Willow's Dream
Author: Lucinda
rating: pg 13
main characters: Willow, Boromir
disclaimer: I own nobody from BtVS, and nobody from Lord of the Rings
distribution: If you want it, ask. I'll probably say yes.
summary: Anya found a spell to allow Buffy, Cordelia & Willow dream themselves into the movie 'Lord of the Rings'. As this is a dream (Willow's Dream in specific) things will not follow the movie exactly, and there may be significant deviations.
Willow blinked. She'd gone to sleep wondering if it was wise to try Anya's spell, and now... she was laying on the ground. Pretty ground, with soft grass and wildflowers in yellow and red and white, but still ground. As in, not a bed, not in Buffy's house. How in the world had she ended up here? And still in her fuzzy flannel pajamas? But everything felt different, the air smelled so fresh, like trees and grass and flowers... wait, no ocean?
Looking around, she discovered that she was indeed in a strange place. The lovely area that she was on had tall trees to one side, almost ominously looming trees, actually. To the other side were rolling meadows, grasslands that almost begged to be painted, assuming that the person possessed any artistic ability at all. And a line of mounted figures, approaching her, with spears and flags. Uh-oh.
Maybe she could just leave before they saw her... Carefully, Willow tried to scoot closer to the woods, figuring that she had a better chance to hid in trees than in open grass.
"Halt! Who are you, and what are you doing there?" The first horseman, a tall blond man with a mustache glared down at her, his impression managing to convey utter disapproval and a hint of self-importance.
What was she doing here? Was he crazy? "My name is Willow, and I fail to see how anything I'm doing here concerns you."
"Insolent woman! Do you not know that you address a member of the hand chosen Warriors of Gondor, sent on an very important mission?" He was glaring at her, his face turning red.
"If your mission is so very important, why did you stop to harass me?" Willow glared right back, part of her thinking that this was probably pretty foolish.
"She may have a point. Why are we asking questions of…" The other man was also tall and blond, but he didn't look quite so smugly certain that everyone else was beneath him. Actually, he was sort of cute, in a big, strong, out of her league sort of way. His words trailed off, and he simply looked at her.
He smiled at her, a politely charming gesture of manners, and bowed from his horse, something that impressed Willow. "My apology for Ternear, he is most worried about the proper protocols for our mission. May I ask how you came to this clearing, Lady Willow?"
"Actually… I was a bit confused about that myself. You see, this… is not where I went to sleep. And I'm a bit uncertain where 'here' actually is." She smiled a little bit, hoping that she could figure out a bit more about what was going on… and why she had the nagging feeling that she should already know what had happened.
"Perhaps it was the intervention of some strange magic?" The polite man's voice made it sound like a question, even though they both knew that magic was the only possible option.
"I think so. There are often strange things in my home, the Valley of the Sun." Somehow, it seemed more fitting to describe Sunnydale that way, more fitting for the sort of place she seemed to be standing in.
"Please, allow us to escort you to the home of Elrond, Lord of Rivendale and a King among Elves. My father, the Steward of Gondor, has sent us to go there seeking wisdom, and it may be that he can offer you some assistance as well." He looked so sincere when he spoke.
"Elves… oh my. Yes, I would be delighted to travel with you to meet with Elrond of Rivendale." Willow smiled, feeling something bubble inside her at the way he looked at her. Gondor, Elrond of Rivendale… She was in the Lord of the Rings, just like Anya had promised.
"Boromir, why do you want this… person to travel with us?" The first man, the one that had been called Ternear, leaned over, his words just barely loud enough that Willow could hear them.
"It would be most inhospitable for us to leave here alone in the wilderness when it would be so simple to aid her." Boromir looked most determined, and possibly something else. His gaze flickered over to Willow, resting for a moment before he looked back to Ternear. "And I am the one in charge of this journey, so, I say that she shall go with us. She is unlikely to cause trouble."
So it came to pass that Willow joined the Men of Gondor on their journey to meet with the Elves of Rivendale. She felt a bit less out of place once she'd managed to magic some clothing for herself that was similar to the things worn by the men. She'd been granted the loan of a short sword once she'd proven her ability to use it properly, and now that she could travel in real clothing, and with a weapon, she felt better. Although she was certain that she hadn't been able to ride a horse before…
End part 1.
She found herself sitting alone beside a small fire. None of the men, with the exception of Ternear had been outright rude to her, but she could tell when she wasn't exactly welcome. Conversations would slow if she got too close, and the people would look away, not quite willing to meet her eyes. It was frustrating. She stared at the fire, wondering how long she would be expected to deal with the silent treatment. Perhaps rhe whole way to Rivendale?
"You do not look particularly cheerful, Lady Willow." Boromir's voice came from behind her.
"Nobody seems willing to talk to me, and I'm not quite certain why." Looking up at him, she offered a smile. "You can sit with me if you want to, I promise that I don't bite."
"Indeed… perhaps they are intimidated by you. You are comely, and capable, confident enough to travel with a group of strangers, and the idea of magic does not frighten you. None of us have encountered anyone quite like you before, fair Willow." He looked at her with a small smile.
"Yeah... like that happens often."
Her faint sarcasm was met with a snort. "You doubt me? I shall have you know that the line of the Stewards of Gondor do not lie." There was a twinkle in his eye that betrayed the humor of his words.
Willow looked at him, startled. Comely was another word for pretty. Boromir, who was sort of an uncrowned prince, thought that she was pretty? "I'm not that pretty, and maybe I just figured that you and your men were decent people. Even Ternear the cranky. Do his boots possibly pinch his toes?"
He'd laughed, and so a friendship was begun. It was a bit unusual, in part because while she was polite, she gave him none of the special respect that his men showed. He seemed to delight in her whimsical way of looking at things, and often he was seen smiling in her company.
There was speculation, of course, that there might have been a bit more between them than was proper. But none of the men would begrudge Boromir Willow's company, and as they continued towards Rivendale, they began to be far more accepting of her. Her good cheer was never seen to fail, and she was perfectly willing to assist with the needed tasks at the campsites.
On Willow's part, she was quite certain that she'd developed a crush on Boromir. Well, they'd call it 'taken a fancy' here, but the basic meaning was the same. She had feelings for him – mushy, sweet, wildly unlikely ideas and hopes and dreams. She couldn't tell him about it. Apart from the fact that he would be expected to marry someone important, she turned red and made a few vowel noises each time that she tried. Best not ruin the friendship for the sake of the impossible.
"Willow, come here. We're almost to Rivendale, it is not a sight that you should miss." Boromir's voice was brimming with enthusiasm.
"Rivendale? Is it so very different… Ohhh, it's beautiful." Willow could hardly decide where to look first. Rivendale was magnificent, with a glorious waterfall and luxurious trees right in the middle of the city. It didn't look precisely like a city at first, but when she began calculating the size of some of the graceful buildings… It would be a small city in twentieth century California, but for this sort of time, it was large and magnificent.
"Of course it's beautiful, the elvenkind made it. They won't bother making something unless it can be made pretty." Boromir was smiling, eyes sparkling with amusement. He looked nearly perfect in that moment.
Willow sighed, wanting to remember this moment forever. She also knew that anyone overhearing that sigh would assume that it was for the city in front of her, not the man standing in front of the admittedly lovely city. This city would change Boromir, she was certain of it.
Naturally enough, the city held Elves. Tall, graceful people with dark hair and eyes like the ocean at night, the elves were almost too beautiful. She could sit for hours just watching them. But it was Boromir that had a place in her heart. But she delighted in the elven singing, and the music, and the dancing… breathtaking.
"You know that this is but a passing dream, do you not?" The voice of Elrond was slightly curious, but cool. As if he did not welcome any human presence in his lands.
With his words, everything came together for a moment, and she knew that she was dreaming. Smiling, she met his eyes. "But it is a beautiful dream, and your people a glorious nation."
Lord Elrond made an unhappy noise, something similar to a 'harummph' and left her alone.
End part 2.
Boromir had been summoned to a meeting, one that she wasn't supposed to be attending. With a small shrug, Willow meandered through Rivendale, looking at the graceful buildings, the lovely elves. She had a feeling about this meeting, from the corner of her mind that had recognized this for a dream. Rivendale would be just the beginning of their journey. And it would be filled with dangers and travel. Boromir would be going, as would the blond elf, and the little people with the furry feet, and the figure that looked like an old man with a pointy hat.
Willow was waiting as the meeting broke up, a small smile on her face as everyone filtered away from the meeting area. One of the furry toed people, hobbits, had something around his neck, something powerful and evil. Boromir came out, looking worried.
"I'm going with you." She spoke directly to him, not at anyone else. It wasn't a plea, or a request, but a simple statement of fact.
"But it will be dangerous... far from the sort of safety that a lady such as yourself deserves." His protest was accompanied by worried eyes, and a tentative touch of a finger against her cheek.
"But I haven't always been safe, and it's unlikely that I will always be safe in the future. I want to be there, to watch your back." She smiled a bit, his finger still against her cheek.
So the travels began. Orcs and rivers and snowstorms... Yes, it was definitely a dangerous journey. A fiery demon powerful enough to make her teeth hurt attacked them in Moira, and Gandalf battled it, the confrontation causing his shields to slip. His power was almost blinding, stronger than anything that she could remember facing... And he was unquestionably on the side of good. Or maybe that should be GOOD. But he was dragged down into the chasm by the demon thing, a Balrog, and they had to flee, mourning him as one that had died. Something whispered that surely Gandalf would not be killed so easily, but it was drowned out by her worries, fear for Boromir, for all of them as they fled the Goblin archers in the Halls of Moira.
From there, they went to Lothlorien, home of Galadriel and her people. More elves, as fair as Legolas, with shining white homes built up in the trees and hauntingly sad songs floating through the air. Dirges for Gandalf, who had been dragged into the darkness, fallen and presumed dead. It was a good place, a place of healing and rest. It was almost as if the air and music of the woods countered the evil of the ring, pushed back the taint that it tried to spread to everyone around it.
And with the sort of blurring of exhausting travel, they were in a section of woods, spreading out in preparation for the attacking orcs that they knew were drawing near. Willow felt a sudden stabbing pulse of something, evil so strong and dark that it made her head spin and her vision grey. Boromir was in trouble... She began searching for him.
He was there, the dark taint of the ring's power tangled over him as if he'd been caught in a giant spider web. His face was caught in an expression of pain, despair, and need. "I only want to protect my people! We can use that power to fight Sauron!"
Willow felt something like pain rip through her. The ring had taken his desire to help his people and twisted it, used that noble goal to throw fear and chaos into their group. "Boromir..."
Boromir was searching for Frodo, unable to find him, unable to see the small hazy figure on the top of a tall rock. But it hurt to look at him, so Willow didn't. She moved to Boromir's side, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Boromir... the orcs are coming. We need you ready to fight them."
"The orcs? The servants of darkness... You're right, I must be ready to fight them. He turned his back on the place where Frodo crouched, his sword in hand. "I shall not allow them to bring harm while I can offer aid to our party."
And the orcs came forth, pouring from the woods in appaling numbers. Their dark skin mottled in browns and greens, the dark iron armor and blunt ended swords, and the stark white handprints marked over their bodies... They were a terrible and fearful sight. When they saw the Fellowship, less than a dozen in number, they howled, charging towards them, armor clattering and swords raised towards the sky.
When the first black arrow hissed through the air and embedded itself into Boromir's shoulder, Willow felt as if it had struck her. The searing pain, the blurring of tears in her vision... But then the rage boiled up. It pulsed inside her, black and red and seething... With a growl, she hurled raw power at the orc archer, and his bow burst into flames as he fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. Boromir had fallen, and she couldn't tell if the man who'd claimed her heart still lived or if the arrow had taken his life. Tears continued to stream down her face as she charged at the orcs, sword in hand, screaming wordless rage at them.
Legolas shook her out of it at the end, his insistent words and touch like the shadows in a forest pulling her back to her senses. "Willow, the orcs have gone, or are dead. Stop this."
With a choking sob, she turned and moved to Boromir's side. His eyes were open, and he made little gasping noises as he breathed. She reached out, cupping his cheek with her hand, feeling the start of his beard prickling at her palm.
"There is nothing that we can do for him." Aragorn's voice was low, filled with regret and pain.
"My king... I have failed..." Boromir's words were weak, filled with shame and despair.
"No, you are brave and have served Gondor well." Aragorn's words were filled with the intensity of truth, and the pain of someone that was certain they spoke to a dying man.
Willow looked at Boromir, refusing to let him go. She began whispering the words of a healing spell, intended to help with the sort of injuries that came up in the Vale of the Sun. She would make it work for this, failure was not an option. If this failed, she would loose Bormomir, loose the man that she'd come to love. She wasn't about to let that happen. Power flared, and the wound began to shrink, the bleeding coming to a halt as his flesh began to reknit.
"Lady Willow... even with this, he will not be able to continue the journey to Mordor." Legolas spoke softly, clearly not wanting to break her concentration.
"Then I will take him home to Gondor. I will not let him die, not when I care so much..." She sniffled, only now noticing the tears that streamed down her face.
"But the Ring..." Gimli's voice, uncertain of the changes that were even now taking place.
"The rest of you can continue. I think... I think you'll have all the help that you need. But I didn't come here to fight orcs or obsess over a shining loop of evil. I came because Boromir did. Now, he needs to go rest and heal, and I intend to make sure that it happens." She looked at them all, noticing their own injuries. Willow closed her eyes, and whispered a healing spell, sending the magic into them to heal the cuts, ease the bruises, to repair the strain on tendons and nerves.
Aragorn rose to his feet, an odd look on his face. "Then take him back to Gondor, and let him heal. He is a good man, a brave man. The city of my ancestors needs such men as Boromir."
Willow smiled at him, wondering if he intended to be the one to reclaim the throne of Gondor. "I will take very good care of him, Aragorn Isildur's Heir. Not because Gondor needs him, but because I do."
end part 3.
The trip to Gondor was another blur to her, one with cool water and shadowy forests. They reached the city, with its white walls gleaming in the sunlight, and as soon as it was discovered that she had Bormir with her, they were taken to the palace. Boromir was placed in a bed, the finest healers in Gondor brought to look over him and fuss at the injury.
"Who is that woman, that she brought him back alone and in such condition?" A man's voice, older, and unhappy.
"That is the Lady Willow, whom we met on the road to Rivendale, my Lord Steward." That was the voice of Ternear. "She would not bring him harm, I can only guess that some terrible misfortune has befallen the Fellowship. She should be commended for bringing him home, not greeted with suspicion for his injury."
"Willow, what happened to him?" Ternear spoke to her, one hand reaching out to touch her wrist.
She looked over, seeing the worry in his eyes. Not worry for her, but for Boromir. "There were orcs... no, not the regular ones, but very big orc... Uruk-Hai. They were taller than you, and broader, more muscles. They bore the mark of a white hand, and they tried to kill us all. Hundreds of them... I almost lost him."
"Is there... something between you and Boromir?" Ternear's eyes were filled with worry.
Willow made a small noise, like a strangled laugh. "I love him. I couldn't bear to see him die. But... I don't know if he sees me as more than a friend. I couldn't let him die if I had a chance to stop it, do you understand?"
"My son has not been known to be a fool, Lady Willow. Perhaps there might be more after he has recovered. I... thank you for his life." The older man again, his features bearing an uncanny resemblance to an older Boromir.
Willow just smiled, hope and doubt warring over that very possibility. "I hope he gets better."
"My father is right." Boromir's voice was weak, but not so broken as when he'd spoken to Aragorn. "I would be a fool to turn from you, my friend, my love. Stay here, with me? In Gondor the White City."
Willow couldn't speak for a moment, a bubble of pure joy in her throat. Instead, she hugged him, feeling the warmth and solidness of him. "Of course, silly. All you had to do was ask."
end part 4.
End Willow's Dream.
Author: Lucinda
rating: pg 13
main characters: Willow, Boromir
disclaimer: I own nobody from BtVS, and nobody from Lord of the Rings
distribution: If you want it, ask. I'll probably say yes.
summary: Anya found a spell to allow Buffy, Cordelia & Willow dream themselves into the movie 'Lord of the Rings'. As this is a dream (Willow's Dream in specific) things will not follow the movie exactly, and there may be significant deviations.
Willow blinked. She'd gone to sleep wondering if it was wise to try Anya's spell, and now... she was laying on the ground. Pretty ground, with soft grass and wildflowers in yellow and red and white, but still ground. As in, not a bed, not in Buffy's house. How in the world had she ended up here? And still in her fuzzy flannel pajamas? But everything felt different, the air smelled so fresh, like trees and grass and flowers... wait, no ocean?
Looking around, she discovered that she was indeed in a strange place. The lovely area that she was on had tall trees to one side, almost ominously looming trees, actually. To the other side were rolling meadows, grasslands that almost begged to be painted, assuming that the person possessed any artistic ability at all. And a line of mounted figures, approaching her, with spears and flags. Uh-oh.
Maybe she could just leave before they saw her... Carefully, Willow tried to scoot closer to the woods, figuring that she had a better chance to hid in trees than in open grass.
"Halt! Who are you, and what are you doing there?" The first horseman, a tall blond man with a mustache glared down at her, his impression managing to convey utter disapproval and a hint of self-importance.
What was she doing here? Was he crazy? "My name is Willow, and I fail to see how anything I'm doing here concerns you."
"Insolent woman! Do you not know that you address a member of the hand chosen Warriors of Gondor, sent on an very important mission?" He was glaring at her, his face turning red.
"If your mission is so very important, why did you stop to harass me?" Willow glared right back, part of her thinking that this was probably pretty foolish.
"She may have a point. Why are we asking questions of…" The other man was also tall and blond, but he didn't look quite so smugly certain that everyone else was beneath him. Actually, he was sort of cute, in a big, strong, out of her league sort of way. His words trailed off, and he simply looked at her.
He smiled at her, a politely charming gesture of manners, and bowed from his horse, something that impressed Willow. "My apology for Ternear, he is most worried about the proper protocols for our mission. May I ask how you came to this clearing, Lady Willow?"
"Actually… I was a bit confused about that myself. You see, this… is not where I went to sleep. And I'm a bit uncertain where 'here' actually is." She smiled a little bit, hoping that she could figure out a bit more about what was going on… and why she had the nagging feeling that she should already know what had happened.
"Perhaps it was the intervention of some strange magic?" The polite man's voice made it sound like a question, even though they both knew that magic was the only possible option.
"I think so. There are often strange things in my home, the Valley of the Sun." Somehow, it seemed more fitting to describe Sunnydale that way, more fitting for the sort of place she seemed to be standing in.
"Please, allow us to escort you to the home of Elrond, Lord of Rivendale and a King among Elves. My father, the Steward of Gondor, has sent us to go there seeking wisdom, and it may be that he can offer you some assistance as well." He looked so sincere when he spoke.
"Elves… oh my. Yes, I would be delighted to travel with you to meet with Elrond of Rivendale." Willow smiled, feeling something bubble inside her at the way he looked at her. Gondor, Elrond of Rivendale… She was in the Lord of the Rings, just like Anya had promised.
"Boromir, why do you want this… person to travel with us?" The first man, the one that had been called Ternear, leaned over, his words just barely loud enough that Willow could hear them.
"It would be most inhospitable for us to leave here alone in the wilderness when it would be so simple to aid her." Boromir looked most determined, and possibly something else. His gaze flickered over to Willow, resting for a moment before he looked back to Ternear. "And I am the one in charge of this journey, so, I say that she shall go with us. She is unlikely to cause trouble."
So it came to pass that Willow joined the Men of Gondor on their journey to meet with the Elves of Rivendale. She felt a bit less out of place once she'd managed to magic some clothing for herself that was similar to the things worn by the men. She'd been granted the loan of a short sword once she'd proven her ability to use it properly, and now that she could travel in real clothing, and with a weapon, she felt better. Although she was certain that she hadn't been able to ride a horse before…
End part 1.
She found herself sitting alone beside a small fire. None of the men, with the exception of Ternear had been outright rude to her, but she could tell when she wasn't exactly welcome. Conversations would slow if she got too close, and the people would look away, not quite willing to meet her eyes. It was frustrating. She stared at the fire, wondering how long she would be expected to deal with the silent treatment. Perhaps rhe whole way to Rivendale?
"You do not look particularly cheerful, Lady Willow." Boromir's voice came from behind her.
"Nobody seems willing to talk to me, and I'm not quite certain why." Looking up at him, she offered a smile. "You can sit with me if you want to, I promise that I don't bite."
"Indeed… perhaps they are intimidated by you. You are comely, and capable, confident enough to travel with a group of strangers, and the idea of magic does not frighten you. None of us have encountered anyone quite like you before, fair Willow." He looked at her with a small smile.
"Yeah... like that happens often."
Her faint sarcasm was met with a snort. "You doubt me? I shall have you know that the line of the Stewards of Gondor do not lie." There was a twinkle in his eye that betrayed the humor of his words.
Willow looked at him, startled. Comely was another word for pretty. Boromir, who was sort of an uncrowned prince, thought that she was pretty? "I'm not that pretty, and maybe I just figured that you and your men were decent people. Even Ternear the cranky. Do his boots possibly pinch his toes?"
He'd laughed, and so a friendship was begun. It was a bit unusual, in part because while she was polite, she gave him none of the special respect that his men showed. He seemed to delight in her whimsical way of looking at things, and often he was seen smiling in her company.
There was speculation, of course, that there might have been a bit more between them than was proper. But none of the men would begrudge Boromir Willow's company, and as they continued towards Rivendale, they began to be far more accepting of her. Her good cheer was never seen to fail, and she was perfectly willing to assist with the needed tasks at the campsites.
On Willow's part, she was quite certain that she'd developed a crush on Boromir. Well, they'd call it 'taken a fancy' here, but the basic meaning was the same. She had feelings for him – mushy, sweet, wildly unlikely ideas and hopes and dreams. She couldn't tell him about it. Apart from the fact that he would be expected to marry someone important, she turned red and made a few vowel noises each time that she tried. Best not ruin the friendship for the sake of the impossible.
"Willow, come here. We're almost to Rivendale, it is not a sight that you should miss." Boromir's voice was brimming with enthusiasm.
"Rivendale? Is it so very different… Ohhh, it's beautiful." Willow could hardly decide where to look first. Rivendale was magnificent, with a glorious waterfall and luxurious trees right in the middle of the city. It didn't look precisely like a city at first, but when she began calculating the size of some of the graceful buildings… It would be a small city in twentieth century California, but for this sort of time, it was large and magnificent.
"Of course it's beautiful, the elvenkind made it. They won't bother making something unless it can be made pretty." Boromir was smiling, eyes sparkling with amusement. He looked nearly perfect in that moment.
Willow sighed, wanting to remember this moment forever. She also knew that anyone overhearing that sigh would assume that it was for the city in front of her, not the man standing in front of the admittedly lovely city. This city would change Boromir, she was certain of it.
Naturally enough, the city held Elves. Tall, graceful people with dark hair and eyes like the ocean at night, the elves were almost too beautiful. She could sit for hours just watching them. But it was Boromir that had a place in her heart. But she delighted in the elven singing, and the music, and the dancing… breathtaking.
"You know that this is but a passing dream, do you not?" The voice of Elrond was slightly curious, but cool. As if he did not welcome any human presence in his lands.
With his words, everything came together for a moment, and she knew that she was dreaming. Smiling, she met his eyes. "But it is a beautiful dream, and your people a glorious nation."
Lord Elrond made an unhappy noise, something similar to a 'harummph' and left her alone.
End part 2.
Boromir had been summoned to a meeting, one that she wasn't supposed to be attending. With a small shrug, Willow meandered through Rivendale, looking at the graceful buildings, the lovely elves. She had a feeling about this meeting, from the corner of her mind that had recognized this for a dream. Rivendale would be just the beginning of their journey. And it would be filled with dangers and travel. Boromir would be going, as would the blond elf, and the little people with the furry feet, and the figure that looked like an old man with a pointy hat.
Willow was waiting as the meeting broke up, a small smile on her face as everyone filtered away from the meeting area. One of the furry toed people, hobbits, had something around his neck, something powerful and evil. Boromir came out, looking worried.
"I'm going with you." She spoke directly to him, not at anyone else. It wasn't a plea, or a request, but a simple statement of fact.
"But it will be dangerous... far from the sort of safety that a lady such as yourself deserves." His protest was accompanied by worried eyes, and a tentative touch of a finger against her cheek.
"But I haven't always been safe, and it's unlikely that I will always be safe in the future. I want to be there, to watch your back." She smiled a bit, his finger still against her cheek.
So the travels began. Orcs and rivers and snowstorms... Yes, it was definitely a dangerous journey. A fiery demon powerful enough to make her teeth hurt attacked them in Moira, and Gandalf battled it, the confrontation causing his shields to slip. His power was almost blinding, stronger than anything that she could remember facing... And he was unquestionably on the side of good. Or maybe that should be GOOD. But he was dragged down into the chasm by the demon thing, a Balrog, and they had to flee, mourning him as one that had died. Something whispered that surely Gandalf would not be killed so easily, but it was drowned out by her worries, fear for Boromir, for all of them as they fled the Goblin archers in the Halls of Moira.
From there, they went to Lothlorien, home of Galadriel and her people. More elves, as fair as Legolas, with shining white homes built up in the trees and hauntingly sad songs floating through the air. Dirges for Gandalf, who had been dragged into the darkness, fallen and presumed dead. It was a good place, a place of healing and rest. It was almost as if the air and music of the woods countered the evil of the ring, pushed back the taint that it tried to spread to everyone around it.
And with the sort of blurring of exhausting travel, they were in a section of woods, spreading out in preparation for the attacking orcs that they knew were drawing near. Willow felt a sudden stabbing pulse of something, evil so strong and dark that it made her head spin and her vision grey. Boromir was in trouble... She began searching for him.
He was there, the dark taint of the ring's power tangled over him as if he'd been caught in a giant spider web. His face was caught in an expression of pain, despair, and need. "I only want to protect my people! We can use that power to fight Sauron!"
Willow felt something like pain rip through her. The ring had taken his desire to help his people and twisted it, used that noble goal to throw fear and chaos into their group. "Boromir..."
Boromir was searching for Frodo, unable to find him, unable to see the small hazy figure on the top of a tall rock. But it hurt to look at him, so Willow didn't. She moved to Boromir's side, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Boromir... the orcs are coming. We need you ready to fight them."
"The orcs? The servants of darkness... You're right, I must be ready to fight them. He turned his back on the place where Frodo crouched, his sword in hand. "I shall not allow them to bring harm while I can offer aid to our party."
And the orcs came forth, pouring from the woods in appaling numbers. Their dark skin mottled in browns and greens, the dark iron armor and blunt ended swords, and the stark white handprints marked over their bodies... They were a terrible and fearful sight. When they saw the Fellowship, less than a dozen in number, they howled, charging towards them, armor clattering and swords raised towards the sky.
When the first black arrow hissed through the air and embedded itself into Boromir's shoulder, Willow felt as if it had struck her. The searing pain, the blurring of tears in her vision... But then the rage boiled up. It pulsed inside her, black and red and seething... With a growl, she hurled raw power at the orc archer, and his bow burst into flames as he fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. Boromir had fallen, and she couldn't tell if the man who'd claimed her heart still lived or if the arrow had taken his life. Tears continued to stream down her face as she charged at the orcs, sword in hand, screaming wordless rage at them.
Legolas shook her out of it at the end, his insistent words and touch like the shadows in a forest pulling her back to her senses. "Willow, the orcs have gone, or are dead. Stop this."
With a choking sob, she turned and moved to Boromir's side. His eyes were open, and he made little gasping noises as he breathed. She reached out, cupping his cheek with her hand, feeling the start of his beard prickling at her palm.
"There is nothing that we can do for him." Aragorn's voice was low, filled with regret and pain.
"My king... I have failed..." Boromir's words were weak, filled with shame and despair.
"No, you are brave and have served Gondor well." Aragorn's words were filled with the intensity of truth, and the pain of someone that was certain they spoke to a dying man.
Willow looked at Boromir, refusing to let him go. She began whispering the words of a healing spell, intended to help with the sort of injuries that came up in the Vale of the Sun. She would make it work for this, failure was not an option. If this failed, she would loose Bormomir, loose the man that she'd come to love. She wasn't about to let that happen. Power flared, and the wound began to shrink, the bleeding coming to a halt as his flesh began to reknit.
"Lady Willow... even with this, he will not be able to continue the journey to Mordor." Legolas spoke softly, clearly not wanting to break her concentration.
"Then I will take him home to Gondor. I will not let him die, not when I care so much..." She sniffled, only now noticing the tears that streamed down her face.
"But the Ring..." Gimli's voice, uncertain of the changes that were even now taking place.
"The rest of you can continue. I think... I think you'll have all the help that you need. But I didn't come here to fight orcs or obsess over a shining loop of evil. I came because Boromir did. Now, he needs to go rest and heal, and I intend to make sure that it happens." She looked at them all, noticing their own injuries. Willow closed her eyes, and whispered a healing spell, sending the magic into them to heal the cuts, ease the bruises, to repair the strain on tendons and nerves.
Aragorn rose to his feet, an odd look on his face. "Then take him back to Gondor, and let him heal. He is a good man, a brave man. The city of my ancestors needs such men as Boromir."
Willow smiled at him, wondering if he intended to be the one to reclaim the throne of Gondor. "I will take very good care of him, Aragorn Isildur's Heir. Not because Gondor needs him, but because I do."
end part 3.
The trip to Gondor was another blur to her, one with cool water and shadowy forests. They reached the city, with its white walls gleaming in the sunlight, and as soon as it was discovered that she had Bormir with her, they were taken to the palace. Boromir was placed in a bed, the finest healers in Gondor brought to look over him and fuss at the injury.
"Who is that woman, that she brought him back alone and in such condition?" A man's voice, older, and unhappy.
"That is the Lady Willow, whom we met on the road to Rivendale, my Lord Steward." That was the voice of Ternear. "She would not bring him harm, I can only guess that some terrible misfortune has befallen the Fellowship. She should be commended for bringing him home, not greeted with suspicion for his injury."
"Willow, what happened to him?" Ternear spoke to her, one hand reaching out to touch her wrist.
She looked over, seeing the worry in his eyes. Not worry for her, but for Boromir. "There were orcs... no, not the regular ones, but very big orc... Uruk-Hai. They were taller than you, and broader, more muscles. They bore the mark of a white hand, and they tried to kill us all. Hundreds of them... I almost lost him."
"Is there... something between you and Boromir?" Ternear's eyes were filled with worry.
Willow made a small noise, like a strangled laugh. "I love him. I couldn't bear to see him die. But... I don't know if he sees me as more than a friend. I couldn't let him die if I had a chance to stop it, do you understand?"
"My son has not been known to be a fool, Lady Willow. Perhaps there might be more after he has recovered. I... thank you for his life." The older man again, his features bearing an uncanny resemblance to an older Boromir.
Willow just smiled, hope and doubt warring over that very possibility. "I hope he gets better."
"My father is right." Boromir's voice was weak, but not so broken as when he'd spoken to Aragorn. "I would be a fool to turn from you, my friend, my love. Stay here, with me? In Gondor the White City."
Willow couldn't speak for a moment, a bubble of pure joy in her throat. Instead, she hugged him, feeling the warmth and solidness of him. "Of course, silly. All you had to do was ask."
end part 4.
End Willow's Dream.