Chapter Four
Willow was floating, again. She was getting kind of tired of it. Wasn't there any other faux sensation out there that would suffice? Why was it always floating?
It was pure white and she was floating in it. A face came into view. It was familiar, one of the faces from her original dream. The one she had at home before the hole sucked her in. The face mumbled in the same language as Arwen was taken to speaking. Willow was surprised that she still understood it. It was a healing spell.
The face disappeared and she was still floating.
"Where am I? What's going on?"
"You are in the house of Elrond," came the answer from an unknown voice. "And it is ten o'clock in the morning, on October the 24th, if you want to know."
"October 24th?" Willow repeated. "But it was early February when I was sucked into the hole. Either I've been asleep a long while, or this isn't a parallel universe. Cause if it was a parallel universe, we would be on the same time frame. But as it seems not to be the case, I guess I'm up shit creek without a paddle."
A rumbling laughter responded to her babbling.
Willow opened her eyes, one at a time. She looked up at a white ceiling. She was in a bed with white sheets and dressed in a white night gown. Willow was beginning to detect a pattern.
She looked for the source of the voice. It was an old man dressed all in gray. He had long gray hair and a long gray beard. This place was very mono-toned.
There was an intricately designed staff leaning against his chair. The man himself was smoking a pipe, but the smoke smelled suspiciously of something other than tobacco. But who was she to judge? And he looked really familiar.
"You're the tower prisoner guy!" she blurted out.
The man looked taken back, and then relaxed. "Yes, that was I. I'm supposing you're the presence I felt during my confinement."
Willow shrugged. It was entirely possible. How, she wasn't so sure. A lot of things in this place made of the non-sense. Like her feeling the presence of the ring . . .and the Ringwraiths . . .and Strider. Okay, nothing made sense in this place, foremost being what she was doing here.
Well, okay. Right now the foremost thing of nonsense was how she was still alive. Willow had felt herself slip from this world. She looked at her shoulder. The wound had healed, leaving behind a faint scar on her shoulder blade. She looked to the old man for answers.
"You are very lucky," he motioned towards her shoulder. "A few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid. But you are a strangely strong lass."
"That I am," Willow nodded. Her brow wrinkled into a frown. "And who are you?"
The man shook his head lightly. "Oh my, forgetting my manners in my old age," he smiled kindly at her. "Lady Willow, it is my most supreme honor to you. I am Gandalf the Gray."
Willow's eyes widened. "You're Gandalf?" He nodded. "Well, hotdog am I glad to meet you. Do you know how to get me home?"
His face fell. "No, no. I'm sorry," he spoke sadly. "There is no way for me to help you home."
Willow felt lost. Her head swam, her eyes blurred. She had been counting on Gandalf getting her home. Rationally, she knew there might still be a way. People stronger than Gandalf who could get her home. She knew it, but in her heart, all hope fled from her.
Then there was a loud bang and heavy footfalls.
"You're awake!" Screeching unintelligibly, Sam and Frodo bounded onto her bed. Frodo wrapped his arms around her neck; Sam had her hand in a death grip. Both looked happy beyond words. Despite her disappointment, Willow felt their happiness to be infectious. She may be stuck, but she was alive. And she had her hobbits.
"Hi guys, how are you doin'?"
"How are we?" Frodo repeated incredulously. "You're the one with the near fatal wound, and you want to know how we are."
"I don't think Miss Willow is capable of thinking any selfish thoughts Mr. Frodo," Sam offered happily from the bedside. Willow hung her head. If only they knew.
"The hobbits have rarely left your side the entire time," Gandalf stated.
Sam nodded his head. "We were so worried. Strider too, he was in here a lot. I don't know if you remember, but you were not exactly yourself. We had to set Strider up in a cot in the corner of the room. You were quite hysterical at points. You kept claiming Strider was some sort of angel and cried profusely when he left your side."
Willow felt her entire face go red. "I did what?" she squeaked.
Frodo patted her arm reassuringly. "It was only for the first two days. After that you were soundly asleep, but you mumbled strange things in your sleep. Something about the dawn, Buffy, Anya, Xander, Giles, even a Tara, and you kept demanding to have a spike. By the way, what is an Oz- muttboy?"
Willow wanted to crawl under the sheets and die. She never talked in her sleep; lord knows what these people heard.
Gandalf smiled at her kindly. "Do not fret needlessly lass. You were quite ill, you hadn't a clear mind. Elrond found it difficult, but he was able to restore you to complete health." Another man appeared at Gandalf's side. Willow's eyes widened again.
The man from her dream!
"YOU!" she shrieked. Frodo and Sam looked alarmed.
Gandalf smiled sadly and the new arrival nodded, affirming her suspicions. He was tall, regal looking. Long brown hair braided down his back. And two very pointed ears.
"Welcome to Rivendell, Lady Firelight," the man greeted her. "I am Elrond and you are safe in my house."
Willow wanted answers, and she wanted them now. However, Pippin and Merry entered the room and nothing more was said on the topic.
*****
Willow entered the library quietly and determinedly. Elrond and Gandalf were awaiting her. She slipped into the chair opposite the two and waited.
Her fingers wrapped around the cuffs of the loaned dress she was wearing. Apparently her own clothes had been taken away to be cleaned while she was healing. Not knowing how to handle the material, the maids had shrunk her pants and dyed her shirt. So Arwen had lent her a closet full of white dresses while the palace seamstresses frantically tried to replace her clothes. That was interesting in itself. Had she been in a better mood, Willow would have been joking and snickering at the turn of events.
But humour had left her; she knew she wasn't likely to return home. And she wanted to know why.
Willow turned to Elrond, her resolve face firmly in place.
"Explain" came the one word command.
Gandalf shifted uncomfortably at her words, Elrond meet her eyes steadily.
"Middle Earth was once just Earth," Elrond began. "The mortal race of man ruled here. And they fought each other horribly. They acknowledged not the existence of any other beings. They thought themselves superior above all else. They desired to be superior amongst themselves. They fought over religion, race, land, ideals, and any other reason they could think of. Men built vast machines of destruction; they filled the world with machines and technology. And they ignored the darkness underneath them. Demons and devils, all intent of wrenching the world from the hands of men.
A few existed to fight this darkness. From one such was born the Savior. He closed the gates to Hell and made the world stable. He welcomed the other creatures men before had loved to ignore. The Elves, the dwarves, the hobbits, and many others. We established Middle Earth, and for many years there was peace.
Until Sauron came, he brought darkness to Middle Earth. The ring of power, which Frodo bears, was his weapon. He instilled in it his evil, his will dominate all others. The ring's power enabled him to trap the people of Middle Earth under his spell. Only by chance was he defeated. Isildur, descendant of the Savior, cut it off from the hand of the Dark Lord with the shards of his fallen father's sword."
Elrond paused and closed his eyes shut in remorse.
"It should have ended that day. But the ring was too powerful, it trapped Isildur. He carried it on him, until a fateful day when Orcs attacked his traveling party. The ring slipped from his fingers, and Isildur died.
The ring was lost for 2500 years until Gollum found it. The creature kept the ring on his person for 500 years until it fell into the hands of the hobbit Bilbo Baggins. He kept it for 60 years in the Shire, until now."
Willow nodded. "Okay, now explain me."
Elrond shut his eyes briefly. "The Savior, on his death, gave his friends the Elves a book. The Book of the Lost Angel. He instructed them to take care of it, preserve it through magic. The book held a prophecy, the coming of the Lady Firelight.
In the time of the second darkness, the Lady would be called to save the people of Middle Earth. When we heard of the ring's awakening and the regrouping of Sauron's power in Mordor, we knew the time of the second darkness had come. All the signs pointed to it.
So we opened the book. Inside was a spell. It required the power of all the Elf Lords of Middle Earth. We grouped and sent out the call for the Lady," his eyes turned to Willow. "You answered that call."
Willow stiffened. Elrond continued. "The Savior left instructions for the Elf Lords. All we needed to know was in the first hundred pages. The rest is for the Lady," he handed Willow a thick book. "It will answer your questions."
Willow looked at them in disbelief. "How do you know I'm the right girl? You could have made a big mistake."
Elrond shook his head. "You are the one," he gestured to the book. "Open it."
Willow glanced down at the book in her hands. It was enormous and leather bound. Just like all of Giles' books. Hands shaking, she opened the first page.
The Book of the Lost Angel
Numerous blank pages followed the title page. She looked up at Elrond.
"Once we did the spell, all the words fled from the pages," Elrond explained.
"Oh," she turned back to it. She skipped ahead until she found writing.
The top of the page blazoned the title: The Lost Angel. Underneath was a charcoal drawing of Willow. She turned back to Elrond and he nodded.
"We were shown what to look for."
"And there's no go home spell," she realized. Gandalf shook his head.
No way home. She couldn't go home. She wouldn't be with her friends anymore. She was here until the end of her days. Willow was stuck.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Willow was floating, again. She was getting kind of tired of it. Wasn't there any other faux sensation out there that would suffice? Why was it always floating?
It was pure white and she was floating in it. A face came into view. It was familiar, one of the faces from her original dream. The one she had at home before the hole sucked her in. The face mumbled in the same language as Arwen was taken to speaking. Willow was surprised that she still understood it. It was a healing spell.
The face disappeared and she was still floating.
"Where am I? What's going on?"
"You are in the house of Elrond," came the answer from an unknown voice. "And it is ten o'clock in the morning, on October the 24th, if you want to know."
"October 24th?" Willow repeated. "But it was early February when I was sucked into the hole. Either I've been asleep a long while, or this isn't a parallel universe. Cause if it was a parallel universe, we would be on the same time frame. But as it seems not to be the case, I guess I'm up shit creek without a paddle."
A rumbling laughter responded to her babbling.
Willow opened her eyes, one at a time. She looked up at a white ceiling. She was in a bed with white sheets and dressed in a white night gown. Willow was beginning to detect a pattern.
She looked for the source of the voice. It was an old man dressed all in gray. He had long gray hair and a long gray beard. This place was very mono-toned.
There was an intricately designed staff leaning against his chair. The man himself was smoking a pipe, but the smoke smelled suspiciously of something other than tobacco. But who was she to judge? And he looked really familiar.
"You're the tower prisoner guy!" she blurted out.
The man looked taken back, and then relaxed. "Yes, that was I. I'm supposing you're the presence I felt during my confinement."
Willow shrugged. It was entirely possible. How, she wasn't so sure. A lot of things in this place made of the non-sense. Like her feeling the presence of the ring . . .and the Ringwraiths . . .and Strider. Okay, nothing made sense in this place, foremost being what she was doing here.
Well, okay. Right now the foremost thing of nonsense was how she was still alive. Willow had felt herself slip from this world. She looked at her shoulder. The wound had healed, leaving behind a faint scar on her shoulder blade. She looked to the old man for answers.
"You are very lucky," he motioned towards her shoulder. "A few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid. But you are a strangely strong lass."
"That I am," Willow nodded. Her brow wrinkled into a frown. "And who are you?"
The man shook his head lightly. "Oh my, forgetting my manners in my old age," he smiled kindly at her. "Lady Willow, it is my most supreme honor to you. I am Gandalf the Gray."
Willow's eyes widened. "You're Gandalf?" He nodded. "Well, hotdog am I glad to meet you. Do you know how to get me home?"
His face fell. "No, no. I'm sorry," he spoke sadly. "There is no way for me to help you home."
Willow felt lost. Her head swam, her eyes blurred. She had been counting on Gandalf getting her home. Rationally, she knew there might still be a way. People stronger than Gandalf who could get her home. She knew it, but in her heart, all hope fled from her.
Then there was a loud bang and heavy footfalls.
"You're awake!" Screeching unintelligibly, Sam and Frodo bounded onto her bed. Frodo wrapped his arms around her neck; Sam had her hand in a death grip. Both looked happy beyond words. Despite her disappointment, Willow felt their happiness to be infectious. She may be stuck, but she was alive. And she had her hobbits.
"Hi guys, how are you doin'?"
"How are we?" Frodo repeated incredulously. "You're the one with the near fatal wound, and you want to know how we are."
"I don't think Miss Willow is capable of thinking any selfish thoughts Mr. Frodo," Sam offered happily from the bedside. Willow hung her head. If only they knew.
"The hobbits have rarely left your side the entire time," Gandalf stated.
Sam nodded his head. "We were so worried. Strider too, he was in here a lot. I don't know if you remember, but you were not exactly yourself. We had to set Strider up in a cot in the corner of the room. You were quite hysterical at points. You kept claiming Strider was some sort of angel and cried profusely when he left your side."
Willow felt her entire face go red. "I did what?" she squeaked.
Frodo patted her arm reassuringly. "It was only for the first two days. After that you were soundly asleep, but you mumbled strange things in your sleep. Something about the dawn, Buffy, Anya, Xander, Giles, even a Tara, and you kept demanding to have a spike. By the way, what is an Oz- muttboy?"
Willow wanted to crawl under the sheets and die. She never talked in her sleep; lord knows what these people heard.
Gandalf smiled at her kindly. "Do not fret needlessly lass. You were quite ill, you hadn't a clear mind. Elrond found it difficult, but he was able to restore you to complete health." Another man appeared at Gandalf's side. Willow's eyes widened again.
The man from her dream!
"YOU!" she shrieked. Frodo and Sam looked alarmed.
Gandalf smiled sadly and the new arrival nodded, affirming her suspicions. He was tall, regal looking. Long brown hair braided down his back. And two very pointed ears.
"Welcome to Rivendell, Lady Firelight," the man greeted her. "I am Elrond and you are safe in my house."
Willow wanted answers, and she wanted them now. However, Pippin and Merry entered the room and nothing more was said on the topic.
*****
Willow entered the library quietly and determinedly. Elrond and Gandalf were awaiting her. She slipped into the chair opposite the two and waited.
Her fingers wrapped around the cuffs of the loaned dress she was wearing. Apparently her own clothes had been taken away to be cleaned while she was healing. Not knowing how to handle the material, the maids had shrunk her pants and dyed her shirt. So Arwen had lent her a closet full of white dresses while the palace seamstresses frantically tried to replace her clothes. That was interesting in itself. Had she been in a better mood, Willow would have been joking and snickering at the turn of events.
But humour had left her; she knew she wasn't likely to return home. And she wanted to know why.
Willow turned to Elrond, her resolve face firmly in place.
"Explain" came the one word command.
Gandalf shifted uncomfortably at her words, Elrond meet her eyes steadily.
"Middle Earth was once just Earth," Elrond began. "The mortal race of man ruled here. And they fought each other horribly. They acknowledged not the existence of any other beings. They thought themselves superior above all else. They desired to be superior amongst themselves. They fought over religion, race, land, ideals, and any other reason they could think of. Men built vast machines of destruction; they filled the world with machines and technology. And they ignored the darkness underneath them. Demons and devils, all intent of wrenching the world from the hands of men.
A few existed to fight this darkness. From one such was born the Savior. He closed the gates to Hell and made the world stable. He welcomed the other creatures men before had loved to ignore. The Elves, the dwarves, the hobbits, and many others. We established Middle Earth, and for many years there was peace.
Until Sauron came, he brought darkness to Middle Earth. The ring of power, which Frodo bears, was his weapon. He instilled in it his evil, his will dominate all others. The ring's power enabled him to trap the people of Middle Earth under his spell. Only by chance was he defeated. Isildur, descendant of the Savior, cut it off from the hand of the Dark Lord with the shards of his fallen father's sword."
Elrond paused and closed his eyes shut in remorse.
"It should have ended that day. But the ring was too powerful, it trapped Isildur. He carried it on him, until a fateful day when Orcs attacked his traveling party. The ring slipped from his fingers, and Isildur died.
The ring was lost for 2500 years until Gollum found it. The creature kept the ring on his person for 500 years until it fell into the hands of the hobbit Bilbo Baggins. He kept it for 60 years in the Shire, until now."
Willow nodded. "Okay, now explain me."
Elrond shut his eyes briefly. "The Savior, on his death, gave his friends the Elves a book. The Book of the Lost Angel. He instructed them to take care of it, preserve it through magic. The book held a prophecy, the coming of the Lady Firelight.
In the time of the second darkness, the Lady would be called to save the people of Middle Earth. When we heard of the ring's awakening and the regrouping of Sauron's power in Mordor, we knew the time of the second darkness had come. All the signs pointed to it.
So we opened the book. Inside was a spell. It required the power of all the Elf Lords of Middle Earth. We grouped and sent out the call for the Lady," his eyes turned to Willow. "You answered that call."
Willow stiffened. Elrond continued. "The Savior left instructions for the Elf Lords. All we needed to know was in the first hundred pages. The rest is for the Lady," he handed Willow a thick book. "It will answer your questions."
Willow looked at them in disbelief. "How do you know I'm the right girl? You could have made a big mistake."
Elrond shook his head. "You are the one," he gestured to the book. "Open it."
Willow glanced down at the book in her hands. It was enormous and leather bound. Just like all of Giles' books. Hands shaking, she opened the first page.
The Book of the Lost Angel
Numerous blank pages followed the title page. She looked up at Elrond.
"Once we did the spell, all the words fled from the pages," Elrond explained.
"Oh," she turned back to it. She skipped ahead until she found writing.
The top of the page blazoned the title: The Lost Angel. Underneath was a charcoal drawing of Willow. She turned back to Elrond and he nodded.
"We were shown what to look for."
"And there's no go home spell," she realized. Gandalf shook his head.
No way home. She couldn't go home. She wouldn't be with her friends anymore. She was here until the end of her days. Willow was stuck.
* * * * * * * * * * *