Chapter Three
They walked. For days and days they walked. They walked far away from the normal travel roads. Strider seemed to know his way around the forest quite well.
Willow wasn't sure why, but she trusted him. Even though she knocked on flat on his ass the first time she met him, Willow trusted him. It was just a feeling, kind of like she knew him. Maybe not knew him, but knew his type.
Tall, dark, and silent, Strider reminded her of Angel. Hell, his brooding alone could rival Angel's. It gave the whole bizarre situation an air of familiarity. His mannerisms were very Angelic.
"Come on," Strider's voice broke through her thoughts. "We need to get moving. We do not have time to stop."
Pippin looked up at him. "No stopping. What about breakfast?"
Strider stared at him. "You just had breakfast."
"What about second breakfast?" Pippin asked indignantly.
Strider shook his head and disappeared behind some rocks.
Merry patted Pippin on the shoulder. "I don't think he knows about second breakfast."
Pippin looked alarmed. "What about 11ses, brunch, lunch, snack time, tea time, dinner, and supper? Does he know about them?"
Merry shook his head. "Don't count on it." Pippin looked about ready to cry. Willow heard a rustling and saw an apple go flying through the air. Merry caught it deftly and handed it to Pippin. Another one came whizzing by seconds later and belted Pippin in the head.
Yeah, Strider had a few Angel-like qualities. It made him seem so much trustworthier than he had proved to be. But then again, Willow has always been painfully partial to Angel, him having saved her life numerous times and her having restored his soul.
However, the trust wasn't uniform throughout the group.
Sam nudged Frodo and Willow. "Are you two sure we can trust him?"
Frodo shrugged. "We have to."
"But where is he leading us?" Sam needled.
"To Rivendell Sam," came Strider's reply.
Damn, the guy had ears like a, uh, a, well a vampire. It just added to his Angel-ness.
"Rivendell, did ya hear that? We're going to see the Elves."
Willow stopped dead in her tracks.
"THERE ARE ELVES?!"
*****
They walked some more. The Elves were pretty far away. The Elves, still wrapping her mind around that one.
Anyway, with the walking, Willow was sure they would be walking to the end of her days. Hell, she was pretty sure she had walked far enough that at home, she would have been in L.A. by now.
Home, it made her heart hurt to think of home. In her mind's eye, all she could see was the look on Spike's face as he tried to reach her in time. The horror on Buffy's face, the blind panic on Xander's, and the pain on Dawn's. She can still hear Anya screaming in refusal, trying to deny what they all felt when the hole opened. It had come for Willow. She wasn't sure how or why, but it had come for her.
"Look," Strider commanded, stopping suddenly. He pointed to the top of a nearby cliff. Willow followed his direction. A set of ruins lay on top of the cliff. "The guard tower of Amon Sul."
"It's very pretty," Willow offered. "I mean, yeah all broken down but still very pretty. And the whole ruin-iness of the place kind of adds to a classical theme. Very cool. Sorry, I'm rambling again."
The hobbits smiled at her. They had gotten use to her babbling, thought it was endearing. Strider was still unaccustomed to it and had difficulty understanding her use of words. He had once asked her what language she was speaking. Not in a rude way, but in a confused, trying desperately to understand way. Willow assured him she knew proper English, but almost always reverted to Willow-Speak.
Willow-Speak. She smiled faintly at the thought. Her tendency to babble had existed all her life. When they were younger, Jesse and Xander had officially declared it Willow-Speak. They went as far as to say they were translators of the obscure form of English. Once, for a creative writing project, they wrote a translating dictionary. She still had a copy of it in her room. It was endearing, and covered with pictures of her, Jesse, and Xander. After Jesse's death, she had it laminated so it wouldn't get ruined.
It was in her desk drawer, on top of the stationary Buffy had given her. From the desk of Willow Rosenburg, Queen of Babble. All of it was at home, the one place she so desperately wanted to be. The one place she couldn't reach, not on her own.
She prayed to whatever gods were listening. Please or please, let me return home. I need my family.
*****
"We camp here tonight," Strider informed them. "Here " was a crevice on the cliff below the watchtower. It looked warm and comfy enough.
Strider gathered them all around. He threw down a bundle, untying to reveal five sheathed swords. He handed them out one by one. "Keep them close," he instructed. "I'm going to take a look around."
With that, he left. Yup, he really reminded Willow of Angel. Before the similarities had been comforting. But now, though still comforting, the resemblance was nagging at her. Like it demanded she recognize something that was right in front of her. But, for the life of her, Willow had no idea what she was supposed to know. It was there, in the corner of her mind, nudging her. It was bloody annoying.
Willow grimaced. "Great, now I'm starting to sound like Spike in my mind," she muttered unhappily. She really missed the bleached blonde idiot. She really missed them all. It was enough to make her cry.
Picking up on the fact that something was wrong, the hobbits gathered around their human friend, returning the comfort she had been giving throughout the whole ordeal. Willow smiled softly, tears coming down her cheeks.
"I'm so lost," she whispered to them.
*****
Sleep wasn't getting any easier.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the tower and its prisoner. The prisoner seemed to be fine, that wasn't what was bothering her. It was what was going on at the base of the tower, in the man made trenches dug all around it. There were things toiling in those trenches. Willow had no idea what they were, but they were nastier than a chaos demon. And they were making something, a really bad something.
In her mind, Willow saw it move. Whatever it was, it shot its arm out and strangled the life out of one its makers. A tall white man stood in front of it, seemingly commanding it. Willow saw it climb out of some mucus, it stood up.
Well, it wasn't as nasty as the others, but as for scary. Well, Willow was pretty sure she would rather French kiss the Judge before even venturing near this thing.
And what was with all the smoke?
Wait a minute? Smoke?
Willow wrestled with awareness, blinking her eyes rapidly. Frodo jumped up and raced to the fire the other three hobbits had built.
"Put it out you fools!" he cried, stamping the fire out with his feet.
Willow scrambled out of her blankets. The hobbits were peering over the edge of the crevice, but Willow didn't need to. The Ringwraiths were back, she felt them.
"Get your swords," she ordered. She gathered the hobbits all together and made for the ruins of the watchtower. They fumbled onto the pavilion, Willow kept the hobbits all behind her. They came, five of them, swords drawn and intent on the ring.
Willow braced herself and charged. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one wraith slip past and knock Sam out. She turned to help, but the others forcibly pushed her out of the way. Willow slammed into a column and fell in a heap.
She saw Frodo fall underneath the approaching figures. He pulled out the ring and slipped it on his finger. A wave of raw power radiated from him, it made Willow ill. She hefted the sword in her hand. Buffy had taught her the basics, Spike again had taught her how to use it dirtily, but she'd feel better with a mace. Or a staff, or a crossbow. Or her magic. MAGIC. It was her only hope. She closed her eyes and willed herself to see Frodo.
When she saw him, all Latin fled her brain. The leader of the wraiths raised a dagger high. Willow leapt to her feet and ran. Sword flying, limbs striking out, Willow ran to her friend. She led a few away, but they regrouped. The leader knocked her sword away. She spun into a roundhouse kick.
It landed, that's the good news.
The bad news, it put her into an awkward position.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another wraith raise a dagger towards Frodo. She gave up on offence; she flung herself on top of the still invisible hobbit.
The dagger went into her shoulder. It was fire and ice at the same time, a blinding pain.
Willow screamed.
She heard sounds of a fight. She couldn't make out much, the pain was too much, but she knew. She knew Strider had arrived. At least the hobbits would be safe.
The wraiths were screaming and fleeing. Strider was driving them back. She felt the last one leave the watchtower.
The hobbits were in a panic. Frodo had removed the ring and wrapped his visible arms around Willow. She opened her eyes, saw his tear streaked face. There was fear there, so much fear. Fear like Dawn's, the night she had let her magic overtake her. Willow wanted to cry, she needed to cry, but that wouldn't help matters.
Strider's face came into view. He looked at her wound, picked up the offending dagger. It disintegrated in his hands. Willow figured that was a bad sign.
Strider was saying something, but she couldn't make it out. He picked her up and began carrying her. Her last thought before slipping into unconsciousness was how much this reminded her of the time Angel had saved her from Marcy the invisible girl. Except this time, Willow doubted she was going to make it.
*****
Willow wasn't aware of much. When she came back to herself, she usually heard the hobbits in hysterics. Willow wished she could comfort them. But she didn't have the hope or the energy to do so.
It was funny. Willow always knew she was going to die. It was inevitable, being a mortal girl and all. She knew she would die fighting evil, and the wraiths were evil. But somehow, she always thought she would die on her own plane of existence.
Images were floating around her mind. The prisoner of the tower, jumping off onto the back of a bird and being flown away.
Way to go old guy.
Suddenly, Willow became aware of another's presence. She turned her head. A beautiful woman rode into the clearing. She was dressed in white, but that was probably an illusion. No one rode around in the forest in white silk gowns.
The woman spoke. Willow made out a little.
"Hello firelight . . . My name is Arwen . . . Mustn't . . . shadows . . . Come back into the light."
It was in another language. Willow didn't get it all, but she got the gist. However, she was in little position to comply. The shadows were coming closer and closer.
She felt herself being lifted. She placed on a horse that much she could tell. She could make out little of what was said around her.
"We must get her to my father's house . . ."
" . . . She needs Elfish medicine . . . "
"I want to go with her . . . It's my fault . . . I won't stay behind . . ."
"There's five behind you . . . I'm the faster rider . . ."
" . . . Ride hard . . ."
Willow was jiggled a bit. Someone was placed in front of her. A hobbit, probably Frodo. He had a huge guilt complex concerning her wound. Another behind her, it wasn't Strider. She felt that much, it was the woman, Arwen. Dimly, Willow began to wonder how she came to "feel" Strider. It made no sense, like her compulsive comparison between him and Angel.
Willow heard Arwen whisper to her horse. She was filling it with magic; Willow felt it flow from the woman to the beast. And they took off.
*****
They were being chased, she could tell that much. The riders had come up from behind them. She felt them, they wanted the ring and they wanted her. The ring she could understand, but what was this obsession with her? It made her head hurt, and that was a welcome change from the hurt in her shoulder.
She heard Frodo's voice, he was panicked. The poor darling. He was petrified. She turned her head, she saw a wraith. It extended a steeled hand towards her, she snarled at it.
Arwen's magic was flowing through the horse, but it wasn't enough. Willow was prepared to die; she wasn't prepared to have her two companions follow her into death.
She placed a hand on the horse's neck. Willow focused on her magic, that energy deep within her. She had been trying to stop doing spells, and this technically wasn't a spell.
She fed the horse her magic. Sent her energy into the beast, and it worked. The horse quickened its speed. Willow became aware of water splashing at its feet. They jerked to a halt. Arwen drew her sword and faced the wraiths.
" . . . Give . . ."
" . . . want them, come and claim them."
Willow didn't like the sound of that. She felt Arwen draw her power, but it was weakened from feeding the horse. Willow grabbed the woman's hand and fed her magic through her.
It was enough.
The water's roar became loader. Willow lifted her head. She saw the wraiths being swept away by a tidal wave, water taking the form of raging steeds.
It was interesting.
Willow felt herself grow weak. Frodo began to panic once more. Honestly, that boy wasn't going to live a long life until he gets those nerves of his under control.
She was lifted off the horse and embraced. She felt the comfort of Frodo and the prayers of Arwen.
". . . please Willow . . . Don't go, we're almost there. Just . . ."
Willow began to gasp rapidly.
" . . . Whatever grace is in me, let it pass onto her . . ."
And then there was black.
* * * * * * * * * * *
They walked. For days and days they walked. They walked far away from the normal travel roads. Strider seemed to know his way around the forest quite well.
Willow wasn't sure why, but she trusted him. Even though she knocked on flat on his ass the first time she met him, Willow trusted him. It was just a feeling, kind of like she knew him. Maybe not knew him, but knew his type.
Tall, dark, and silent, Strider reminded her of Angel. Hell, his brooding alone could rival Angel's. It gave the whole bizarre situation an air of familiarity. His mannerisms were very Angelic.
"Come on," Strider's voice broke through her thoughts. "We need to get moving. We do not have time to stop."
Pippin looked up at him. "No stopping. What about breakfast?"
Strider stared at him. "You just had breakfast."
"What about second breakfast?" Pippin asked indignantly.
Strider shook his head and disappeared behind some rocks.
Merry patted Pippin on the shoulder. "I don't think he knows about second breakfast."
Pippin looked alarmed. "What about 11ses, brunch, lunch, snack time, tea time, dinner, and supper? Does he know about them?"
Merry shook his head. "Don't count on it." Pippin looked about ready to cry. Willow heard a rustling and saw an apple go flying through the air. Merry caught it deftly and handed it to Pippin. Another one came whizzing by seconds later and belted Pippin in the head.
Yeah, Strider had a few Angel-like qualities. It made him seem so much trustworthier than he had proved to be. But then again, Willow has always been painfully partial to Angel, him having saved her life numerous times and her having restored his soul.
However, the trust wasn't uniform throughout the group.
Sam nudged Frodo and Willow. "Are you two sure we can trust him?"
Frodo shrugged. "We have to."
"But where is he leading us?" Sam needled.
"To Rivendell Sam," came Strider's reply.
Damn, the guy had ears like a, uh, a, well a vampire. It just added to his Angel-ness.
"Rivendell, did ya hear that? We're going to see the Elves."
Willow stopped dead in her tracks.
"THERE ARE ELVES?!"
*****
They walked some more. The Elves were pretty far away. The Elves, still wrapping her mind around that one.
Anyway, with the walking, Willow was sure they would be walking to the end of her days. Hell, she was pretty sure she had walked far enough that at home, she would have been in L.A. by now.
Home, it made her heart hurt to think of home. In her mind's eye, all she could see was the look on Spike's face as he tried to reach her in time. The horror on Buffy's face, the blind panic on Xander's, and the pain on Dawn's. She can still hear Anya screaming in refusal, trying to deny what they all felt when the hole opened. It had come for Willow. She wasn't sure how or why, but it had come for her.
"Look," Strider commanded, stopping suddenly. He pointed to the top of a nearby cliff. Willow followed his direction. A set of ruins lay on top of the cliff. "The guard tower of Amon Sul."
"It's very pretty," Willow offered. "I mean, yeah all broken down but still very pretty. And the whole ruin-iness of the place kind of adds to a classical theme. Very cool. Sorry, I'm rambling again."
The hobbits smiled at her. They had gotten use to her babbling, thought it was endearing. Strider was still unaccustomed to it and had difficulty understanding her use of words. He had once asked her what language she was speaking. Not in a rude way, but in a confused, trying desperately to understand way. Willow assured him she knew proper English, but almost always reverted to Willow-Speak.
Willow-Speak. She smiled faintly at the thought. Her tendency to babble had existed all her life. When they were younger, Jesse and Xander had officially declared it Willow-Speak. They went as far as to say they were translators of the obscure form of English. Once, for a creative writing project, they wrote a translating dictionary. She still had a copy of it in her room. It was endearing, and covered with pictures of her, Jesse, and Xander. After Jesse's death, she had it laminated so it wouldn't get ruined.
It was in her desk drawer, on top of the stationary Buffy had given her. From the desk of Willow Rosenburg, Queen of Babble. All of it was at home, the one place she so desperately wanted to be. The one place she couldn't reach, not on her own.
She prayed to whatever gods were listening. Please or please, let me return home. I need my family.
*****
"We camp here tonight," Strider informed them. "Here " was a crevice on the cliff below the watchtower. It looked warm and comfy enough.
Strider gathered them all around. He threw down a bundle, untying to reveal five sheathed swords. He handed them out one by one. "Keep them close," he instructed. "I'm going to take a look around."
With that, he left. Yup, he really reminded Willow of Angel. Before the similarities had been comforting. But now, though still comforting, the resemblance was nagging at her. Like it demanded she recognize something that was right in front of her. But, for the life of her, Willow had no idea what she was supposed to know. It was there, in the corner of her mind, nudging her. It was bloody annoying.
Willow grimaced. "Great, now I'm starting to sound like Spike in my mind," she muttered unhappily. She really missed the bleached blonde idiot. She really missed them all. It was enough to make her cry.
Picking up on the fact that something was wrong, the hobbits gathered around their human friend, returning the comfort she had been giving throughout the whole ordeal. Willow smiled softly, tears coming down her cheeks.
"I'm so lost," she whispered to them.
*****
Sleep wasn't getting any easier.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the tower and its prisoner. The prisoner seemed to be fine, that wasn't what was bothering her. It was what was going on at the base of the tower, in the man made trenches dug all around it. There were things toiling in those trenches. Willow had no idea what they were, but they were nastier than a chaos demon. And they were making something, a really bad something.
In her mind, Willow saw it move. Whatever it was, it shot its arm out and strangled the life out of one its makers. A tall white man stood in front of it, seemingly commanding it. Willow saw it climb out of some mucus, it stood up.
Well, it wasn't as nasty as the others, but as for scary. Well, Willow was pretty sure she would rather French kiss the Judge before even venturing near this thing.
And what was with all the smoke?
Wait a minute? Smoke?
Willow wrestled with awareness, blinking her eyes rapidly. Frodo jumped up and raced to the fire the other three hobbits had built.
"Put it out you fools!" he cried, stamping the fire out with his feet.
Willow scrambled out of her blankets. The hobbits were peering over the edge of the crevice, but Willow didn't need to. The Ringwraiths were back, she felt them.
"Get your swords," she ordered. She gathered the hobbits all together and made for the ruins of the watchtower. They fumbled onto the pavilion, Willow kept the hobbits all behind her. They came, five of them, swords drawn and intent on the ring.
Willow braced herself and charged. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one wraith slip past and knock Sam out. She turned to help, but the others forcibly pushed her out of the way. Willow slammed into a column and fell in a heap.
She saw Frodo fall underneath the approaching figures. He pulled out the ring and slipped it on his finger. A wave of raw power radiated from him, it made Willow ill. She hefted the sword in her hand. Buffy had taught her the basics, Spike again had taught her how to use it dirtily, but she'd feel better with a mace. Or a staff, or a crossbow. Or her magic. MAGIC. It was her only hope. She closed her eyes and willed herself to see Frodo.
When she saw him, all Latin fled her brain. The leader of the wraiths raised a dagger high. Willow leapt to her feet and ran. Sword flying, limbs striking out, Willow ran to her friend. She led a few away, but they regrouped. The leader knocked her sword away. She spun into a roundhouse kick.
It landed, that's the good news.
The bad news, it put her into an awkward position.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another wraith raise a dagger towards Frodo. She gave up on offence; she flung herself on top of the still invisible hobbit.
The dagger went into her shoulder. It was fire and ice at the same time, a blinding pain.
Willow screamed.
She heard sounds of a fight. She couldn't make out much, the pain was too much, but she knew. She knew Strider had arrived. At least the hobbits would be safe.
The wraiths were screaming and fleeing. Strider was driving them back. She felt the last one leave the watchtower.
The hobbits were in a panic. Frodo had removed the ring and wrapped his visible arms around Willow. She opened her eyes, saw his tear streaked face. There was fear there, so much fear. Fear like Dawn's, the night she had let her magic overtake her. Willow wanted to cry, she needed to cry, but that wouldn't help matters.
Strider's face came into view. He looked at her wound, picked up the offending dagger. It disintegrated in his hands. Willow figured that was a bad sign.
Strider was saying something, but she couldn't make it out. He picked her up and began carrying her. Her last thought before slipping into unconsciousness was how much this reminded her of the time Angel had saved her from Marcy the invisible girl. Except this time, Willow doubted she was going to make it.
*****
Willow wasn't aware of much. When she came back to herself, she usually heard the hobbits in hysterics. Willow wished she could comfort them. But she didn't have the hope or the energy to do so.
It was funny. Willow always knew she was going to die. It was inevitable, being a mortal girl and all. She knew she would die fighting evil, and the wraiths were evil. But somehow, she always thought she would die on her own plane of existence.
Images were floating around her mind. The prisoner of the tower, jumping off onto the back of a bird and being flown away.
Way to go old guy.
Suddenly, Willow became aware of another's presence. She turned her head. A beautiful woman rode into the clearing. She was dressed in white, but that was probably an illusion. No one rode around in the forest in white silk gowns.
The woman spoke. Willow made out a little.
"Hello firelight . . . My name is Arwen . . . Mustn't . . . shadows . . . Come back into the light."
It was in another language. Willow didn't get it all, but she got the gist. However, she was in little position to comply. The shadows were coming closer and closer.
She felt herself being lifted. She placed on a horse that much she could tell. She could make out little of what was said around her.
"We must get her to my father's house . . ."
" . . . She needs Elfish medicine . . . "
"I want to go with her . . . It's my fault . . . I won't stay behind . . ."
"There's five behind you . . . I'm the faster rider . . ."
" . . . Ride hard . . ."
Willow was jiggled a bit. Someone was placed in front of her. A hobbit, probably Frodo. He had a huge guilt complex concerning her wound. Another behind her, it wasn't Strider. She felt that much, it was the woman, Arwen. Dimly, Willow began to wonder how she came to "feel" Strider. It made no sense, like her compulsive comparison between him and Angel.
Willow heard Arwen whisper to her horse. She was filling it with magic; Willow felt it flow from the woman to the beast. And they took off.
*****
They were being chased, she could tell that much. The riders had come up from behind them. She felt them, they wanted the ring and they wanted her. The ring she could understand, but what was this obsession with her? It made her head hurt, and that was a welcome change from the hurt in her shoulder.
She heard Frodo's voice, he was panicked. The poor darling. He was petrified. She turned her head, she saw a wraith. It extended a steeled hand towards her, she snarled at it.
Arwen's magic was flowing through the horse, but it wasn't enough. Willow was prepared to die; she wasn't prepared to have her two companions follow her into death.
She placed a hand on the horse's neck. Willow focused on her magic, that energy deep within her. She had been trying to stop doing spells, and this technically wasn't a spell.
She fed the horse her magic. Sent her energy into the beast, and it worked. The horse quickened its speed. Willow became aware of water splashing at its feet. They jerked to a halt. Arwen drew her sword and faced the wraiths.
" . . . Give . . ."
" . . . want them, come and claim them."
Willow didn't like the sound of that. She felt Arwen draw her power, but it was weakened from feeding the horse. Willow grabbed the woman's hand and fed her magic through her.
It was enough.
The water's roar became loader. Willow lifted her head. She saw the wraiths being swept away by a tidal wave, water taking the form of raging steeds.
It was interesting.
Willow felt herself grow weak. Frodo began to panic once more. Honestly, that boy wasn't going to live a long life until he gets those nerves of his under control.
She was lifted off the horse and embraced. She felt the comfort of Frodo and the prayers of Arwen.
". . . please Willow . . . Don't go, we're almost there. Just . . ."
Willow began to gasp rapidly.
" . . . Whatever grace is in me, let it pass onto her . . ."
And then there was black.
* * * * * * * * * * *