing words.
In an instant all went wrong. Willow saw Frodo slip, saw his hand go up, saw the twinkling of a gold ring, saw the ring land right on Frodo's finger, and then saw Frodo vanish.
The minute the ring landed on Frodo's finger, Willow felt woozy. It was like being hit with a ton of bricks.
The inn was in chaos. Merry, Pippin, and Sam were frantically searching for Frodo. Willow shut and opened her eyes.
Frodo she thought. I want to see Frodo.
And instantly there he was. He was confused, lost, and in black and white. Willow rose to her feet.
In her mind she heard a screeching wail, she knew the black riders were on their way. She had to get to Frodo.
She watched as he wrenched the ring off his finger and became visible to others again. She felt a moment's relief. Then Strider grabbed Frodo by the shoulder and began propelling him up the stairs. She ran after them.
Up a flight of stairs and to a door, Willow followed quietly behind the Ranger and Frodo. She knelt down to the door, ears straining to hear.
" . . . That is no trinket you carry," came an unknown voice. Willow presumed it was Strider and he was in front of the door.
"I know not of what you speak," Frodo replied. Willow's heart ached, he sounded scared. He also sounded far from the door.
"I think you do," came Strider again. Willow looked around desperately. She needed a weapon, any weapon. Her eyes feel on a staff, resting against a far wall.
That was convenient, she thought. She felt more confident with it in her hands. The staff was the one weapon Buffy had finished training her on. Spike also gave her handy tips on how to fight dirty with one. Yeah she was killer with a staff.
Hearing noises on the stairs, she turned her head. She watched as the three remaining hobbits barged into the room where Strider had Frodo.
"LET HIM GO OR I'LL HAVE YOU LONGSHANKS!!" Willow heard Sam threaten.
"You have a stout heart for a hobbit," came Strider's amused reply. Willow waited until she heard the Ranger sheath his sword. He was still directly in front of the door. The hobbits began shying away from it. Willow saw his shadow extend into the hall. Taking a deep breath, Willow charged.
Strider didn't know what hit him. In three or fours moves, Willow had the larger man stunned and on the floor. She implanted her staff into his midsection and placed her foot on his sword hilt. The Ranger looked up at her with astonished eyes, she returned his look with one of sheer malice.
"Move and I'll break your neck," she informed him evenly. Strider looked over at the smiling and cheering hobbits. Then he grinned.
"So, you have hired someone to protect you then?" Strider asked amusingly. Willow wasn't amused; she applied more pressure on his midsection. Strider grimaced and turned to Frodo.
The young hobbit smiled and placed a hand on Willow's arm. "He's okay," Frodo stated, gently pushing the redhead off her opponent. Willow turned skeptic eyes on her companion.
"He really is," Frodo insisted. "He could have killed me and taken the ring, but he didn't. And he seems to know what's going on, a bit more than me perhaps."
Willow turned to stare at Strider, who was slowly picking himself up off the floor. She turned back to Frodo.
"Are you sure?" Frodo nodded. Willow shrugged, propped the staff against the wall, and turned back to Strider. This time with a smile on her face.
"So, what's the plan?"
Strider continued to stare at her.
*****
Willow slept fitfully. It was horrible. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw a looming tower. At it's base was seeming chaos. It looked like someone had tried to recreate Hell. There was darkness, fire, and loud bangs. On top of the tower, Willow saw an old man sitting still, whispering to a butterfly caught in his hand. Suddenly he released it, and Willow was filled with a deep sense of relief.
And then she felt them. The black riders, she felt them enter the town, enter the inn, enter a room, and heard their loud frustrated wailing. She jerked awake, upsetting the hobbits piled around her. They grumbled and moaned as alertness started to creep into their minds. Willow jumped out of bed and moved to the window.
Strider followed her with his eyes until she reached his side. Then he looked out across the street. Willow followed his gaze to a window across the street. The black riders were there, and they were ripping the room to shreds with their swords.
Willow swallowed hard. It was the room the barkeep had rented them.
She watched wordlessly as the riders emerged from the inn, mounted their horses, and rode away. When they were out of sight, she looked at Strider, her worry etched clearly on her face.
"What are they?" she heard Frodo ask. She turned back to the bed and saw the hobbits now wide-awake and scared. Willow walked back over to them and enveloped the four into one hug. She glanced at Strider over their heads. He nodded at her.
"They are the nine," he started slowly. "The old kings of men, given the nine rings of power by Sauron the deceiver. Their greed consumed them and he made them slaves to his will. They are Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead and always drawn towards the ring."
Willow nodded to herself. The hobbits had become quite uneasy, she wrapped her arms more tightly around them. She didn't have a clue what the ring was, and why the riders wanted it. She did know that they would kill for it. She looked over at Strider, determination in her green eyes.
"They will not get any of my friends while I'm around," she promised. She looked pointedly at Strider. "When do we leave?"
* * * * * * * * * * *
Willow was aware of the falling. In her mind it lasted forever, but in reality maybe only a few minutes. The blue glow vanished and Willow fell to the ground in a heap.
Ground, she was on ground. Brushing dirt away from her face, she came to the conclusion it was an outdoorsy kind of ground. Her head ached, throbbed, pulsed, and all those other words that describe shooting pains in one's head. Unfortunately for Willow, it seemed to be doing all those actions at once. Dimly she heard voices above her.
"Where'd she come from?" Came the lightly accented whisper. Willow frowned into the dirt. Scottish? Irish? Both? Something European at least.
"What do we do with her?" Came another whisper.
"I do not know, we have other problems on top of a strange person falling out of the sky."
"Look at that hair, never seen a color like that before. Not on a mortal head, anyways."
"You think she's an Elf?"
"Nah, her ears are normal enough. This here is a Woman."
"Mister Frodo, don't you think we should be moving along. No offense to the young lass, but we do have the black riders to worry about."
"Sam's right. We must get to Buckleberry Ferry, and soon. But we can't just leave her here. What if the black riders do come? What if they harm her? I wouldn't be able to live knowing that Sam."
"Then wake her up and bring her along. Come Pippin, help me with the lady."
Willow heard shuffling noises. She looked ahead and saw four pairs of big hairy feet, two of which were moving slowly towards her. Willow looked up and saw the most astonishing thing she had ever seen. And since she's lived on the Hellmouth her entire life that was saying a lot.
The big hairy feet were attached to small bodies. They couldn't have been more than 3 ft tall. They had small pug like bodies and heads full of curly mops of hair.
Willow had always prided herself on being a rational being. So she did the most rational thing she could think of. She freaked.
"Whoa! Whoa!" She cried, crab walking backwards from the approaching . . . Whatever-they-weres. Her back hit a tree and she continued moving until she was upright.
"Little midgets with big feet who speak with European accents," she stated hysterically. "I must be dreaming again."
The four creatures looked at her quizzically. They were really adorable, but their presence was just not calming Willow in any aspect.
"Yup, must be dreaming," she repeated frantically. "Dreams are full of unexplainable things, non rational things. The subconscious is a tricky thing, pulling images out of left field. Of course, if you listen to Freud, the so-called expert on subconscious, he'd say that this is significant. So you gotta wonder what my subconscious is telling me with four munchkins with big hairy feet. And I can assure you it is not my biological clock because I just turned 21."
The four creatures stared at her in wonderment. Willow ignored them and continued on with her babble.
"Of course, who's to say Freud had all the answers. It's just like Spike always says: 'It's not an internal urge so much as being fucked up in the head'. And Spike's lived longer than Freud, so he has the advantage of experience. Of course there is always Angel who is a good 125 years older than Spike. He'd probably say it's just because of the stress from withdrawal. Yeah, that's it! I'm stressed from the tensions of withdrawal. It's making me dream the funky," Willow spat out, running out of breath.
The four creatures still stared. Willow stared back. It might have continued on this way if it hadn't been for that weird guy dressed in black jumping into the fray with his possibly psychotic horse.
The four little ones panicked and fled. Willow watched them run off into the night, before realizing only three had done so. She turned back to the rider. He had cut off one of the little ones and was trying to corner him.
"Mister Frodo, come on!" Came the cry from the others. Willow looked up at the rider and in an instant knew. This guy was bad, and he was going to hurt the midgets. Squaring her shoulders, Willow did the only thing she could think of.
She grabbed the reins of the horse and then deftly punched the horse in the mouth. The animal wailed and spun around frantically.
Wasting no time, Willow grabbed the remaining midget and took off in the direction his friends had gone. She heard the rider recover and take up the chase. She ran faster. Soon, a small dock came into view. The other midgets had climbed onto a raft and were slowly separating themselves from the dock.
"Hurry! Hurry!" They cried.
Willow scaled the fence before the dock in a single leap. Thank God Spike thought it necessary for her to train like the Slayer.
She sped down the dock and then jumped. Her, her midget, and another midget were knocked onto the floor of the raft. Willow dared a glance back. The black rider had stopped at the edge of the dock. He turned around and galloped away; joining two others just like him.
"How long to the nearest crossing?" Asked her midget.
"Brandywine Bridge," replied one of the rowing midgets. "Twenty miles."
"Twenty miles, eh?" Willow repeated. The midgets looked over at her. "That should be enough time for you guys to explain exactly what is going on."
*****
The five odd companions huddled in the dark of the trees. Frodo, the mid- no the hobbit with the dark hair, stared across the street. There a looming wooden gate separated them from the town of Bree.
"Come on," he whispered urgently. The group trotted across the road. Willow wrapped the cloaked loaned to her tightly around herself. It only came down to mid-thigh, but it was better than nothing. She and the hobbits agreed having her roam around in her green leather pants and light green tank top would have brought about unwanted attention. Well, more unwanted attention, considering they would be getting some. Four hobbits and one human girl together as a group is more than likely to turn a few heads.
Frodo knocked on the wooden door. There was some shuffling, two peepholes opened in succession.
"What do you want?" Came a gruff, squeaky kind of voice.
"We've come to stay at the Prancing Pony Inn," Frodo replied.
The door swung open and an old looking man with wet, stringy gray hair stood before them.
"Four hobbits and a mortal girl," he exclaimed. "What business have you in the town of Bree."
"We're making for the inn," Willow replied evenly. She gave the man her best resolve face. "Our business is our business."
The guard moved aside and ushered them in, all the while apologizing. "I meant no offence lass, it's me job to ask questions. There's talk of strange folk running around these parts."
Willow nodded absently at him and followed the hobbits into the city. This whole place was full of strange folk, at least to Willow. During the raft ride down the river, the hobbits had told her much about this place Middle Earth. Middle Earth. Middle of what exactly?
Willow shook the thoughts out of her head. No use mind babbling on it. She had related much of her story to the hobbits, much more than what Frodo had told her. Willow knew he and Sam were keeping a secret, she just didn't know what. She didn't push it, not like she told them about her last joyride into the black arts. No, secrets were fine. No harm done by them and Willow really needed the hobbits. She was in a strange and foreign place, most likely a parallel universe. She needed all the help she could get. And help is what the hobbits promised her.
"Gandalf will help you," Frodo had ascertained. "He knows lots of magic, he'll help you."
So here she was, in Bree, heading to the Prancing Pony Inn with four hobbits and about to meet a gray bearded wizard. Yup, Willow was one lucky girl.
She felt a tugging on her sleeve. She looked down at Pippin Took. He motioned towards a large hanging sign. The Prancing Pony Inn. She smiled down at him, took his hand and walked towards the entrance. Maybe she could be home within the hour. Yeah right.
Inside Frodo was speaking with the barkeep. "Gandalf, yes I remember him," the barkeep was saying. "Gray beard, pointy hat. Haven't seen him in six months."
Frodo turned confused and scared eyes on the rest of his group. Willow frowned. No magical wizard, this was not good.
*****
They were seated at a table, their rooms had yet to be prepared. The five had insisted on Willow rooming with them. It raised a few eyebrows, but they didn't care. They had no Gandalf and would be damned if they got separated at the Inn.
And so they ate. They really really ate. Willow was astounded. She had been starving when they arrived and yet the hobbits had individually consumed twice as much food as she had. It boggled her mind.
Sam had noticed her wonderment and happily told her Hobbits were a food loving people. And since the barkeep kept bringing the food without a hint of astonishment, Willow decided it must be a well-known fact hobbits ate like no tomorrow. As she was trying to seem as if she fit in, she did her best to ignore the food consumed by the little ones.
Instead she decided to concentrate on the strange man sitting in the dark corner on the other side of the room. He had been watching them, really watching them. Not in the "what are four hobbits and a girl doing hanging out together" way either. It was like he was appraising them.
Merry came back to the table, with a huge jug of what Willow knew had to be some form of alcohol. Pippin looked over at him in shock.
"What's that?" he inquired.
"This my friend is a pint."
Pippin looked up in earnest. "They come in pints," he squeaked disbelievingly. His face took on a determined look.
"I'm getting one too," he stated, hastening away from the table.
Willow smiled after him. Pippin was a hoot. However, she still had the strange man in the corner to worry about.
"Frodo," she drew the young hobbits attention. "That man in the far corner has been watching us for a good half an hour."
Frodo looked up concerned. He stopped the passing barkeep and inquired about the man.
The barkeep looked over and turned to them with a grave face. "He's one of those Rangers. Don't know his real name, but in these parts they call him Strider." With that the barkeep moved away, as if he was trying to visibly distance himself from Strider and his quarry. Willow frowned, this was getting bad.
All of a sudden, she felt power. Great, evil power. It overflowed her senses.
She closed her eyes, it was dark magic. And it repulsed her. She looked up and saw Frodo, sitting with his eyes closed, as if he were listening to a far off voice.
The dark magic was calling him, and he looked about ready to answer.
Willow reached across the table and pinched the hobbit's nose. He gave a yelp and stared at her in confusion. Merry and Sam were staring at her too. She stayed focused on Frodo.
"Whatever it is Frodo, I want you to ignore it," she instructed. The hobbit looked at her in wonder and a bit of shame. "It's not your fault it's enticing, but you need to resist it. No good can come from whatever it is."
Merry looked between the two. He started to open his mouth when Pippin's voice wafted over to them.
"Baggins? Of course I know a Baggins. Frodo Baggins, he's right over there. He's me cousin twice removed on his mother's side . . ." Frodo rushed over to Pippin, pulling his arm and stopping Pippin's free flowing words.
In an instant all went wrong. Willow saw Frodo slip, saw his hand go up, saw the twinkling of a gold ring, saw the ring land right on Frodo's finger, and then saw Frodo vanish.
The minute the ring landed on Frodo's finger, Willow felt woozy. It was like being hit with a ton of bricks.
The inn was in chaos. Merry, Pippin, and Sam were frantically searching for Frodo. Willow shut and opened her eyes.
Frodo she thought. I want to see Frodo.
And instantly there he was. He was confused, lost, and in black and white. Willow rose to her feet.
In her mind she heard a screeching wail, she knew the black riders were on their way. She had to get to Frodo.
She watched as he wrenched the ring off his finger and became visible to others again. She felt a moment's relief. Then Strider grabbed Frodo by the shoulder and began propelling him up the stairs. She ran after them.
Up a flight of stairs and to a door, Willow followed quietly behind the Ranger and Frodo. She knelt down to the door, ears straining to hear.
" . . . That is no trinket you carry," came an unknown voice. Willow presumed it was Strider and he was in front of the door.
"I know not of what you speak," Frodo replied. Willow's heart ached, he sounded scared. He also sounded far from the door.
"I think you do," came Strider again. Willow looked around desperately. She needed a weapon, any weapon. Her eyes feel on a staff, resting against a far wall.
That was convenient, she thought. She felt more confident with it in her hands. The staff was the one weapon Buffy had finished training her on. Spike also gave her handy tips on how to fight dirty with one. Yeah she was killer with a staff.
Hearing noises on the stairs, she turned her head. She watched as the three remaining hobbits barged into the room where Strider had Frodo.
"LET HIM GO OR I'LL HAVE YOU LONGSHANKS!!" Willow heard Sam threaten.
"You have a stout heart for a hobbit," came Strider's amused reply. Willow waited until she heard the Ranger sheath his sword. He was still directly in front of the door. The hobbits began shying away from it. Willow saw his shadow extend into the hall. Taking a deep breath, Willow charged.
Strider didn't know what hit him. In three or fours moves, Willow had the larger man stunned and on the floor. She implanted her staff into his midsection and placed her foot on his sword hilt. The Ranger looked up at her with astonished eyes, she returned his look with one of sheer malice.
"Move and I'll break your neck," she informed him evenly. Strider looked over at the smiling and cheering hobbits. Then he grinned.
"So, you have hired someone to protect you then?" Strider asked amusingly. Willow wasn't amused; she applied more pressure on his midsection. Strider grimaced and turned to Frodo.
The young hobbit smiled and placed a hand on Willow's arm. "He's okay," Frodo stated, gently pushing the redhead off her opponent. Willow turned skeptic eyes on her companion.
"He really is," Frodo insisted. "He could have killed me and taken the ring, but he didn't. And he seems to know what's going on, a bit more than me perhaps."
Willow turned to stare at Strider, who was slowly picking himself up off the floor. She turned back to Frodo.
"Are you sure?" Frodo nodded. Willow shrugged, propped the staff against the wall, and turned back to Strider. This time with a smile on her face.
"So, what's the plan?"
Strider continued to stare at her.
*****
Willow slept fitfully. It was horrible. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw a looming tower. At it's base was seeming chaos. It looked like someone had tried to recreate Hell. There was darkness, fire, and loud bangs. On top of the tower, Willow saw an old man sitting still, whispering to a butterfly caught in his hand. Suddenly he released it, and Willow was filled with a deep sense of relief.
And then she felt them. The black riders, she felt them enter the town, enter the inn, enter a room, and heard their loud frustrated wailing. She jerked awake, upsetting the hobbits piled around her. They grumbled and moaned as alertness started to creep into their minds. Willow jumped out of bed and moved to the window.
Strider followed her with his eyes until she reached his side. Then he looked out across the street. Willow followed his gaze to a window across the street. The black riders were there, and they were ripping the room to shreds with their swords.
Willow swallowed hard. It was the room the barkeep had rented them.
She watched wordlessly as the riders emerged from the inn, mounted their horses, and rode away. When they were out of sight, she looked at Strider, her worry etched clearly on her face.
"What are they?" she heard Frodo ask. She turned back to the bed and saw the hobbits now wide-awake and scared. Willow walked back over to them and enveloped the four into one hug. She glanced at Strider over their heads. He nodded at her.
"They are the nine," he started slowly. "The old kings of men, given the nine rings of power by Sauron the deceiver. Their greed consumed them and he made them slaves to his will. They are Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead and always drawn towards the ring."
Willow nodded to herself. The hobbits had become quite uneasy, she wrapped her arms more tightly around them. She didn't have a clue what the ring was, and why the riders wanted it. She did know that they would kill for it. She looked over at Strider, determination in her green eyes.
"They will not get any of my friends while I'm around," she promised. She looked pointedly at Strider. "When do we leave?"
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