~*~Part Two~*~

She followed along behind the man in white, Gandalf, trusting that he knew where she was to go and what she was to do. A mission is what she had, that much was clear. But what exactly that mission was to be she wasn’t sure. There was a great evil in this land, she could feel it in the ground beneath her feet, in the air that she was forced to breathe. The very trees shuddered and shook with the evil that was being bred deep within the earth. It made her sick to her stomach. It was this that she had to defeat, she knew that much. But what or where it was she had no earthly idea.

"Where are we going?"

The wizard turned to glance over his shoulder before continuing on his grueling pace through the forest. She envied the nifty walking staff he was carrying. Perhaps they could pick up one for her if there was to be much more of this walking stuff.

"We have some people to meet up with."

"Ah."

She frowned when there was no further explanation, continuing to follow him. There was a groaning in the distance, as if some great thing was creaking and moaning under so much weight or pressure. It was the sound she would imagine trees making if trees could move or talk. It was an earthy groaning sound.

And she sorta liked it.

Her brain wandered as they continued to walk, traipsing through a forest unlike any she had ever seen before in its size. Of course, she had just been born that morning if she wanted to get technical about things, and so she had little to base her comparison on other than memories of the life that her other self had led.

"They approach."

She stopped in her tracks, nearly running into the wizard in front of her, who had stopped without so much as a word of warning. Casting him a glare, she crossed her arms, looking for the entire world like a petulant child; eyebrow raised in question. But Mister White Robe didn’t feel like sharing with her who ‘they’ were and why ‘they’ were approaching. Or even why she should care about any of this. If it had anything to do with her purpose in this land she was at a loss – the wizard was intent on keeping his mouth shut as far as she could tell.

Through the noises of the forest she heard someone whisper something about a ‘white wizard’, which she assumed was Gandalf since he was dressed in the snazzy white robes. But, for some reason, they did not seem happy about seeing this ‘white wizard’. Perhaps these weren’t friends they were waiting for, but enemies to be ambushed and then vanquished.

It would be so much simpler if Gandalf had just said something. As it stood she didn’t know whether to prepare to be introduced or to ready a spell to defend herself.

"Now!"

She jumped at the shout, wincing as the shield Gandalf held around himself and her sparkled, his staff flashing as it deflected arrows. She growled, taking a step forward to deal with these thugs once and for all.

But Gandalf held up an arm, stopping her forward motion, his eyes still fixed upon the three that stood down below.

"Who are you?"

The shout came towards them and she sighed. Did these people not even know who Gandalf was? Were they just randomly attacking people for no good reason? At once she wasn’t entirely sure that she was on the right side of things.

And then the glowing shield that Gandalf had put up dissipated and she could see the strangers clearly. A dark haired man, very rugged looking; a blonde haired man with pointy ears; and a shorter man.

So – a human, an elf, and a dwarf; her brain connected the dots in logical fashion. At least, she hoped that was the logic of this place. For a world she was supposed to have created, she really could remember very little of what actually lived within it. And things would have changed since the Creation, of course. Races evolve, the land changes. She was more of a stranger here than they were, for all that her other self had been the one to mold the very mountains of the realm.

She hoped no one was counting on her to have an internal map of this place in her head; because she most definitely did not. The Powers were generous with the knowledge they had allowed her for this mission, but not that generous. She was not all-powerful nor all-knowing – and did not desire to be either of the two, despite how silly she felt waiting for someone to explain her own mission to her.

"Gandalf?" The dark haired man was asking. Apparently he hadn’t gotten the memo about the meeting. Maybe that was why they were all so confused looking, lack of communication. Willow just knew it was Gandalf’s fault, too. He was a little too tight-lipped and mysterious for her tastes.

She sighed, rolling her eyes, and let them make their re-acquaintance with each other, hoping that this didn’t take too much longer. She had a holy mission to fulfill, a destiny to right the wrongs that her other self had inflicted by saving this world from imminent destruction.

"This is the Lady Willow. . . she will be joining us on our quest."

The red head raised an eyebrow again, flashing the three men a hesitant smile. How she hated being put on the spot like that. The least he could have done would be get her attention before introducing her – instead of just springing it out of the blue when she quite obviously wasn’t paying attention!

"Nice to meet you guys." She nodded pleasantly at the three of them.

The dark haired man didn’t look too thrilled to see her and the second he opened his mouth she knew he was about to upset her.

"Gandalf – surely where we are going is no place for a woman. She will be injured or –"

Willow laughed, a deep sound that made her entire body vibrate with the pleasure of it. She took a step forward to better look down at the man that had spoken, finding that Gandalf had backed off to one side to allow her to make her own introductions. And a glorious introduction it was to be, if this were any indication.

"A woman?" She snorted, hardly able to contain her amusement. "You don’t want me going with you because I’m a woman?"

He was eyeing her now as though she were very odd indeed, and perhaps that was how she seemed to them. She was from a world they had never known, one where women were not treated as delicate little things to be hidden away at the first sign of danger.

"Yes, my lady. This is a dangerous mission and –"

She drew herself up to her full height, her amusement fading to the background. He wanted to picture her as a weak, frail creature? Then she’d damn well give him something else to consider.

"Do you have any idea who you speak to?"

That brought him up short, and the rasping chuckle coming from Gandalf was enough to spur her on.

"You are the Lady Willow." The dwarf was speaking now. "If you wish to come with us, my lady, I will not be the one to argue with you. Dwarven women are just as stout fighters as the men."

"Thank you, Sir Dwarf." Willow murmured, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Aye, Elven women are fighters as well. I have no quarrel with thee."

"Good, Master Elf." She smirked, throwing her attention back to the man that stood there, casting mutinous glares at his companions.

"And so I return to you, *Sir*," she snarled, a touch impatiently. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

He sighed, shaking his head; hands held up in a gesture of defeat.

"No, my lady. I do not know. However I have the feeling that I have made a grievous error in placing myself on your bad side and I do ask your forgiveness."

Willow chuckled, stepping down from the mound she was standing on to come alongside the dark haired man.

"Apology accepted. However, remember this moment well when all is known about who I am. . .And know that my temper is swift and my mission is just as relevant, if not more so, than yours is. Now, with that said – I did not catch your names."

He smiled and she felt a stirring in the pit of her stomach. Handsome didn’t quite explain what he was in her eyes. He was rugged and striking. The lines and planes of his face were sharp and defined. His hair was shoulder length, slightly curled, and hung in his face at times, affording him a mysteriousness that he otherwise might have lacked. His eyes were dark and definitely earned the description of ‘piercing’. And, while the elf that stood next to him was a beauty to behold, this human male was the more handsome of the two.

And he made her stomach get all churn-y.

She felt the corners of her mouth lift in a half-smile.

"Allow me to introduce you, then. That is Gimli, son of Gloin. Legolas of the Mirkwood Elves. And I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

Her smile went from half to full.

"You guys are really proud of your daddies, huh?" She snickered to herself, shrugging apologetically at the look of confusion on his face. It seemed like he had been expecting something when he had introduced himself, an acknowledgement of something, perhaps? But he was no one to her, as were his companions. They were all just another name to be placed in her memory, stored away for later times. If there was a significance to who they were she was sure she would figure it out eventually, though she would not be looking to the stuffy wizard for that enlightenment. "It’s a pleasure to meet you all – I think." Turning back to Gandalf, she raised an eyebrow. "I’m happy to meet them, right? You weren’t really clear on that."

"Yes, Willow. They are friends."

She snorted, throwing the one known as Aragorn a smirk; her earlier displeasure with his views on women in the battlefield still grating on her nerves.

"We’ll have to see about that part."

~*~Part Three~*~

They rode hard, Willow doubling up with Aragorn. She felt as though they had
the very devil himself at their backs as they raced without hesitation
towards the city Gandalf had named Edoras.

Edoras.

She had never heard of it, of course. It was next on some guy named Saruman’
s hit list, though – and she didn’t want to see that happen. Saruman, from
what she understood, was a Bad Man.

And she didn’t like Bad Men. Or Bad Women. Or Bad Anythings.

Not a single bit.

In fact, she was rather disappointed with her Other Self for becoming a Bad
Woman along the way. She, personally, had never experienced Tara. She came
from the time before Tara. But she had loved Oz – and no matter how much she
loved Oz she would never have allowed her grief to do that to her.

But she was, as yet, uncorrupted. Her Other Self had not been. That Willow
had been a dabbler in dark magics from the moment she brought Buffy back
from the dead. This Willow, the new and improved one, had never done such a
thing. Nor did she think she ever could do something like that, something so
bad and dark.

‘I guess some things never change.’ She thought idly about her take on good
and evil, taking a deep lungful of the wonderful fresh air that this realm
provided. With a light heart she could remember her time spent in the Other
World, the one her Other Self had destroyed. Yes, her Other Self. She could
say that now without hesitation. She was not Her, as Gandalf had so
adamantly imprinted in her brain from the moment she crawled from her
cocoon. And, as such, she was going to make a difference for the better in
the great scheme of things in this realm.

Though, those were ‘things’ that Gandalf still had yet to clue her in on.

Stupid mysterious wizard in the frumpy white robe, riding the equally white
horse that had made the elf go ‘ga-ga’. She snorted. Apparently elves were
easily impressed. She had seen pretty horses before, on television, back in
her life Before the End.

Everything was capital letters to her now, those memorable changes in her
life that had sent her to this place with just a hair less knowledge than
was probably healthy. She had no idea who she was here to defeat, though if
it was this Saruman person she was all on it. He could come riding up on his
own little horsey to this Edoras place and she would take him down a notch
or two.

Or – maybe not.

Willow didn’t know who he was, after all; and she did get the feeling that
he was probably pretty powerful. Most likely she was going to need help from
these people that she was traveling with. But they didn’t even know who she
was. The carbon copy of the Unmaker. Was that taught to them in their
history classes – if they even had classes in history here? The creation of
their world? Or was there some pretty little myth that attributed every
event in creation with a specific deity or Great Moment? Probably. Men, and
most likely elves and dwarves as well, needed mythology to keep them sane.

Take Aragorn for instance, this man that she clung to so desperately in a
full blown attempt to not fall gracelessly from the horse they were riding
upon. He was a man that was set in his ways. What would he think to know
that she was only slightly removed from the One that Unmade everything? He
would shudder to think that a woman had been the one to shape his world, of
course. He was such a chauvinistic pig, for all that he was extremely
handsome in a ‘Goddess-I-Need-A-Bath’ type of way.

She smiled and breathed in the scent of the horse and of this man in front
of her. It was a nice scent. Earthy and raw. Powerful and deep, like the
magic she wielded. She found herself thinking that he was like her in many
ways, though why that thought should cross her mind when all he had done up
to this point was annoy her – she wasn’t really sure. If there were any out
of her party that she should hope to find a connection with it was the elf.
Certainly he, being a creature of nature himself, would have more in common
with her than this ruggedly handsome specimen of a man.

But, nope, as usual things couldn’t have been anything but complicated.

Such was her life, after all – a life of complication leading to more
complication, leading to even more.

‘Guess this means I’m not girl-loving like my Other Self was,’ she thought
ruefully, smothering a chuckle in the back of Aragorn’s shirt.

"Are you alright, my Lady?"

She sat up a little straighter, the smile still on her face. He caught her
eyes with his own before turning back to the path in front of them, guiding
the horse over the fields in a course that he seemed to know by heart.

"I’m fine, Aragorn. Just fine."

"Very well. Please let me know if you need to rest. Gandalf said you were
unused to riding horseback."

She shrugged and then, remembering that he couldn’t see her, murmured, "I’ll
be fine. I’ve endured worse that a sore rear end and legs. Though – my
thighs are already screaming for a nice hot bath. Maybe with bubbles. Yep.
Bubbles would definitely be the way to go."

"You do have an. . . interesting way of talking. . ." Came his reply and she
laughed again.

"I’m not from here." She said it with a simple nonchalance, like someone
would say that the sun had risen or that it was going to be warm that day.

"Gandalf mentioned that, yes. Where exactly is it that you hail from?"

Willow looked over at Gandalf then, noting that he had ridden up alongside
them during this brief exchange. He shook his head no, mouthing the words
‘later’ and ‘tonight’. She nodded and the wizard rode off, her frustrated
glare following his back. He could come by to halt any attempts at
conversation but he couldn’t spare her a moment to divulge the mystery of
her destiny to her?

Stupid wizard, she silently reiterated again, vowing to find some red dye
and make all of his robes a lovely shade of pink at the first opportunity.

"I’ll tell you about myself tonight. When everyone can hear. No sense
repeating myself when it isn’t a pretty story anyway."

He seemed to accept that response and was quiet for a few long moments, the
sound of the horse’s hooves on the ground the only interruption to their
silent thoughts. And then –

"I am truly sorry if I offended you earlier, Lady Willow. It was not my
intention to do you dishonor with my words."

She smiled.

"I already accepted your apology once, kind sir. But I shall do so again if
it eases the guilt you feel in your heart."

"That it would."

"Then – apology accepted," she laughed, unconsciously hugging him a little
tighter around the middle, as she would a friend.

"I feel something from you. . ."

Willow sat up a little straighter, releasing her hold just a bit. She waited
to see if he would say something else and, when he did not continue, she
prompted, "What is it that you feel?"

A deep sigh rumbled through his chest, and his next words put an end to any
further conversation they may have had that afternoon. His voice was sad,
tired; and held a hint of what she could only describe as remorse – though
she knew not what he regretted.

"Something I should not feel. Nor do I care to give words to it right now. I
feel untrue in my heart to one who has always been true to me."

Willow nodded, not understanding his meaning, but knowing that he needed his
quiet time by that sad inflection in his tone.

They rode on in silence.

~*~Part Four~*~

Willow shivered as she looked out the window of the room she had been assigned to, thinking of the events that had transpired when they had reached Edoras only a few hours before. Gandalf was a great wizard, that went without saying. But seeing him in action had been something else. Her magic had called out to him, hearkening like to like. It had been both thrilling and scary to watch him do what amounted to an exorcism on Theoden. She smiled, remembering the way the creepy looking corpse-king had turned back into a decent looking man once Saruman’s spirit had fled his body.

The experience had left her shaking, weak from the effort to resist her own magic’s wishes to assist him. This was his fight, though, not hers. She would not play the part of an interfering guest. Aragorn, thankfully, had stood at her side, grim-faced as usual, but offering a steadying arm for her to lean upon.

‘You will tell them, tonight,’ Gandalf had said afterwards, as she was being led to a room to rest within. But rest had not come to her, not as she laid in the large, definitely not good for her back, bed. She had stared up at the ceiling, thinking on what she would say. How she would say it. What she would say.

In the end she decided just to go for the truth and nothing but the truth, from beginning to. . . beginning.

She sighed, pushing away from the window. The men were off discussing war. Or, Aragorn was discussing it and Theoden was avoiding it. Silly King didn’t seem to understand that the war would come to him no matter how hard he ran from it. He was going to force them into a bad position, she just knew it. He would not take the advise of Aragorn, who she had to admit was very wise in the ways of governing for someone who was only a ranger-type person.

"Mlady? They are ready for you."

Willow turned, eyes wide to the servant that stood in the doorway. She gave a sharp nod of her head and waited until the woman had shut the door again before breathing a heavy sigh. This was it. Her big performance. She looked down at clothes that were dirty from hours in the saddle and shook her head. This wouldn’t do. If she was going to tell her tale, she would tell it in style.

With a wave of her hand the clothing she wore was replaced by a dress of emerald green, similar to those she had seen the other women in this place wearing. It was far richer, though, a dress truly suited for a Queen of this realm.

Or a Goddess.

And, as a direct incarnation of the One who had created everything, she felt it her place to show up in style, to tell her story in grand fashion. She whispered another incantation, one of the simpler ones she knew, and felt her hair untangle, smoothing out and the pleating itself in a French braid that was held up by two sparkling clips.

Now she could go.

The way to the throne room was easy enough, she supposed. Tables had been set up during her ‘rest’, and servants were setting them. The others had already seated themselves. It was to be just her, her companions, King Theoden and Eowyn, the only other woman her age in the town.

"You look lovely, Lady Willow," Gandalf murmured, meeting her at the entrance to the hall and offering her his arm. She smiled and took it.

"Thank you. Am I to assume that after I have told my tale you will finally tell me my mission in all of this? You’ve been rather tightlipped with me."

He smiled and tilted his head in acceptance.

"I shall. Tonight. Later, though. It is old news to those that travel with us. No reason to burden them with a story they have already heard."’

Willow nodded thoughtfully.

The others had stood, awaiting her arrival at the table.

"You are ready to hear what I have to say?" she asked quietly, her eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. They nodded, one by one. Even Theoden and Eowyn, who must have been clued in by her companions on her mysteriousness.

"Very well then. . . go on. . . sit. This may take a while." She smiled indulgently at them, noting that Aragorn’s eyes lingered on her.

"Is there something wrong?" she murmured, leaning in close to him.

He shook his head, a slight smile on his rugged face. "I was just wondering where you obtained such lavish clothing and jewelry. For all that you look beautiful in them, you were not carrying a pack with you."

She laughed, the sound ringing through the hall. The others turned to look at them and she blushed, embarrassed to have called attention to herself.

"Magic." Her answer to him was loud enough for the others to hear. "The clothes were obtained via magic. And so that is how I will begin my story. . ."

She let her eyes sparkle just a bit, a flash of emeralds in the paleness of her face. It was the last glimpse of happiness they would see from her for a while. She took a breath and began, reciting a litany that they would all remember for the rest of their days.

"I am Willow Rosenberg, daughter of Ira and Sheila Rosenberg. I am a witch by birth, a Power by talent, and a destroyer by nature. I was a friend to the one known as the Slayer, in a world that no longer exists. And I was the one that shut the opening to the demon world known as the Hellmouth in that world. I am the curser of vampires, best friend, lover . . . I was all this and more – before the Unmaking."

She heard a gasp and turned, her eyes meeting Legolas’.

"So one of you has heard. . .or do you only think you know, sir Elf?"

She cast him a sad smile and then began again.

"I am She that Unmade that world in a moment of grief. I am the Creator. The Chosen. There are many names for it, in a variety of cultures – but it all comes back to the same thing. I destroyed the world out of pain and built it up again out of guilt, Remaking it to my whims. I am She who made the mountains and the seas. . ."

"The Architect. . ."

Willow giggled a bit, giving Legolas another flash of a smile. "You’ve heard of me?"

"You are . . ." He gestured with his hands, stuck for words, Elven eloquence failing him in the light of this woman that was standing before him. "You are the cause of . . . everything. . ."

"Well . . . " She drawled, shaking her head. "Sort of. I am She. But I am not. She is currently in the Havens, resting as is her reward. I am flesh of her flesh, blood of her blood. We share the same soul, though mine in an earlier version. As you see me before you I am who She was at eighteen years of age, before the weight of the world took over, before darkness settled in Her heart. I’m a carbon copy, sent down to make things right one last time. If I fail it as the peril of all, or so I am told." The mock-glare she threw Gandalf was playful, but not, all at the same time.

"So – you are a Goddess?" Aragorn asked, confusion on his face.

"No. Not hardly," Willow smiled gently, placing a hand on his. "I am merely a woman trying to right the wrongs made by someone that could be called my Mother. I am trying to fix the erring ways of my ‘family’, if you were. Like a child determined to not turn out like their parents, so I must do good instead of evil."

She wasn’t sure what it was about what she said, but understanding dawned on Aragorn’s face, and the smile he gave her was sympathetic, full of compassion.

"But I’m playing with a limited amount of knowledge," she continued on. "I know that I am here to fix some great evil. But I don’t know what that evil is. And, seeing as how my magic went into the making of this world, I don’t quite have the power She does. You wouldn’t want me to have it anyway. . . in case I fail and falter. If I fall to the Darkness, don’t hesitate to kill me. I won’t blame you."

"Child," Gandalf murmured in a clear voice, coming to stand next to her. She looked up into his face with eyes that were brimming with tears. "You are not Her. Need I remind you of that again? You and She are cut from the same cloth, but do not share the same destiny. The Darkness will not prevail."

She nodded hesitantly and gave Gandalf a sad ghost of a smile.

It was Gimli’s laughter that startled them from the silence that descended.

"You mean to say that, when Aragorn was being his usual charming self in the forest, you could have taken him on and won?"

Willow felt the corners of her mouth lift in a genuine smile, giggling at the look on Aragorn’s face.

"Yes, Gimli. I think that sums it up nicely."

The joke broke the tension in the room, though she noted that Theoden and Eowyn still looked at her like she was something from a bad nightmare. Gimli seemed unphased. Legolas looked like he was awe struck. And Aragorn –

Well he just looked understanding, though why that was she couldn’t fathom.

But she intended to find out.

~*~Part Five~*~

She stood alone, on the front portion of the castle, watching over the darkened city. Emptiness and pain filled her heart. She had told them about herself, and now they seemed distant.

That was her curse, it seemed.

Only Gandalf was the same, though he had known who she was before she was even born into this world. He had told her about Sauron and this ring that was to be destroyed; about the hobbits that were in possession of the ring and the story of the group up to the point he had fallen into the fiery pits of Moria. She would have to ask one of the others to fill her in on the rest, he had murmured, and there had been sadness in his voice. He, too, saw what she did. The fact that they had drawn away from her like she was a plague to be avoided at all costs.

So now she sat alone, outside. The others were in their rooms, no doubt asleep. In the morning they would all be leaving for a place called Helm’s Deep. It was folly, in her mind, to travel to a place where the enemy would just do nothing but follow. But she was just a woman, and her opinion on the matter did not count for much to the stubborn old king. Not even Aragorn’s opinion mattered, it seemed.

Aragorn.

Boy had he pulled the wool over her eyes! Simple woodland ranger her ass! He was a king! The future king of Gondor, if what Gandalf told her was to be believed, and why wouldn’t it be? A king. She sighed. A king that didn’t want anything to do with her now that he knew what and who she was.

Wasn’t it just her luck? That all of the handsome men she ran across in her life soon ran from her? Maybe her Other Self had been in the right of things, falling for a girl. Girls were all nice and soft and squishy. Not hard and rough like men.

‘But you like them hard and rough,’ she twitted herself. ‘So no girlies for you, Willow.’

She tilted her head up to the heavens, wishing that she had not been sent to this place to make right the wrongs that, technically, she never committed. Why couldn’t her Other Self have been forced to do this mission, this task? Why was it that she had to be the one to bear the scorn and contempt, the fear and hostility, of the people of this world?

"Lady Willow?"

Willow’s eyes snapped open and she lowered her gaze slowly down from the skies above to the man that was standing at her side. One of the very men that had forced happiness on his face at dinner only to abandon her in silence once the meal was finished.

"Yes, your Highness?" She raised an eyebrow at him, adding sarcasm to her words.

Aragorn smiled tightly, sadly. "I see that someone has been telling tales."

She shrugged. "Gandalf felt that I should know a bit about those that I ride with."

"Ah."

He stood next to her, unspeaking; and for those quiet moments Willow could imagine that this was a companionable silence between them, the type that friends would share. That was silly, of course. She had no friends, and he did not desire to speak with her or else he would be doing just that instead of standing there, gazing off into the distance.

"You really are She?"

The red head sighed and favored him with another bite of sarcasm. "Are you truly Isildur’s heir?"

He laughed, but it was not a happy sound. "That’s what I’ve been told."

She snorted. "No one needs to tell you who you are. I’m sure you can feel it – in your heart, your soul. Just as I know who I am, so do you. That’s just the way things work. We’re born knowing who we should be, who we could be – and who we should not be."

"Wise words."

Again the silence spread between them, and she allowed herself to fall into thinking that it felt good, comfortable. Perhaps it was only because when he was quiet he could not say things to hurt her, could not ask the difficult questions. And harsh words were hard to say when ones lips were sealed.

"Do you think that you will be able to do good in this turn of your life?"

There it was – the hard question she had asked herself time and again.

"It’s hard to say," she admitted at last. "The circumstances that drove Her to grief are likely to never happen to me. Nor have I touched the Darkness like She did. So, there is that chance – that hope – that I will be able to fair well where she did not. It is that hope that I cling to. If you listen to Gandalf you’ll hear him say that I am not Her, only that I have the potential to end up like Her. And so I will tread the lines of righteousness and try not to stray to the side my soul seems destined for – and that will be enough, I think. I hope."

He sighed, and she didn’t understand why, though it seemed that her Goddess was smiling upon her because with his next words he explained.

"Ilsildur had a chance to destroy the Ring of Power all those long years ago. And he did not. He chose instead to cast the world into an era of darkness, to prove once and for all that greed ruled the hearts of Man. Because of him the Ring of Power was lost, to fall into the hands of first Gollum and now Frodo, with Sauron searching for it. . ."

"And you are afraid that you will turn out like him," she murmured, complete understanding dawning in her eyes.

"Yes." He smiled sadly. "But your hope in turn gives me hope as well – for the crimes that She committed are so much more than Ilsildur."

Willow laughed bitterly. "Way to remind me. Just when I thought we were getting along well. I’ll take my leave of you now. Have a nice night."

She turned, sweeping the long hem of her dress out of the way of her slippered feet.

"Wait!"

The red head paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

"I did not meant that to sound insulting or disheartening to you in any way," Aragorn protested, coming to stand next to her again. "I was merely stating that you give me hope. If you can make a difference, break from the path of your blood, then so can I."

"I’m glad you can find hope in my horrors, then," she muttered, looking anywhere but his face for fear he would see the tears that were lurking in her eyes. She had wanted so much to be a friend to this man, to all of them – but they had turned on her because of who she was. And now he was out here, interrupting her solitude in favor of reminding her what a bad person She was and telling her he got hope from it. Very nice of him, she was sure.

"Why do you seem so sad, Willow?"

"Stupid men," she muttered under her breath before turning her eyes to him, praying the tears would wait until she could get back to her room. "I tell you guys my story and then you act all happy-like. . . but as soon as dinner is done and you can run away – you do. Legolas and Gimli didn’t even say goodnight to me. They just ran. . . I don’t blame you guys, really, I don’t. But, on the other hand, don’t expect me to be happy about it, either."

Aragorn seemed puzzled, those dark eyes of his growing darker as his thoughts turned inwards.

"I cannot speak for Gimli or Legolas," he began, haltingly, "Though I do not believe that Legolas would do anything to intentionally cause you pain. That is not within his nature. However – think on this, my Lady. You have us much to digest in that tale. I, myself, had to take a step back to think on what you said and how it affected our mission. The others, I am sure, are doing the same. Please do not dismiss us so casually as your friends."

"I don’t deserve friends," she sighed.

"It is not for you to decide what you deserve in the matters of friendship."

And with that he raised her hand to his lips for a gentle, brushing kiss; and then he left.

Leaving her once again to thoughts that left her just as confused as they had before, though without so much sadness this time.

~*~Part Six~*~

They woke with the dawn, packing anything that could be readily carried and moving with it across the plains and valleys, the rolling hills and dreadful emptiness of a land that was virtually uninhabited. Gandalf left long before she crawled from her not-so-comfortable bed; off to seek out someone named Eomer from what she picked up from her compatriots. This guy had an entire army with him – and that would be a good thing when the battle came to pass.

If Gandalf could find him and if they could hold off this Saruman guy’s army in the meantime.

Willow walked alongside Aragorn now, finding the man much easier to deal with in the morning than he had been the night before. Perhaps she had been tired, emotional, or maybe he really had been forced to do some serious thinking the night before. But it seemed whatever issues there had been to deal with had been tackled by all involved before she woke, and things were much more pleasant for the woman who had felt as though she would be on the outside looking in for the rest of her journey with this rag tag group of adventurers. Even Legolas and Gimli were back to being their usual selves.

And that was a pleasant thing, as far as she was concerned.

For instance, right now Gimli was telling Eowyn about how Dwarven women were often mistaken for Dwarven men. The red head choked back a laugh, glancing up to see that Aragorn’s eyes were sparkling with mirth.

"It’s the beards," he murmured quietly, tossing her a wink.

She laughed out loud then, feeling happy for the first time since ‘waking’ to this world. She knew her mission, for the most part, knew what she had to do to accomplish it – and the few people she had hoped to call her friends were still speaking to her after finding out who she was.

Yes, the world was good for the moment.

She should have remembered one of Sunnydale’s cardinal rules of life, though. When the going gets good – the evil comes marching in to take it all away. If she had remembered that ahead of time she wouldn’t have felt such a large shock when the cry went out that they were under attack, Legolas already with bow drawn, firing off arrows into these large, evil looking things.

She took a step forward, making as if to follow with the men, the fighters, only to find herself held back by Aragorn’s strong arm. Her green eyes met his, ready to argue for her right to be in this fight. But she saw something unexpected – pleading. From a man so proud as Aragorn was she saw this emotion that was so akin to begging – and it unnerved her.

"Go with Eowyn. Lead the people to safety while we hold these creatures back. Protect them?"

It was those words, ‘protect them’, that did her in. Willow nodded once, racing off after the group that Eowyn was leading away from the battle and towards another road that would then lead them to Helms Deep. She cast one last glance over her shoulder, watching as her ‘friends’ fought side by side, protecting each other and their allies, before turning her face forward and to the task that had been set to her.

Protecting these people.

~*~

They made it to Helms Deep without any altercation. It seemed that whatever advance scouting parties there may have been were not altogether too intelligent, for they were not scouting the main road directly to the fortress.

She was impressed, to say the least, by the sprawling creation of stone and wood. This was what she had pictured once upon a time ago, when she was much younger, in a time far different from now; when she had read books about castles and the medieval days gone by. This is what she had always imagined in her head the buildings would look like.

And now she was in one.

"They adapt quickly," she noted quietly to Eowyn, watching as the men, women and children that had followed them began to rapidly turn the keep into their temporary home. Life still went on, it seemed, even in the midst of crisis.

"They are Rohan," the blonde haired woman shrugged. "We have had hard times before. And will have them again. They have learned to adapt to each situation. It is necessary in our lives."

Willow gave her a tired smile, nodding once to show that she understood. She could also feel the bitterness behind the woman’s words. The unasked questions of – ‘would our lives have been better if you had not destroyed the other world?’ – ‘would we have existed there? Found places in that world of ease?’

They were questions Willow could not answer. In the great cycle of death and rebirth, who was to say that these souls around her had not existed so many thousands of years before? Anyone of them could be someone she had once known, a soul that had belonged to a friend so long before.

She knew, however, that those questions would never be answered. And she really had no desire to know if Xander, or even Buffy’s, soul was lurking in a body nearby.

With a heart made only the heavier by thoughts of her past and a world that no longer existed, Willow began to help the refugees unpack their things, setting up camp in a fortress that she could only hope would protect them from whatever army Saruman had created.

Afternoon came quickly, and it was as she sat down to nibble on a bit of hard bread that Willow heard the trumpets sounding. The rest of their group had arrived.

She stood, eyes scanning the battle-weary men that trudged through the gates, some leading horses, others limping long. There were few than they had left with, of that she was certain, though the exact figures were something she would have to wait upon.

And then two faces that she recognized, behind the thin layer of dirt that covered them.

"Gimli! Legolas!"

The two turned as one, identical expressions of sadness on their faces. She felt her heart drop out of her chest, clattering painfully to her feet where it thudded dully. Aragorn? Where was he?

"He fell. . . in battle. . ." Gimli murmured, laying a hand on her arm; his softly spoken words an answer to a question she had not the courage to say aloud. She turned to Legolas, shaking her head in disbelief, tears already beginning in her eyes because she knew her shocked negation was pointless.

But the look in the elf’s eyes was not to be denied – there was not getting around what Gimli had said. It was the truth.

Aragorn, son of Arathon, was dead.

~*~Part Seven~*~

Willow felt as if her world had suddenly slipped out from beneath her feet. She stood there, staring at the pendant Legolas held in his hand, her eyes already filling with tears. How had this man that she had only just met come to find such a place in her heart? She reached with trembling fingers to the pendant, plucking it from the Elf’s grasp. He made no move to stop her, merely turning away once it was within her fingers.

"He’s. . . dead?"

This from Eowyn, who had come up behind her sometime during the entire, near-silent, exchange.

"Yes."

The red head turned, speaking not another word to the other woman. She pushed her way past women and children, past warriors fresh in from the ride from Edoras. She made her way to an empty corner of the keep and collapsed, her back sliding down the rough stone of the wall. So early into her time with this odd little group and already one of their number was gone.

It filled her with sadness, the emotion dancing sluggishly through her heart, weaving its heavy tendrils into her soul. She bit her lip to keep from crying aloud, letting the tears flow unfettered down her cheeks. Gandalf would not be happy that they had lost the future king of Gondor; and she was not happy to have lost a kindred spirit in her mission.

‘Why Goddess? If this is only a small sampling of what my Other Self felt when her lover died, I can’t help but think that she was in some ways justified. It hurts. . .’

Even as she thought it, however, Willow knew that what she felt was wrong. Yes, it hurt to loose Aragorn to the world of death and darkness, but that no more made what her Other Self did alright than any murderer convincing themselves that they had done the ‘right thing’.

She sobbed silently, clutching his pendant in her hand until it pierced through the flesh, the delicate silver workings obviously not so very delicate. They were pointy and hard, and drew blood.

Not even that pain was enough to snap her from her depressed stupor, and she contented herself with her tears as the citizens of Helms Deep made ready for the battle that was looming on the horizon of time, waiting to swoop down on them in their moment of weakness.

~*~*~

"You must get up."

"I am already up. . ."

"Then you need must wake up further, dearest one. The war will continue with or without you. . ."

Aragorn sighed and opened his eyes to look upon the Elven beauty standing before him. She was dressed in a light blue slip of a gown, the sleeves falling in graceful bells from her arms and though her face was serene it held a hint of something that he was all too familiar with – her persistence. Not even in his dreams could he find a moment’s peace. The vision of Arwen before him was like a ray of sunshine over the clouds of his heart. He was not dead, despite having fallen over the cliff. And here was his angel, as always.

"Our time together is at an end. . . You know this."

He nodded, turning his eyes from her. How cruel reality was, to impose its way into the sweetest dream he had been blessed with in so long.

"I cannot help it if I wish nothing more than to be with you, Arwen."

"Do you truly?" The corner of her mouth twitched upwards, a soft smile gracing her lips. There was laughter, and love, in her eyes. "I have heard rumor of a red haired beauty that rides with you now. Does she evoke nothing from your heart?"

"Arwen. . ." The apology was on his lips before he could even rationalize why it was necessary. She laid a finger over those lips, silencing the would-be words.

"I want you to be happy. Tread carefully. . . but do not let your heart grow cold. Now – you must wake."

Her lips brushed against his forehead, a chaste kiss from one he had known so intimately in times past. It stirred little in him now, other than a vague longing that he knew could never be again fulfilled.

And so he woke.

A horse had found him, it appeared. The brown beast was nuzzling at his forehead, in the exact spot that Arwen had just kissed. He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath, before wearily pulling himself to a sitting position. Using the saddle to lever himself up, Aragorn hefted himself into place, riding as fast as he could towards Helms Deep.

An hour passed, during which time he slowly regained some of the strength that had been knocked from him when he fell off of the cliff. With ears he was able to pick up the sounds of a forced march before he ever laid sight on Them.

Uruk-hai.

The scum of Middle Earth, second only to Sauron and Sarumon themselves.

Thousands. Easily ten thousand strong and on a steady course towards Helms Deep. What chance could Theoden possibly have against such a horde? Seeking aide from the outside was their only recourse now.

He had to make it in time to warn them, in time to get word to their neighbors for the aide that they would need.

~*~*~

Arwen drifted from the dream-world, tears still fresh on her cheeks. Her father was standing in the doorway. It was his presence that had woken her. She closed her eyes, her sorrow so tangible. At least she had been able to say goodbye to him one last time, even if not in person and not in a manner he may never realize was a true visitation and not just a dream.

"It is time."

Yes, it was.

~*~Part Eight~*~

When the moment came there was little commotion; no fanfare to announce that
the miraculous had happened. In fact, she would not have known it at all if
it were not for the fact that she overheard one of the women talking about
it with another woman, as they rinsed out some laundry by the wall.

"He just came through the gates, I tell you. Worn ragged and tired-looking.
But he’s alive and that’s got his elf-friend in a right state of joy. And
that odd dwarf, too."

Willow’s head snapped up from where she had laid it on her forearms, her
eyes widening. There was only one person that they could be talking about.
Only one was presumed dead that would cause joy in Legolas.

Aragorn.

She stumbled to her feet, running haphazardly through the crush of people
towards the front gate.

And there he was.

She felt her heart catch in her throat, a breath of air lodging painfully
behind it. He did look worn thin, ragged and dirty. Eowyn was standing
there, smiling shyly at him; and that was all the red head needed to break
herself free from her shocked stupor. She ran the last few feet, wrapping
her arms around his waist in a hug of welcome relief.

"You’re alive!"

He grinned down at her, his hand straying up, thumb rubbing lightly over a
tear-streaked cheek.

"For the moment, anyway. Sarumon’s army is easily ten thousand strong and
they are moving quickly."

Willow felt her blood run cold. Ten thousand? How in the name of all that
was holy were they supposed to stand a chance against ten thousand men and
monsters? She shivered, wrapping her arms around her self, the joy at
Aragorn’s arrival fading quickly beneath the desolate news he brought.

She moved off to one side, not caring to watch as the men went within the
hall to speak with the king. On her knees she fell beside the far wall, her
eyes searching the blue sky above, laden with clouds the color of fresh
snow. By this time tonight they could all be dead, their bodies lying strewn
throughout the keep and surrounding land. Was this what she had been sent
here for? To save them from this madman that would slaughter an entire
country merely at his own whim?

"Hail mother, Goddess of the Earth and Sky, protectress of the heavens and
the peoples of the earth. I seek guidance in this hour of darkness. Hearken
to me in my moment of need," she began her entreaty as she clasped her hands
before her in supplication, her eyes closing.

"Am I to save these people? Or am I to live to see another day while women
and children, men and elderly, perish beneath this creature’s wrath? Gandalf
said I came to them to right the wrong that had been inflicted by Sauron. Is
this the wrong I’m here to stop? If not, I do not know what else could be.
Are there more horrors lurking in the background of my life, waiting to
pounce upon me?"

"These people do not deserve to die. They do not deserve the merciless evil
of Sarumon and his hoard. Too long did their king lie under the spell of the
wizard, and now they may all perish for his weakness."

She paused, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Give me a sign, All-Mother.
Let me know only that I am to lend my hand in saving these people and I will
do so."

But she knew even as she sat there, waiting for a response, that she would
give of herself completely to save them if that’s what it took. She couldn’t
sit back idly as people died, many of them women and children who had not
the ability nor strength to defend themselves. If it was within her to save
even a single soul, then she would do so merrily.

The answer she was looking for came not in words, nor in images; but in a
feeling that spread throughout her entire body, suffusing her limbs and
extremities. She smiled, the warmth completing her, making her whole. It
bolstered her courage, silenced her doubts, and gave strength to her
convictions.

The people of Helm’s Deep, of the very country of Rohan, would not fall to
Sarumon while she still stood.

"So mote it be," she whispered, opening her eyes to the sky, a radiant smile
on her face. Like one that knows she may likely die, the witch stood slowly,
her entire body sure and sound; filled with the joy of surety. Power was
singing in her veins, though still a far cry from that power that her Other
Self had commanded so many thousands of years before.

She made her way into the hall, taking a silent spot next to Legolas.
Theoden would not be sending for help, it seemed. He would make his stand
here, at Helm’s Deep, with only the strength of his men and boys. Women and
girl-children would be sequestered in some sort of underground cavern.
Willow made no move to argue with the king, there was no point. He was as
strong and stubborn in his ways as any man could ever be, sure that women
could not even put up a hand to stop a blow from striking them if the need
arose.

But the children. . . young boys were going to be sent out to fight
alongside grown men.

She bit back a bitter sigh. This was not her decision to make. She would not
be able to sway his mind if even Aragorn could not.

So she stayed silent, plotting and scheming, assessing her inner stores of
power and the spells she had memorized by heart. Great fiery bouts of
destruction, icey lances of pain and suffering. Electricity and destruction.
Explosions and bolts of pure force. These were spells that came from her
Other Self’s memories – spells of darkness. But they were her only recourse
and she would not loose herself to their lure.

She could do this.

She had to.

The people of Rohan would not fall if she had anything to say about it.

~*~Part Nine~*~

She had chosen her outfit well for what was to come. Green leather breeches in a soft suede, with a loose-fitting cotton shirt in tan. She had a vest on over top of it, also in a leather; a small nod to the need to protect herself from any stray arrows or swings that may come down towards her chest.

The entire keep was abuzz with excitement and she was well aware that Aragorn’s nerves were on edge. She had only spent a few moments with him since he had ‘returned from the dead’, though she had heard that he had snapped at Legolas earlier. It was a sad state of affairs when friends began to go at the throats of friends. It was all smoothed over, of course, they were too close for anything else – but that didn’t mean that it was something to forget. She could only hope that it didn’t hinder them when the battle time came.

The battle weighed heavily in her mind, a mind already wrought with the pains and stress of her mission in this world. She would do her damnedest to save these people, from the women hiding in the caverns below, to the men and boys that were risking their lives alongside her.

None of them deserved to die tonight.

She shifted from foot to foot, keen eyes scanning the darkness. There were riders out and about, scouting for the Uruk-hai that were marching steadily to Helms Deep. The last report had been made an hour before, at which time the horde was still a few hours’ walk from the keep.

Which meant that any time now they would start fighting. And the fight would last until either the keep was overrun or the Uruk-hai were decimated.

Somehow she couldn’t imagine that it would be the latter instead of the former.

The sound of a horn pierced the night sky and she knew by the excited looks on the faces of those assembled a little below her, on another level of the keep, that this was not the Uruk-hai come at last. This was something different. The gates swung open and in marched what she could only assume were reinforcements. She watched them dispassionately, refusing to get her hopes up as line after line of well-trained fighters marched into the keep. They were Elves and they were masters at fighting, she could tell by the way they moved.

But would they be enough to turn the tide in favor of the people of Rohan?

She made her way slowly down to the bottom level of the keep, coming to stand a few feet from Aragorn, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. He knew the commander of this legion, as was evidenced by the grateful hug he was even then bestowing upon the handsome long-haired Elven male. She hid a sigh of sadness, finding it within herself to wish that she were the one to be receiving such a greeting.

Legolas was speaking to the Elven commander now, gesturing towards her in that delicately romantic language his people spoke in. She steeled her face, raising her eyebrows in question the next time his eyes met hers. Talking about someone when they couldn’t understand you was nothing short of rude – and she would have thought the Elf above such trifling actions.

"Forgive me, Lady Willow," Legolas murmured an apology, stepping close to kiss her hand in greeting. "I was merely explaining to Haldir who exactly you are."

"Ah," she blushed averting her eyes from the Elven commander’s. "And yet you do not run screaming from my presence, sir Elf."

"I assume you are here to fight on the side of the Light, lovely one. And if that is so, I cannot fault you for whatever actions may have happened thousands upon thousands of years ago."

She felt her insides turn to jelly when he lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a lingering kiss across her knuckles. When Legolas did the same thing it felt like a greeting, when Haldir did it – it felt like an invitation. Images of a handsome blonde elf in her bed ran rampant through her mind for one split second before they were interrupted as Aragorn draped an arm around her waist.

"The Lady Willow is here to save us all," he laughed, though Willow could hear an edge to it. She couldn’t believe what that edge portrayed, though – jealousy. It made her smirk on the inside, though her face remained calm and cool on the outside. Aragorn, future king of Gondor, was jealous of the attention paid to her by this newcomer of an Elf?

It was laughable, really.

Okay, maybe not so much ‘laughable’ as ‘endearing’.

Yeah, that was it.

Endearing.

She wanted him to be jealous! At what point had she decided to make a play for him? Was it when she thought he was dead and gone? Had some stray thought ran through her mind whispering ‘if he’s still alive, claim him for yourself’?

Nope, that idea hadn’t run through her head. Nor had the ones where she grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him violently, though they were doing just that at the moment, with his arm still around her waist, hand resting lightly on her hip. Was that a look of disappointment in Haldir’s eyes?

Did she really care?

She turned so that she was looking into Aragorn’s face and laughed playfully. "Save you all? You make me sound like some sort of hero."

"Aren’t you?" he teased lightly.

It was when he reached up to brush a piece of hair from her eyes that she knew she was a goner. He was so handsome in that utterly rugged way that drove even women of her previous time to fits of shivery delight. Was wondering how good he was in bed getting ahead of her herself?

"We should discuss our final plans. . ." Legolas was cutting in now, his entire tone laughing.

That was all it took to break the moment between Aragorn and Willow, and remind her that there was a very serious event about to occur. A life or death battle, for that matter.

Yes, it was definitely too soon to be thinking of getting Aragorn in bed.

Best to first live through the night.

And *then* she could seduce the pants off of him.

And shirt.

And shoes. . .

She turned her attention back to the men and their battle plans, silently making her own, readying her inner reserves. The time of battle was drawing nigh.

And she had more reason than ever to make sure they all lived through it.

~*~Part Ten~*~

Battle came upon them only a few hours before sunrise, and Willow could feel the earth beginning to wake in her very veins. She opened herself to her magic as the first of the Uruk-hai came into view, marching steadily towards Helm’s Deep. Their many thousands of feet were like thunder on the ground, a growing sound that was at once both frightening and inspiring. She would make sure Rohan did not fall, if she had to slay every single one of them with her very hands.

Well, that’s what she intended, anyway.

They were waiting now, for what she was unsure. Don’t fire the arrows, don’t launch any big rocks. Just sit and wait.

For what?

She sighed, shifting her weight to her left foot. Standing for hours on end was getting tiresome, and a part of her missed that long-ago time of laying in bed surrounded by feather-pillows – lazy Saturday mornings before she’d get up and watch cartoons as a child.

And then it happened.

The breaking point.

A careless Elven archer loosed an arrow before the signal had been given. Maybe it was a slip of the fingers, maybe it was deliberate. She didn’t know which and didn’t truly care at that point. All she knew was one second there was peace and then the next –

All hell broke loose.

She heard the commands fly as arrows began to rain down on the Uruk-hai, like a torrential downpour of pure death. They fell by the dozens, caught in the throat and chest by the deadly accuracy of the Elves that had come to help defend the Keep.

Centering herself, the witch cast down past the stones of the keep, past the mountain it had been built upon, and into the very earth itself. She let the magic of the earth, a land she had created in one form or another, fill her veins, empowering her to do what was right. But even as it filled her to the brim she knew it wouldn’t be enough. She was only one witch and there were thousands and thousands of these monsters.

As she set forth the first wave of electrical force upon the hordes below, Willow found a moment to once again pray for guidance, for deliverance for herself and these people that were just as lost as she.

‘I will die with them,’ she vowed. ‘Even if it means damning this entire world. I will die with these people who do not deserve to die!’

~*~*~

The moment the battle began Aragorn was no longer able to keep an eye on the woman that he had so quickly fallen for, despite the love he still harbored for Arwen. He found himself caught up in a battle that was both fierce and disheartening all at the same time. No matter how many he cut down with his sword, his bow, they still kept coming. Though he had counted them in the light of day they now seemed to great for numbers to fully encompass and he wondered once more if they would all perish this night, before the sun rose in the east bringing with it the promise of Gandalf’s aid.

He sliced through another of the Uruk-hai, dark eyes piercing the night to look down on the masses below. There was a runner coming now, torch in hand, sprinting towards the Keep’s wall as fast as it could with legs meant more for endurance than actual speed.

"Shoot him!" Aragorn cried out, grabbing hold of Legolas and pointing him in the direction of the runner. "Shoot him now!"

The arrows were set free, flying unerringly at a target that just would not quit, would not die. The runner disappeared from sight, finding its target in the wall below.

And the ground itself shook as the wall tumbled, crumbling under the force of whatever magic the Uruk-hai had worked under Saruman’s command. He stumbled, grasping for support on anything that still remained steady.

The Uruk-hai were now inside the walls.

"Fall back!" Aragorn shouted, and the call was took up amongst the remaining Elves and human fighters. They fell back, crowding into the actual keep. Aragorn sliced and hacked at those that got within range, keen eyes scanning relentlessly. He would not enter the safety of the keep until all others had done so as well.

"Haldir!" He called out to his long-time friend. "Fall back!"

He turned after seeing the Elven general nod, only to turn back a moment later. Why, he did not know. All he could feel was a sense of coldness that crept within his very soul as he turned back to the spot he had just seen his friend stand on a moment before, so full of life and the fury of battle.

Haldir was falling now, pierced by the very enemy he had been so good at slaying. Aragorn cried out, a wordless sound of grief.

And then he, too, was running for the keep.

~*~*~

Willow fell back with the rest of the assembled forces, letting herself be herded into the Keep like a sheep being led to the slaughter. She could see the Uruk-hai coming still, a never-ending wave of pure murderous mayhem and destruction. They would stop at nothing to see her, and every creature within the keep, dead.

"Back away from the doors!" She ordered harshly, shoving a few of the more boisterous men out of the way when they refused to listen to her. With the power of her will she built up a shield around the door. It would not hold long, they were too many against her sole power.

Out of the corner of her eye Willow saw Aragorn and Gimli sneak out of a side door. They would take the fight to the front. She wished them a silent bid of good luck in their endeavors, her brow beginning to bead with sweat as the force on the door grew stronger.

It seemed like only moments later that Aragorn was back and Gimli was running for the huge horn on top of the keep. Her powers were fading fast. Only time would recoup them at this point – and that was something that they just didn’t have.

"We will ride out and face them!"

She winced. Okay, riding out was a good thing. Facing the Uruk-hai again? Not so much a good thing. Not when she was at her lowest, hardly able to keep herself standing. She shivered as a hand clamped down on her shoulder.

"Will you ride with us, Lady Willow?"

She turned, her will wavering so that the Uruk-hai’s bashing now began on the door again. They had only minutes left. She nodded, glancing into Aragorn’s eyes.

"I will ride with you. These people deserve that much."

His hand reached for hers, clasping it to his chest. There was so much left unspoken in his eyes – so much that she would have loved to hear. But there wasn’t the time and perhaps never would be.

So they settled for a kiss, something filled with the tender emotion that had sprung up between two kindred souls in a time filled with turmoil.

She broke from him, smiling and blushing simultaneously.

"Well, my Lord, you certainly know how to wish a girl good luck."

"Ride well, my Lady."

She nodded, biting back the bitterness that threatened to overtake her at such a crucial moment. Wasn’t that just like life – to throw something so beautiful in your face and then threaten to take it away in an instant. They were riding out to their deaths.

They rode out just as the sun broke over the eastern horizon, bathing the battlefield in the warm glow of morning. At Aragorn’s side Willow saw the look of joy that crossed his kingly features, when Gandalf’s words came back to them both. She felt her heart lift back to its proper place when the White Wizard rode up over the hill, the Rohirrim at his back. She was going to live to explore further smooching opportunities with the handsome would-be king at her side.

They were saved.

~*~Part Eleven~*~

Even with the battle over, there was still much to be done. The dead
needed to be buried. The wounded tended. Helm's Deep was little more
than ruins, and its people without a stronghold.

But, as Willow discovered, that was the least of their worries.

Sauron was still on the loose.

She sighed, pushing off of one of the last remaining outer ramparts,
gazing off into the distance; a sunset bloodied by the fading of the
sun. The battlefield below was littered with the bodies of both
Uruk-Hai, Rohhirim, citizens of Rohan, and the Elves that had come to
help them. Thankfully, none of her own group had perished. Most
especially of all, Aragorn.

What was it about him, she wondered absently, wandering off past crews
that were working tirelessly to patch the ailing wall. How they would
ever be able to accomplish such a thing, she was not sure. Not even her
own magics could pull up rock from the very earth to mend the wall in
the way that it needed. It had, before, been one unending sheet of pure
rock that reached down a few feet into the ground for added stability.
Now, a great portion of that barrier was missing.

Even the distraction of the wall could not keep her mind off of the man
that would one day rule this place called Gondor that she had heard of
only once or twice during her time in this world. It was a kingdom of
men, whereas Moria was a kingdom of the dwarves and Mirkwood was one of
the elves. Gondor was a place for the men of the realm to make their
mark on the world.

And Aragorn would be king, she knew that in her heart just as she knew
that helping the people of Rohan that day and the one before had not
been her assigned task in this world. No, whatever that task was, it had
something to do with Aragorn, of that she was sure.

But in what matter her task would pertain to him, she had no clue.

They had little in common, other than an unending passion to not end up
like their ancestors. True, she wasn't striving so much to not turn into
her ancestor as to not turn into a bad version of herself, but that was
beside the point as far as she was concerned. They were the same in that
respect, and that seemed to be enough. No matter how hard she tried to
reconcile herself to the fact that, in many ways, she did not deserve to
be happy - there it was, just waiting to pounce on her. She had already
indulge in the kisses. And next she was hoping for some gropage. Maybe
even some horizontal 'getting to know you' activities.

If that kind of thing was allowed between unmarried men and women in
this place and time. She wasn't too clear on it. Apparently her Other
Self had been heavy into the medieval fantasy kick when she made with
the making of this reality. And that meant that women, unfortunately,
often didn't play as large of a role as they should have. It also meant
that men were still chivalrous.

And damn if she didn't want less chivalry and more kissing. The kisses
were good. Really. Even if they had been brief and not at all filling,
they were the best she could remember personally having. Her Other Self
may have had a wide and varied life, but not her. Nope, she was walking
the one boyfriend line and ready to open herself up to new and wonderful
things in the form of Aragorn, son of someone named Arathorn - which he
gladly tells anyone and everyone that he meets.

The gates were open, villagers working to fix the heavy pieces of wood;
just in case another battle broke out in the short term. In the long
term, however, they would need to be replaced entirely. She wandered
towards the back of the keep, where the stone wall disappeared into the
mountain itself; stopping with hands clasped in front of her to gaze
sorrowfully at the scene that greeted her.

Legolas, cleaned from the battle, stood over a pile of freshly turned
earth. His hands were at his sides, hanging limp; and his eyes were
locked on the ground at his feet. He was whispering something, in
Elvish. If she tried hard enough, pulled through those memories she had
been granted, she knew there was a chance she might be able to recognize
a little of it.

But that was far from necessary. She knew the general idea of what he
was saying; and it brought tears to her eyes. The grave was for his
friend, the handsome blonde elf that could have been the brother of the
one she now watched. Haldir was his name, and he had been nothing but
chivalrous when she met him. He had died in battle, she had seen it.
Even now she could remember the look of blank shock on his face as he
slowly fell to the ground, dead from a wound to the back of the head.
Blood would have stained his hair red long before they had a chance to
commit his body to the ground, and those beautiful eyes would have been
dead and unseeing when Legolas gathered him for this simple burial.

"He was a brave warrior." She whispered quietly, into the space that
Legolas' voice had filled only moments before. He jerked but didn't
turn. Neither denying her presence nor inviting her to remain. She
shifted, crossing her arms over the shirt that had replaced the fighting
once the battle was done.

Moments passed, during which she had time to think of life and love. Her
Other Self had committed Her atrocities because of the pain of losing a
loved one. But others lived. Others made it through the pain of such a
loss. She couldn't understand how she could ever turn to the Dark
because of that, not even now, watching people die left and right.
Watching their grief and sorrows, she had to wonder how they did it;
though she never wondered why they carried on. Life went on. No matter
how painful it was to loose something or someone that you care for. Life
still pressed on, ahead and forward. No matter the pain.

She knew that.

Her Other Self had not.

"Is there life after this?" Legolas' voice cut through the silence, like
the chill blade of a finely honed knife.

Willow smiled sadly, moving up to join him next to the mound of earth.
Beneath them lay the body of an elven warrior, cut down in the prime of
a life that would never have ended otherwise. She felt a sadness for his
passing, a loss even though he had not been near or dear to her heart.
It was sad that he had paid with his life so that others could live -
but there it was again, the point of the fighting was to make it so that
others could continue to live.

"There is," she nodded slowly, catching his eyes after a moment. "I am
living proof of that, am I not?"

His return smile was brief, and tinged with a sorrow that was all too
visible, even to her - someone that did not know him well.

"And is it bright there? Beautiful? Filled with forests that he will
enjoy? Quarry to hunt and boughs to climb?"

Willow laid a hand on his arm, her face open and full of life. "Even
before, when I wasn't filled to the brim with all of this weird
knowledge that just seems to overflow, I thought that the havens were
filled with many different places. Places where those that loved the
water could swim and sail. Where those that wanted to climb could ascend
the highest peaks. And, yes, forests, too."

"Is that the way it is? Should I mourn his loss or wish him happiness in
the afterlife?"

"Both." She said simply. "Mourn his passing and extend to him the honor
he deserves for his selfless sacrifice - but do not allow it to
overwhelm you. You are filled with the joys of life, despite all you
have seen and done. Be happy for him, that he has made his way back to
the arms of The One. You will see him one day, though it may be many
hundreds or thousands of years from now. One day you will be rejoined
again."

She shivered, the words of comfort pouring from her lips, though they
felt weird to say. Never before had she sought to lend comfort through
the oral word, and never before had the words come so smoothly, even if
only in her mind. It was an aftereffect of all of that supposed wisdom
she carried, she supposed. It was all bottled up inside of her, making
its presence known when it wanted; and this was just one of those times.
It was an odd feeling to know things instinctively, without rhyme or
reason to support the knowledge that she drew on without a second
thought at times.

"One day," Legolas nodded. He turned, grabbing up her hand and raising
it to his lips. "Thank you, my Lady. Your words offer more comfort than
you can know."

He left her there, standing by the grave of the warrior she had only had
a chance to know so briefly; the kiss already dry on her hand.

"May your soul find its peace, Haldir," she whispered, kneeling next to
the grave. With the smallest tendril of magic she caused the grass to
grow up over it, turned earth becoming green and lush. Another push of
power and a rose bush grew up, the petals blooming in alternating petals
of white and red - a marker for the fallen that lay there, as well as
scattered over the battlefield and keep.

Rising, she looked back towards Helm's Deep, her eyes scanning over the
ramparts. From a distance her eyes met Aragorn's and she felt that
shiver come through her again. What was it about him. . .?

And what did it matter? Her part in this was mapped out by the powers
above. She could choose to play along or damn herself for all of
eternity, in this life and the next. The connection she felt to the
future king had to mean something.

She just had to figure it out.

~*~Part Twelve~*~

"Willow. . . ."

The red head tossed in the hard bed, little more than a cot on the floor of
the Keep.

"Willow. . ."

She rolled again, seeking the elusive sleep that refused to come to her. The
morning would be coming soon enough, and with it the need to be bright eyed
and bushy tailed. This was something that wasn’t going to happen if she
couldn’t sleep.

Except.

"Willow. . . "

Her eyes snapped open as she sat up straight in the bed, her blanket falling
away. She scanned the darkness, wondering what had happened to the Keep.

She was asleep.

And dreaming.

"You’re awake at last."

Willow twisted, eyes widening at who stood behind her. She fumbled to her
feet, the blanket falling away like a wisp of fog. She looked her up and
down, her recognition coming only from descriptions she had been given from
others.

"Arwen?"

The dark haired elven Lady smiled, nodding her head just slightly in
acknowledgement.

"And you are She."

"Depends on which ‘She’ you mean," Willow replied, guarded.

"She who both Unmade and Made. She who Created. The Destroyer. The Giver.
The Architect. All races have a name for you. All histories have the myth,
even if the reality has fallen away with time. You are She."

"Yeah," Willow smiled sadly. "I’m that ‘She’."

Arwen smiled, gesturing to the lake near where they stood. "Walk with me?"

The red head followed, catching up to the beautiful woman in only a few
strides. They walked for a long while, in silence; the dream world shaping
itself as they went along. She did not recognize the land or the setting,
but neither mattered.

"I am leaving this place with my people."

Though she already knew that, from things she had heard from not only
Legolas and Gimli, but also Aragorn himself, Willow found herself startled
to hear the regal looking elf say it. It was as if her leaving were a dirty
little secret that no one wanted to speak about, lest it tear Aragorn apart.
And yet, here Arwen was, walking with her in a Dream, and speaking the words
which cut so deeply to that future king’s heart.

"I have heard that." She nodded slowly.

Arwen stopped, looking down at her hands. "It is hard, as I am sure you
realize, to leave behind that which you love."

Though she could imagine how that would feel, Willow found herself shaking
her head. "I’m afraid I can hardly empathize with that situation. It is
complicated, trust me in that, but I did not get to this point by merely
leaving everything behind."

And, in truth, she held few memories that pertained to the dark period of
‘her’ life before the unmaking of the world. She knew the pain of what she
had done, held it tight to her heart; but the full ramifications of that
horror were left away from her psyche. She knew that there was more to it
than what she felt, but did not question the motives of the deities that had
given her this job. She was not to know that pain yet, perhaps not ever; for
fear that it may drive her just as insane as grief alone had driven her
other self.

Arwen tilted her head to one side, as if contemplating what Willow had said;
and then she nodded. "No, I do not suppose that you did. I did not come to
you to dwell on the past, or pain, however. I came because of Aragorn. You
care for him."

Willow frowned and shook her head, prepared to deny what her heart already
told her was the simple truth. She did care for him. And as more than a
friend. It was like a bond that she could neither escape or act upon,
holding her in limbo for what seemed to be an indefinite period of time.

"You do," Arwen continued, before Willow could utter her negation. "The
heart does not lie. Not even for you."

The red head blushed and turned away, to stare at the crystal lake that they
had been walking alongside. It was beautiful. A thing from dreams and
visions. Was it someplace in this world – a world she had created? Had her
other self pulled this imagery from a picture or story she had once read?
Something that, even now, Willow could not remember? It was lovely,
nonetheless. Perhaps, if she lived through everything, she would find this
place again – dangle her feet in its quiet purity and sleep beside its
shore.

"Please, do not be embarrassed. There are some things that are inevitable,
even though it pains me to admit that they are true, now that the hour is
upon us. I knew almost from the moment I met Aragorn that he was not the one
that I would hold next to me for all of time. And yet, I held on. It was, in
the end foolish; for it has caused he and I nothing but heartache."

Willow nodded, licking her lips. She knew this, just as Arwen did. Their
love, from everything she had heard in whispers and rumors, had been doomed
from the start. The Elves would eventually, as they are at that very moment,
return to the Undying Land – and Aragorn could not go there with them. They
were to be separated by time and space, with no hope of a reunion.

"I remember a quote from where I come from. . .it went – ‘’Tis better to
have loved and lost, than to have never loved before’." She sighed. "I think
that maybe that’s true. Some people will never know love. They’ll spend
their entire lives toiling away, never knowing the pure pain and joy of that
emotion."

"And would they not be better off, then?" Arwen whispered, crystalline tears
falling from her eyes. "To never know the heartbreak that love can bring?
They do not know what they miss."

Willow shrugged. "I think I’d rather know love for one minute, and be able
to look back on it for the rest of my life, than to never understand that
kind of beauty."

She turned back to the water, closing her own eyes as distant pains invaded
the otherwise idyllic dream. She had known love in Oz. And her other self
had known love in Tara. And neither relationship had been without its pain –
one of those loves ending up destroying everything.

Yet, she couldn’t say that she would give either up, because love
felt –that- good. Even knowing what it brought, she wouldn’t undo the joy
she had felt being with both of them.

"Perhaps you are right," Arwen murmured. "And perhaps not. Who am I to say?"

Willow smiled softly. "No one can tell you what to think. Not me. Not your
family. Not even your love." She turned back to the other woman. "Tell me
why you’re here, in my dream?"

"To tell you that it is alright. To love him."

The witch felt the air escape her lungs, rushing outwards in a sharp sigh.
"If only your permission was all I needed. He does not see me that way."

"But he could. He will. In the coming days, he will need you."

Willow shook her head. "I’m not going to be your replacement. As much as I
may care for him – I could never be with him knowing that he only wanted
you."

Arwen reached out, grabbing hold of one of Willow’s hands. And when their
eyes met, it was with mutual tears, for wholly different reasons. "But you
are not my replacement, so much as that I was holding the place for you."

The red head felt something press into her hand and then Arwen released her.
She peered down at the object, a tiny smile creeping across her lips. It was
a pendant. A gift, she realized. "Arwen, I can’t take this."

"It is a gift given freely." The Elven woman smiled sadly. "I will see you
again before my time here has ended. We will come face to face. Remember
what we spoke of."

Willow opened her mouth, tearing her eyes from the pendant to glance up and
respond that she was wrong. That she had to be wrong. Aragorn and Arwen were
what love was, to hear Legolas speak. But Arwen was gone and the dream was
already fading. Reality was intruding.

She woke, gasping for air as if she’d been underwater, holding her breath.
She felt something bite into her palm and realized that she was clenching
her hands into fists.

Slowly opening her palm to see what was inside, the witch felt her heart
skip a beat. The pendant had come with her, out of the dream.

A gift freely given – but was Aragorn’s heart likewise so easy to give away?