The Lady of the Rings

Rating: R for violence

Author: eena_angel 2001

Summary: crossover between Buffy and Lord of the Rings movie

Disclaimer: I don’t own any rights to any of the characters.

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

(Excerpt from the book of the Lost Angel)

The Shadows will menace until the arrival of the Lady Firelight

A warrior sorceress too brilliant to defy,

Brought to set all things right,

Even in the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie,

A timeless beauty too strong to fight.

One Lady to aid them, One Lady to guide them,

One Lady to save them and from the darkness free them

To bear to Middle Earth a lasting peace and light.

Chapter One

Willow tossed and turned, wrenching the bed sheets into an intricate

puzzle around her. Sweat beads formed on her forehead. To Dawn it seemed

like the redhead was in some form of inner combat with herself. Not that it

was something new; Willow had been in an inner conflict since "it" happened.

Dawn sighed and turned towards the staircase. That night had

shattered her faith in Willow. Not in the forever, "I’ll never trust you

again" kind of way. But in the "Willow is not perfect, even she will make

mistakes" kind of way. It was strange to think about, not to mention scary.

After Buffy died, Willow had been her rock. She had taken care of

everything, taken care of everyone- even Spike. Willow thought no one knew

that she visited the vampire in his crypt every night during the summer.

Dawn knew, she knew Willow was a caring person who couldn’t stand by while

another silently despaired. Willow was never selfish, until the whole thing

with Rack.

Dawn shuddered. The look on Willow’s face that night had scared her

down to her core. And it made her angry. Not angry at Willow, not angry at

Buffy, but angry with herself. How could she have not noticed? Willow was

drowning in her magic and Dawn had been clueless. After all the time Willow

spent taking care of her, looking out for her, being her family when there

was no one else left, Dawn thought she should have noticed. She should have

taken care of Willow, but she didn’t and Willow fell.

Dawn shook her head. Too many sad thoughts, she needed happy ones

now. Dawn may have failed to help Willow before, but that ended now. She

would care for Willow like Willow had done for her. And she would start

with breakfast.

**

Willow gasped and shot up in her bed. Her bed sheets were twisted

around her body and she was sweating. Her mind raced with images that made

no sense to her. Tall, beautiful people from different places calling out

to one another, sending power out to one another. Willow felt it string

between them, had felt their desperate hope behind it. The magic spread out

and along the borders of something quite dark, something very evil.

Willow pressed a hand to her forehead. The withdrawal from magic

had left her with many sleepless nights plagued with never ending

nightmares, but this was different. It was like a pulling deep within her;

she wanted to rush out to those people. They needed her.

Sighing, Willow extradited herself from the sheets and climbed off

her bed. Not even in her sleep was she normal. No, she had to dream of

strange people and magic. Strange beautiful people, at least in her

opinion. The pointy ears may offend others.

**

"Is it secret? Is it safe?!" implored the gray bearded man,

shaking his young charge.

Wordlessly the youth ploughed through his belongings and withdrew

the "it" in question. An envelope bearing a simple and alluring ring.

**

Willow plodded into the kitchen, taking in with alarm the utter

chaos within.

"Um, Dawnie," she ventured timidly. The young girl looked over from

her position at the stove. "What are you doing?"

"I’m making you breakfast, silly," replied Dawn, eyes twinkling

happily. "You looked kind of tired in your bed so I decided to whip up some

deliciously invigorating food."

Willow smiled at the teenager. "This deliciously invigorating food

wouldn’t happen to be Dawnie’s famous peanut butter and banana quesidilla,

would it?"

Dawn laughed lightly. "No, that whole experiment was bonkers. But

I’m still holding to the fact that spatulas are for losers." Whistling

cheerfully, the young girl turned back to her stove.

Willow glanced over her shoulder and grinned. Dawn was making

blueberry pancakes, Willow’s favorite. She looked at the would be chef and

tears began pricking her eyes. She didn’t deserve such attention. She

nearly killed Dawn in her magically induced state. Dawn shouldn’t be making

her breakfast; it should be the other way around.

Just as Willow was getting ready to take over the whole process, the

back door was wrenched open. A smoking blanketed individual ran inside and

slammed the door shut again. Cursing profusely, Spike threw off his blanket

and began shutting all the blinds in the room.

Willow and Dawn exchanged amused looks. Spike’s morning visits were

always interesting, to say the least. Willow swore the vampire had some

sort of death by fire wish. It was the only explanation for his daily

suicidal visitations. Well, only reason besides his identically suicidal

obsession with the Slayer.

"’Ello luvs, what’s the what?"

Willow smirked at the British vamp settling down at the kitchen

table. "You know Spike," she started amusingly, "most vampires wait for a

time in the day that won’t end in their spontaneous combustion to visit

their friends."

Dawn nodded her head in agreement. "It was what Angel did," she

added.

Spike scowled at the mention of his grandsire. "Like the bloody

poof knows anything about being a normal vampire. He’s the most abnormal

vampire in existence."

"Present company excluded?" Willow asked.

Spike smiled his wolfish smile. "I was never normal Red."

"Well Spike," Dawn said, turning back to her cooking station.

"You’re just in time for blueberry pancakes."

Willow moved next to Dawn. "Sweetie, let me do that," Willow

insisted. "You sit down and I’ll have them ready in a jiffy."

"Nuh uh," Dawn refused, situating herself between Willow and the

food. "You spent all night have withdrawal nightmares, you sit and relax."

"Withdrawal nightmares?" Spike frowned at the redhead. "I thought

you said you were over those."

"I am over those," Willow turned to Dawn. "What makes you think I

was having withdrawal nightmares?"

Dawn looked sadly over at her friend. "You kept me up all night,"

she whispered quietly. "You were tossing and turning, not to mention

sweating and whimpering. It freaked me out. Even after I climbed into bed

with you, the nightmare continued."

Spike glanced over at Willow. "Red, if you’re having more

nightmares, it’s okay to tell us. We want to help."

Willow looked between the two, tears welling up in her eyes. She

didn’t deserve such good friends. She smiled sadly at them.

"You guys shouldn’t worry. It wasn’t the withdrawal, it was just a

regular nightmare," she frowned slightly at that. "Actually, it wasn’t a

regular nightmare. I’m not quite sure it even qualifies as a nightmare. It

was just random images floating through my mind, they made me uneasy."

"What was it about?"

Willow frowned again. "I’m not sure. There were these people and

darkness. It was like they wanted me to stop the darkness or something,"

she giggled uneasily at that remark. "Me save them? Yeah right, Buffy’s

the saver. I’m just the saver’s assistant."

The three of them laughed over the last comment. Dawn turned

happily back to the stove, after shooing Willow away from the breakfast.

Willow settled down next to Spike, absently shaking her head, a light smile

on her face. Spike grinned knowingly and winked at Willow. It was a "Don’t

worry, we’re all a bit strange" wink. He cast a quick glance over the room.

"So, when’s the Slayer getting up?"

**

"Get off the road!"

At that cry, the four youngsters clamored off the path, concealing

themselves in the trunk of a fallen tree. They murmured quietly amongst

themselves, but stilled when they heard the approaching horse.

One dared to look up. Through the cracks in the wood, he saw the

black horse and the steeled boot of the rider. A chill went through him.

The rider was after him, and he was stuck right under its nose.

**

"So, when’s the Slayer gonna be back?"

Willow and Dawn groaned simultaneously. Spike had spent the entire

day waiting for Buffy’s return. He had accompanied them to the grocery

store (in the middle of the afternoon mind you. The cashier nearly had a

heart attack when Spike came smoking in).

He followed them to the movie store and to the pizza parlor. He

stayed in front of the television with them while they went through movie

after movie after movie. All the while asking questions about Buffy.

"Spike," Willow growled threateningly. "I like you and I think this

crush you have on Buffy is way adorable, but if you ask one more question

about her, I am going to stake to you."

"That goes double for me," Xander added, walking into the room with

Anya at his side.

Dawn brightened at the sight of the new arrivals. "What brings you

guys over?"

"Well, Willow told me about the vast amount of movies you rented so

figured we would come over and watch them. Especially since you already

paid for them and we will have to expend no money for the entertainment,"

Anya stated matter-of-factly.

Xander grimaced at his soon to be wife. "Anh, next time just say we

felt like visiting some friends."

Anya frowned. "But that would be lying. I really wanted to have

orgasms, but you’re always so tired after work. I figured a movie marathon

would give you time to recover your strength so we could then-"

"Don’t say it!" Willow hastily interrupted. "Don’t say it Anya. I

don’t need that visual while watching movies."

Anya shrugged and plopped down beside Spike. An embarrassed Xander

settled down next to her, his face red from her comments.

"So," he started. "How’s goes everything at the casa de Slayer?"

"Can’t complain," Willow answered. "And as for your real question,

I am fine. Magic free for 45 days and counting."

Xander blushed. "I just worry Wills," he muttered.

"I know," she sighed. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway

averted everyone’s attention. Spike jumped up nervously.

"So, the Slayer’s finally home," he babbled.

Willow looked at him in mirth. He looked like an anxious

fifteen-year-old boy awaiting the arrival of the prettiest girl in school.

He looked like Jesse use to, right before Cordelia entered a room.

Dawn started to rise when she became overwhelmed by dizziness.

Something wasn’t right.

"Willow?" she called out hesitantly. The redhead turned around and

stared. Dawn was glowing, she was glowing a strange blue color.

"Guys!" Willow shrieked. The others turned to face Dawn, stopping

in their tracks.

The key had been activated.

**

Willow was becoming frantic. Anya raced outside to get Buffy.

Xander and Spike were moving Dawn to lie on the couch. Willow turned to the

living room table, reaching for the research books lying on it.

Then she felt it. The pull, the one from her dream. Only it wasn’t

mental, it was physical.

She turned to her friends. Buffy and Anya had come back in, Buffy

hysterical over her sister.

"GUYS!" Willow screamed again. Everyone snapped their heads her

way. Spike started moving to her.

Willow tried to move towards him, but the pull wrenched her away.

She flew backwards a few feet. The room quieted. Willow turned pleading

eyes on her friends. Spike moved forward again and again Willow was thrown

back.

"Willow!" Came the scream from Dawn. The blue glow was leaving

her; it was rushing towards the redhead. It gathered behind her, forming a

swirling blue hole.

Time stopped. Willow faced the hole and knew, it was here for her.

She turned back to her friends. She saw fear etched on their faces. Spike

had vamped out. Growling he charged towards his friend.

Willow felt the pull ripping through her. She let out a wordless

scream as she was wrenched backwards into the hole. The last thing she saw

were her friends, rushing over to the hole.

And then, all was black.

Chapter Two

Willow was aware of the falling. In her mind it lasted forever, but

in reality maybe only a few minutes. The blue glow vanished and Willow fell

to the ground in a heap.

Ground, she was on ground. Brushing dirt away from her face, she

came to the conclusion it was an outdoorsy kind of ground. Her head ached,

throbbed, pulsed, and all those other words that describe shooting pains in

one’s head. Unfortunately for Willow, it seemed to be doing all those

actions at once. Dimly she heard voices above her.

"Where’d she come from?" Came the lightly accented whisper. Willow

frowned into the dirt. Scottish? Irish? Both? Something European at

least.

"What do we do with her?" Came another whisper.

"I do not know, we have other problems on top of a strange person

falling out of the sky."

"Look at that hair, never seen a color like that before. Not on a

mortal head, anyways."

"You think she’s an Elf?"

"Nah, her ears are normal enough. This here is a Woman."

"Mister Frodo, don’t you think we should be moving along. No

offense to the young lass, but we do have the black riders to worry about."

"Sam’s right. We must get to Buckleberry Ferry, and soon. But we

can’t just leave her here. What if the black riders do come? What if they

harm her? I wouldn’t be able to live knowing that Sam."

"Then wake her up and bring her along. Come Pippin, help me with

the lady."

Willow heard shuffling noises. She looked ahead and saw four pairs

of big hairy feet, two of which were moving slowly towards her. Willow

looked up and saw the most astonishing thing she had ever seen. And since

she’s lived on the Hellmouth her entire life that was saying a lot.

The big hairy feet were attached to small bodies. They couldn’t

have been more than 3 ft tall. They had small pug like bodies and heads

full of curly mops of hair.

Willow had always prided herself on being a rational being. So she

did the most rational thing she could think of. She freaked.

"Whoa! Whoa!" She cried, crab walking backwards from the

approaching . . . Whatever-they-weres. Her back hit a tree and she

continued moving until she was upright.

"Little midgets with big feet who speak with European accents," she

stated hysterically. "I must be dreaming again."

The four creatures looked at her quizzically. They were really

adorable, but their presence was just not calming Willow in any aspect.

"Yup, must be dreaming," she repeated frantically. "Dreams are full

of unexplainable things, non rational things. The subconscious is a tricky

thing, pulling images out of left field. Of course, if you listen to Freud,

the so-called expert on subconscious, he’d say that this is significant. So

you gotta wonder what my subconscious is telling me with four munchkins with

big hairy feet. And I can assure you it is not my biological clock because

I just turned 21."

The four creatures stared at her in wonderment. Willow ignored them

and continued on with her babble.

"Of course, who’s to say Freud had all the answers. It’s just like

Spike always says: ‘It’s not an internal urge so much as being fucked up in

the head’. And Spike’s lived longer than Freud, so he has the advantage of

experience. Of course there is always Angel who is a good 125 years older

than Spike. He’d probably say it’s just because of the stress from

withdrawal. Yeah, that’s it! I’m stressed from the tensions of withdrawal.

It’s making me dream the funky," Willow spat out, running out of breath.

The four creatures still stared. Willow stared back. It might have

continued on this way if it hadn’t been for that weird guy dressed in black

jumping into the fray with his possibly psychotic horse.

The four little ones panicked and fled. Willow watched them run off

into the night, before realizing only three had done so. She turned back to

the rider. He had cut off one of the little ones and was trying to corner

him.

"Mister Frodo, come on!" Came the cry from the others. Willow

looked up at the rider and in an instant knew. This guy was bad, and he was

going to hurt the midgets. Squaring her shoulders, Willow did the only

thing she could think of.

She grabbed the reins of the horse and then deftly punched the horse

in the mouth. The animal wailed and spun around frantically.

Wasting no time, Willow grabbed the remaining midget and took off in

the direction his friends had gone. She heard the rider recover and take up

the chase. She ran faster. Soon, a small dock came into view. The other

midgets had climbed onto a raft and were slowly separating themselves from

the dock.

"Hurry! Hurry!" They cried.

Willow scaled the fence before the dock in a single leap. Thank God

Spike thought it necessary for her to train like the Slayer.

She sped down the dock and then jumped. Her, her midget, and

another midget were knocked onto the floor of the raft. Willow dared a

glance back. The black rider had stopped at the edge of the dock. He

turned around and galloped away; joining two others just like him.

"How long to the nearest crossing?" Asked her midget.

"Brandywine Bridge," replied one of the rowing midgets. "Twenty

miles."

"Twenty miles, eh?" Willow repeated. The midgets looked over at

her. "That should be enough time for you guys to explain exactly what is

going on."

**

The five odd companions huddled in the dark of the trees. Frodo,

the mid- no the hobbit with the dark hair, stared across the street. There

a looming wooden gate separated them from the town of Bree.

"Come on," he whispered urgently. The group trotted across the

road. Willow wrapped the cloaked loaned to her tightly around herself. It

only came down to mid-thigh, but it was better than nothing. She and the

hobbits agreed having her roam around in her green leather pants and light

green tank top would have brought about unwanted attention. Well, more

unwanted attention, considering they would be getting some. Four hobbits

and one human girl together as a group is more than likely to turn a few

heads.

Frodo knocked on the wooden door. There was some shuffling, two

peepholes opened in succession.

"What do you want?" Came a gruff, squeaky kind of voice.

"We’ve come to stay at the Prancing Pony Inn," Frodo replied.

The door swung open and an old looking man with wet, stringy gray

hair stood before them.

"Four hobbits and a mortal girl," he exclaimed. "What business have

you in the town of Bree."

"We’re making for the inn," Willow replied evenly. She gave the man

her best resolve face. "Our business is our business."

The guard moved aside and ushered them in, all the while

apologizing. "I meant no offence lass, it’s me job to ask questions.

There’s talk of strange folk running around these parts."

Willow nodded absently at him and followed the hobbits into the

city. This whole place was full of strange folk, at least to Willow.

During the raft ride down the river, the hobbits had told her much about

this place Middle Earth. Middle Earth. Middle of what exactly?

Willow shook the thoughts out of her head. No use mind babbling on

it. She had related much of her story to the hobbits, much more than what

Frodo had told her. Willow knew he and Sam were keeping a secret, she just

didn’t know what. She didn’t push it, not like she told them about her last

joyride into the black arts. No, secrets were fine. No harm done by them

and Willow really needed the hobbits. She was in a strange and foreign

place, most likely a parallel universe. She needed all the help she could

get. And help is what the hobbits promised her.

"Gandalf will help you," Frodo had ascertained. "He knows lots of

magic, he’ll help you."

So here she was, in Bree, heading to the Prancing Pony Inn with four

hobbits and about to meet a gray bearded wizard. Yup, Willow was one lucky

girl.

She felt a tugging on her sleeve. She looked down at Pippin Took.

He motioned towards a large hanging sign. The Prancing Pony Inn. She

smiled down at him, took his hand and walked towards the entrance. Maybe

she could be home within the hour. Yeah right.

Inside Frodo was speaking with the barkeep. "Gandalf, yes I

remember him," the barkeep was saying. "Gray beard, pointy hat. Haven’t

seen him in six months."

Frodo turned confused and scared eyes on the rest of his group.

Willow frowned. No magical wizard, this was not good.

**

They were seated at a table, their rooms had yet to be prepared.

The five had insisted on Willow rooming with them. It raised a few

eyebrows, but they didn’t care. They had no Gandalf and would be damned if

they got separated at the Inn.

And so they ate. They really really ate. Willow was astounded.

She had been starving when they arrived and yet the hobbits had individually

consumed twice as much food as she had. It boggled her mind.

Sam had noticed her wonderment and happily told her Hobbits were a

food loving people. And since the barkeep kept bringing the food without a

hint of astonishment, Willow decided it must be a well-known fact hobbits

ate like no tomorrow. As she was trying to seem as if she fit in, she did

her best to ignore the food consumed by the little ones.

Instead she decided to concentrate on the strange man sitting in the

dark corner on the other side of the room. He had been watching them,

really watching them. Not in the "what are four hobbits and a girl doing

hanging out together" way either. It was like he was appraising them.

Merry came back to the table, with a huge jug of what Willow knew

had to be some form of alcohol. Pippin looked over at him in shock.

"What’s that?" he inquired.

"This my friend is a pint."

Pippin looked up in earnest. "They come in pints," he squeaked

disbelievingly. His face took on a determined look.

"I’m getting one too," he stated, hastening away from the table.

Willow smiled after him. Pippin was a hoot. However, she still had

the strange man in the corner to worry about.

"Frodo," she drew the young hobbits attention. "That man in the far

corner has been watching us for a good half an hour."

Frodo looked up concerned. He stopped the passing barkeep and

inquired about the man.

The barkeep looked over and turned to them with a grave face. "He’s

one of those Rangers. Don’t know his real name, but in these parts they

call him Strider." With that the barkeep moved away, as if he was trying to

visibly distance himself from Strider and his quarry. Willow frowned, this

was getting bad.

All of a sudden, she felt power. Great, evil power. It overflowed

her senses.

She closed her eyes, it was dark magic. And it repulsed her. She

looked up and saw Frodo, sitting with his eyes closed, as if he were

listening to a far off voice.

The dark magic was calling him, and he looked about ready to answer.

Willow reached across the table and pinched the hobbit’s nose. He

gave a yelp and stared at her in confusion. Merry and Sam were staring at

her too. She stayed focused on Frodo.

"Whatever it is Frodo, I want you to ignore it," she instructed.

The hobbit looked at her in wonder and a bit of shame. "It’s not your fault

it’s enticing, but you need to resist it. No good can come from whatever it

is."

Merry looked between the two. He started to open his mouth when

Pippin’s voice wafted over to them.

"Baggins? Of course I know a Baggins. Frodo Baggins, he’s right

over there. He’s me cousin twice removed on his mother’s side . . ." Frodo

rushed over to Pippin, pulling his arm and stopping Pippin’s free flowing

words.

In an instant all went wrong. Willow saw Frodo slip, saw his hand

go up, saw the twinkling of a gold ring, saw the ring land right on Frodo’s

finger, and then saw Frodo vanish.

The minute the ring landed on Frodo’s finger, Willow felt woozy. It

was like being hit with a ton of bricks.

The inn was in chaos. Merry, Pippin, and Sam were frantically

searching for Frodo. Willow shut and opened her eyes.

Frodo she thought. I want to see Frodo.

And instantly there he was. He was confused, lost, and in black and

white. Willow rose to her feet.

In her mind she heard a screeching wail, she knew the black riders

were on their way. She had to get to Frodo.

She watched as he wrenched the ring off his finger and became

visible to others again. She felt a moment’s relief. Then Strider grabbed

Frodo by the shoulder and began propelling him up the stairs. She ran after

them.

Up a flight of stairs and to a door, Willow followed quietly behind

the Ranger and Frodo. She knelt down to the door, ears straining to hear.

" . . . That is no trinket you carry," came an unknown voice.

Willow presumed it was Strider and he was in front of the door.

"I know not of what you speak," Frodo replied. Willow’s heart

ached, he sounded scared. He also sounded far from the door.

"I think you do," came Strider again. Willow looked around

desperately. She needed a weapon, any weapon. Her eyes feel on a staff,

resting against a far wall.

That was convenient, she thought. She felt more confident with it

in her hands. The staff was the one weapon Buffy had finished training her

on. Spike also gave her handy tips on how to fight dirty with one. Yeah

she was killer with a staff.

Hearing noises on the stairs, she turned her head. She watched as

the three remaining hobbits barged into the room where Strider had Frodo.

"LET HIM GO OR I’LL HAVE YOU LONGSHANKS!!" Willow heard Sam

threaten.

"You have a stout heart for a hobbit," came Strider’s amused reply.

Willow waited until she heard the Ranger sheath his sword. He was still

directly in front of the door. The hobbits began shying away from it.

Willow saw his shadow extend into the hall. Taking a deep breath, Willow

charged.

Strider didn’t know what hit him. In three or fours moves, Willow

had the larger man stunned and on the floor. She implanted her staff into

his midsection and placed her foot on his sword hilt. The Ranger looked up

at her with astonished eyes, she returned his look with one of sheer malice.

"Move and I’ll break your neck," she informed him evenly. Strider

looked over at the smiling and cheering hobbits. Then he grinned.

"So, you have hired someone to protect you then?" Strider asked

amusingly. Willow wasn’t amused; she applied more pressure on his

midsection. Strider grimaced and turned to Frodo.

The young hobbit smiled and placed a hand on Willow’s arm. "He’s

okay," Frodo stated, gently pushing the redhead off her opponent. Willow

turned skeptic eyes on her companion.

"He really is," Frodo insisted. "He could have killed me and taken

the ring, but he didn’t. And he seems to know what’s going on, a bit more

than me perhaps."

Willow turned to stare at Strider, who was slowly picking himself up

off the floor. She turned back to Frodo.

"Are you sure?" Frodo nodded. Willow shrugged, propped the staff

against the wall, and turned back to Strider. This time with a smile on her

face.

"So, what’s the plan?"

Strider continued to stare at her.

**

Willow slept fitfully. It was horrible. Whenever she closed her

eyes, she saw a looming tower. At it’s base was seeming chaos. It looked

like someone had tried to recreate Hell. There was darkness, fire, and loud

bangs. On top of the tower, Willow saw an old man sitting still, whispering

to a butterfly caught in his hand. Suddenly he released it, and Willow was

filled with a deep sense of relief.

And then she felt them. The black riders, she felt them enter the

town, enter the inn, enter a room, and heard their loud frustrated wailing.

She jerked awake, upsetting the hobbits piled around her. They grumbled and

moaned as alertness started to creep into their minds. Willow jumped out of

bed and moved to the window.

Strider followed her with his eyes until she reached his side. Then

he looked out across the street. Willow followed his gaze to a window

across the street. The black riders were there, and they were ripping the

room to shreds with their swords.

Willow swallowed hard. It was the room the barkeep had rented them.

She watched wordlessly as the riders emerged from the inn, mounted

their horses, and rode away. When they were out of sight, she looked at

Strider, her worry etched clearly on her face.

"What are they?" she heard Frodo ask. She turned back to the bed

and saw the hobbits now wide-awake and scared. Willow walked back over to

them and enveloped the four into one hug. She glanced at Strider over their

heads. He nodded at her.

"They are the nine," he started slowly. "The old kings of men,

given the nine rings of power by Sauron the deceiver. Their greed consumed

them and he made them slaves to his will. They are Ringwraiths, neither

living nor dead and always drawn towards the ring."

Willow nodded to herself. The hobbits had become quite uneasy, she

wrapped her arms more tightly around them. She didn’t have a clue what the

ring was, and why the riders wanted it. She did know that they would kill

for it. She looked over at Strider, determination in her green eyes.

"They will not get any of my friends while I’m around," she

promised. She looked pointedly at Strider. "When do we leave?"

Chapter Three

They walked. For days and days they walked. They walked far away

from the normal travel roads. Strider seemed to know his way around the

forest quite well.

Willow wasn’t sure why, but she trusted him. Even though she

knocked on flat on his ass the first time she met him, Willow trusted him.

It was just a feeling, kind of like she knew him. Maybe not knew him, but

knew his type.

Tall, dark, and silent, Strider reminded her of Angel. Hell, his

brooding alone could rival Angel’s. It gave the whole bizarre situation an

air of familiarity. His mannerisms were very Angelic.

"Come on," Strider’s voice broke through her thoughts. "We need to

get moving. We do not have time to stop."

Pippin looked up at him. "No stopping. What about breakfast?"

Strider stared at him. "You just had breakfast."

"What about second breakfast?" Pippin asked indignantly.

Strider shook his head and disappeared behind some rocks.

Merry patted Pippin on the shoulder. "I don’t think he knows about

second breakfast."

Pippin looked alarmed. "What about 11ses, brunch, lunch, snack

time, tea time, dinner, and supper? Does he know about them?"

Merry shook his head. "Don’t count on it." Pippin looked about

ready to cry. Willow heard a rustling and saw an apple go flying through

the air. Merry caught it deftly and handed it to Pippin. Another one came

whizzing by seconds later and belted Pippin in the head.

Yeah, Strider had a few Angel-like qualities. It made him seem so

much trustworthier than he had proved to be. But then again, Willow has

always been painfully partial to Angel, him having saved her life numerous

times and her having restored his soul.

However, the trust wasn’t uniform throughout the group.

Sam nudged Frodo and Willow. "Are you two sure we can trust him?"

Frodo shrugged. "We have to."

"But where is he leading us?" Sam needled.

"To Rivendell Sam," came Strider’s reply.

Damn, the guy had ears like a, uh, a, well a vampire. It just added

to his Angel-ness.

"Rivendell, did ya hear that? We’re going to see the Elves."

Willow stopped dead in her tracks.

"THERE ARE ELVES?!"

**

They walked some more. The Elves were pretty far away. The Elves,

still wrapping her mind around that one.

Anyway, with the walking, Willow was sure they would be walking to

the end of her days. Hell, she was pretty sure she had walked far enough

that at home, she would have been in L.A. by now.

Home, it made her heart hurt to think of home. In her mind’s eye,

all she could see was the look on Spike’s face as he tried to reach her in

time. The horror on Buffy’s face, the blind panic on Xander’s, and the pain

on Dawn’s. She can still hear Anya screaming in refusal, trying to deny

what they all felt when the hole opened. It had come for Willow. She

wasn’t sure how or why, but it had come for her.

"Look," Strider commanded, stopping suddenly. He pointed to the top

of a nearby cliff. Willow followed his direction. A set of ruins lay on

top of the cliff. "The guard tower of Amon Sul."

"It’s very pretty," Willow offered. "I mean, yeah all broken down

but still very pretty. And the whole ruin-iness of the place kind of adds

to a classical theme. Very cool. Sorry, I’m rambling again."

The hobbits smiled at her. They had gotten use to her babbling,

thought it was endearing. Strider was still unaccustomed to it and had

difficulty understanding her use of words. He had once asked her what

language she was speaking. Not in a rude way, but in a confused, trying

desperately to understand way. Willow assured him she knew proper English,

but almost always reverted to Willow-Speak.

Willow-Speak. She smiled faintly at the thought. Her tendency to

babble had existed all her life. When they were younger, Jesse and Xander

had officially declared it Willow-Speak. They went as far as to say they

were translators of the obscure form of English. Once, for a creative

writing project, they wrote a translating dictionary. She still had a copy

of it in her room. It was endearing, and covered with pictures of her,

Jesse, and Xander. After Jesse’s death, she had it laminated so it wouldn’t

get ruined.

It was in her desk drawer, on top of the stationary Buffy had given

her. From the desk of Willow Rosenburg, Queen of Babble. All of it was at

home, the one place she so desperately wanted to be. The one place she

couldn’t reach, not on her own.

She prayed to whatever gods were listening. Please or please, let

me return home. I need my family.

**

"We camp here tonight," Strider informed them. "Here " was a

crevice on the cliff below the watchtower. It looked warm and comfy enough.

Strider gathered them all around. He threw down a bundle, untying

to reveal five sheathed swords. He handed them out one by one. "Keep them

close," he instructed. "I’m going to take a look around."

With that, he left. Yup, he really reminded Willow of Angel.

Before the similarities had been comforting. But now, though still

comforting, the resemblance was nagging at her. Like it demanded she

recognize something that was right in front of her. But, for the life of

her, Willow had no idea what she was supposed to know. It was there, in the

corner of her mind, nudging her. It was bloody annoying.

Willow grimaced. "Great, now I’m starting to sound like Spike in my

mind," she muttered unhappily. She really missed the bleached blonde idiot.

She really missed them all. It was enough to make her cry.

Picking up on the fact that something was wrong, the hobbits

gathered around their human friend, returning the comfort she had been

giving throughout the whole ordeal. Willow smiled softly, tears coming down

her cheeks.

"I’m so lost," she whispered to them.

**

Sleep wasn’t getting any easier.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the tower and its prisoner.

The prisoner seemed to be fine, that wasn’t what was bothering her. It was

what was going on at the base of the tower, in the man made trenches dug all

around it. There were things toiling in those trenches. Willow had no idea

what they were, but they were nastier than a chaos demon. And they were

making something, a really bad something.

In her mind, Willow saw it move. Whatever it was, it shot its arm

out and strangled the life out of one its makers. A tall white man stood in

front of it, seemingly commanding it. Willow saw it climb out of some

mucus, it stood up.

Well, it wasn’t as nasty as the others, but as for scary. Well,

Willow was pretty sure she would rather French kiss the Judge before even

venturing near this thing.

And what was with all the smoke?

Wait a minute? Smoke?

Willow wrestled with awareness, blinking her eyes rapidly. Frodo

jumped up and raced to the fire the other three hobbits had built.

"Put it out you fools!" he cried, stamping the fire out with his

feet.

Willow scrambled out of her blankets. The hobbits were peering over

the edge of the crevice, but Willow didn’t need to. The Ringwraiths were

back, she felt them.

"Get your swords," she ordered. She gathered the hobbits all

together and made for the ruins of the watchtower. They fumbled onto the

pavilion, Willow kept the hobbits all behind her. They came, five of them,

swords drawn and intent on the ring.

Willow braced herself and charged. Out of the corner of her eye,

she saw one wraith slip past and knock Sam out. She turned to help, but the

others forcibly pushed her out of the way. Willow slammed into a column and

fell in a heap.

She saw Frodo fall underneath the approaching figures. He pulled

out the ring and slipped it on his finger. A wave of raw power radiated

from him, it made Willow ill. She hefted the sword in her hand. Buffy had

taught her the basics, Spike again had taught her how to use it dirtily, but

she’d feel better with a mace. Or a staff, or a crossbow. Or her magic.

MAGIC. It was her only hope. She closed her eyes and willed herself to see

Frodo.

When she saw him, all Latin fled her brain. The leader of the

wraiths raised a dagger high. Willow leapt to her feet and ran. Sword

flying, limbs striking out, Willow ran to her friend. She led a few away,

but they regrouped. The leader knocked her sword away. She spun into a

roundhouse kick.

It landed, that’s the good news.

The bad news, it put her into an awkward position.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another wraith raise a dagger

towards Frodo. She gave up on offence; she flung herself on top of the

still invisible hobbit.

The dagger went into her shoulder. It was fire and ice at the same

time, a blinding pain.

Willow screamed.

She heard sounds of a fight. She couldn’t make out much, the pain

was too much, but she knew. She knew Strider had arrived. At least the

hobbits would be safe.

The wraiths were screaming and fleeing. Strider was driving them

back. She felt the last one leave the watchtower.

The hobbits were in a panic. Frodo had removed the ring and wrapped

his visible arms around Willow. She opened her eyes, saw his tear streaked

face. There was fear there, so much fear. Fear like Dawn’s, the night she

had let her magic overtake her. Willow wanted to cry, she needed to cry,

but that wouldn’t help matters.

Strider’s face came into view. He looked at her wound, picked up

the offending dagger. It disintegrated in his hands. Willow figured that

was a bad sign.

Strider was saying something, but she couldn’t make it out. He

picked her up and began carrying her. Her last thought before slipping into

unconsciousness was how much this reminded her of the time Angel had saved

her from Marcy the invisible girl. Except this time, Willow doubted she was

going to make it.

**

Willow wasn’t aware of much. When she came back to herself, she

usually heard the hobbits in hysterics. Willow wished she could comfort

them. But she didn’t have the hope or the energy to do so.

It was funny. Willow always knew she was going to die. It was

inevitable, being a mortal girl and all. She knew she would die fighting

evil, and the wraiths were evil. But somehow, she always thought she would

die on her own plane of existence.

Images were floating around her mind. The prisoner of the tower,

jumping off onto the back of a bird and being flown away.

Way to go old guy.

Suddenly, Willow became aware of another’s presence. She turned her

head. A beautiful woman rode into the clearing. She was dressed in white,

but that was probably an illusion. No one rode around in the forest in

white silk gowns.

The woman spoke. Willow made out a little.

"Hello firelight . . . My name is Arwen . . . Mustn’t . . . shadows

. . . Come back into the light."

It was in another language. Willow didn’t get it all, but she got

the gist. However, she was in little position to comply. The shadows were

coming closer and closer.

She felt herself being lifted. She placed on a horse that much she

could tell. She could make out little of what was said around her.

"We must get her to my father’s house . . ."

" . . . She needs Elfish medicine . . . "

"I want to go with her . . . It’s my fault . . . I won’t stay behind

. . ."

"There’s five behind you . . . I’m the faster rider . . ."

" . . . Ride hard . . ."

Willow was jiggled a bit. Someone was placed in front of her. A

hobbit, probably Frodo. He had a huge guilt complex concerning her wound.

Another behind her, it wasn’t Strider. She felt that much, it was the

woman, Arwen. Dimly, Willow began to wonder how she came to "feel" Strider.

It made no sense, like her compulsive comparison between him and Angel.

Willow heard Arwen whisper to her horse. She was filling it with

magic; Willow felt it flow from the woman to the beast. And they took off.

**

They were being chased, she could tell that much. The riders had

come up from behind them. She felt them, they wanted the ring and they

wanted her. The ring she could understand, but what was this obsession with

her? It made her head hurt, and that was a welcome change from the hurt in

her shoulder.

She heard Frodo’s voice, he was panicked. The poor darling. He was

petrified. She turned her head, she saw a wraith. It extended a steeled

hand towards her, she snarled at it.

Arwen’s magic was flowing through the horse, but it wasn’t enough.

Willow was prepared to die; she wasn’t prepared to have her two companions

follow her into death.

She placed a hand on the horse’s neck. Willow focused on her magic,

that energy deep within her. She had been trying to stop doing spells, and

this technically wasn’t a spell.

She fed the horse her magic. Sent her energy into the beast, and it

worked. The horse quickened its speed. Willow became aware of water

splashing at its feet. They jerked to a halt. Arwen drew her sword and

faced the wraiths.

" . . . Give . . ."

" . . . want them, come and claim them."

Willow didn’t like the sound of that. She felt Arwen draw her

power, but it was weakened from feeding the horse. Willow grabbed the

woman’s hand and fed her magic through her.

It was enough.

The water’s roar became loader. Willow lifted her head. She saw

the wraiths being swept away by a tidal wave, water taking the form of

raging steeds.

It was interesting.

Willow felt herself grow weak. Frodo began to panic once more.

Honestly, that boy wasn’t going to live a long life until he gets those

nerves of his under control.

She was lifted off the horse and embraced. She felt the comfort of

Frodo and the prayers of Arwen.

". . . please Willow . . . Don’t go, we’re almost there. Just . .

."

Willow began to gasp rapidly.

" . . . Whatever grace is in me, let it pass onto her . . ."

And then there was black.

Chapter Four

Willow was floating, again. She was getting kind of tired of it.

Wasn’t there any other faux sensation out there that would suffice? Why was

it always floating?

It was pure white and she was floating in it. A face came into

view. It was familiar, one of the faces from her original dream. The one

she had at home before the hole sucked her in. The face mumbled in the same

language as Arwen was taken to speaking. Willow was surprised that she

still understood it. It was a healing spell.

The face disappeared and she was still floating.

"Where am I? What’s going on?"

"You are in the house of Elrond," came the answer from an unknown

voice. "And it is ten o’clock in the morning, on October the 24th, if you

want to know."

"October 24th?" Willow repeated. "But it was early February when I

was sucked into the hole. Either I’ve been asleep a long while, or this

isn’t a parallel universe. Cause if it was a parallel universe, we would be

on the same time frame. But as it seems not to be the case, I guess I’m up

shit creek without a paddle."

A rumbling laughter responded to her babbling.

Willow opened her eyes, one at a time. She looked up at a white

ceiling. She was in a bed with white sheets and dressed in a white night

gown. Willow was beginning to detect a pattern.

She looked for the source of the voice. It was an old man dressed

all in gray. He had long gray hair and a long gray beard. This place was

very mono-toned.

There was an intricately designed staff leaning against his chair.

The man himself was smoking a pipe, but the smoke smelled suspiciously of

something other than tobacco. But who was she to judge? And he looked

really familiar.

"You’re the tower prisoner guy!" she blurted out.

The man looked taken back, and then relaxed. "Yes, that was I. I’m

supposing you’re the presence I felt during my confinement."

Willow shrugged. It was entirely possible. How, she wasn’t so

sure. A lot of things in this place made of the non-sense. Like her

feeling the presence of the ring . . .and the Ringwraiths . . .and Strider.

Okay, nothing made sense in this place, foremost being what she was doing

here.

Well, okay. Right now the foremost thing of nonsense was how she

was still alive. Willow had felt herself slip from this world. She looked

at her shoulder. The wound had healed, leaving behind a faint scar on her

shoulder blade. She looked to the old man for answers.

"You are very lucky," he motioned towards her shoulder. "A few more

hours and you would have been beyond our aid. But you are a strangely

strong lass."

"That I am," Willow nodded. Her brow wrinkled into a frown. "And

who are you?"

The man shook his head lightly. "Oh my, forgetting my manners in my

old age," he smiled kindly at her. "Lady Willow, it is my most supreme

honor to you. I am Gandalf the Gray."

Willow’s eyes widened. "You’re Gandalf?" He nodded. "Well, hotdog

am I glad to meet you. Do you know how to get me home?"

His face fell. "No, no. I’m sorry," he spoke sadly. "There is no

way for me to help you home."

Willow felt lost. Her head swam, her eyes blurred. She had been

counting on Gandalf getting her home. Rationally, she knew there might

still be a way. People stronger than Gandalf who could get her home. She

knew it, but in her heart, all hope fled from her.

Then there was a loud bang and heavy footfalls.

"You’re awake!" Screeching unintelligibly, Sam and Frodo bounded

onto her bed. Frodo wrapped his arms around her neck; Sam had her hand in a

death grip. Both looked happy beyond words. Despite her disappointment,

Willow felt their happiness to be infectious. She may be stuck, but she was

alive. And she had her hobbits.

"Hi guys, how are you doin’?"

"How are we?" Frodo repeated incredulously. "You’re the one with

the near fatal wound, and you want to know how we are."

"I don’t think Miss Willow is capable of thinking any selfish

thoughts Mr. Frodo," Sam offered happily from the bedside. Willow hung her

head. If only they knew.

"The hobbits have rarely left your side the entire time," Gandalf

stated.

Sam nodded his head. "We were so worried. Strider too, he was in

here a lot. I don’t know if you remember, but you were not exactly

yourself. We had to set Strider up in a cot in the corner of the room. You

were quite hysterical at points. You kept claiming Strider was some sort of

angel and cried profusely when he left your side."

Willow felt her entire face go red. "I did what?" she squeaked.

Frodo patted her arm reassuringly. "It was only for the first two

days. After that you were soundly asleep, but you mumbled strange things in

your sleep. Something about the dawn, Buffy, Anya, Xander, Giles, even a

Tara, and you kept demanding to have a spike. By the way, what is an

Oz-muttboy?"

Willow wanted to crawl under the sheets and die. She never talked

in her sleep; lord knows what these people heard.

Gandalf smiled at her kindly. "Do not fret needlessly lass. You

were quite ill, you hadn’t a clear mind. Elrond found it difficult, but he

was able to restore you to complete health." Another man appeared at

Gandalf’s side. Willow’s eyes widened again.

The man from her dream!

"YOU!" she shrieked. Frodo and Sam looked alarmed.

Gandalf smiled sadly and the new arrival nodded, affirming her

suspicions. He was tall, regal looking. Long brown hair braided down his

back. And two very pointed ears.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Lady Firelight," the man greeted her. "I am

Elrond and you are safe in my house."

Willow wanted answers, and she wanted them now. However, Pippin and

Merry entered the room and nothing more was said on the topic.

**

Willow entered the library quietly and determinedly. Elrond and

Gandalf were awaiting her. She slipped into the chair opposite the two and

waited.

Her fingers wrapped around the cuffs of the loaned dress she was

wearing. Apparently her own clothes had been taken away to be cleaned while

she was healing. Not knowing how to handle the material, the maids had

shrunk her pants and dyed her shirt. So Arwen had lent her a closet full of

white dresses while the palace seamstresses frantically tried to replace her

clothes. That was interesting in itself. Had she been in a better mood,

Willow would have been joking and snickering at the turn of events.

But humour had left her; she knew she wasn’t likely to return home.

And she wanted to know why.

Willow turned to Elrond, her resolve face firmly in place.

"Explain" came the one word command.

Gandalf shifted uncomfortably at her words, Elrond meet her eyes

steadily.

"Middle Earth was once just Earth," Elrond began. "The mortal race

of man ruled here. And they fought each other horribly. They acknowledged

not the existence of any other beings. They thought themselves superior

above all else. They desired to be superior amongst themselves. They

fought over religion, race, land, ideals, and any other reason they could

think of. Men built vast machines of destruction; they filled the world

with machines and technology. And they ignored the darkness underneath

them. Demons and devils, all intent of wrenching the world from the hands

of men.

A few existed to fight this darkness. From one such was born the

Savior. He closed the gates to Hell and made the world stable. He welcomed

the other creatures men before had loved to ignore. The Elves, the dwarves,

the hobbits, and many others. We established Middle Earth, and for many

years there was peace.

Until Sauron came, he brought darkness to Middle Earth. The ring of

power, which Frodo bears, was his weapon. He instilled in it his evil, his

will dominate all others. The ring’s power enabled him to trap the people

of Middle Earth under his spell. Only by chance was he defeated. Isildur,

descendant of the Savior, cut it off from the hand of the Dark Lord with the

shards of his fallen father’s sword."

Elrond paused and closed his eyes shut in remorse.

"It should have ended that day. But the ring was too powerful, it

trapped Isildur. He carried it on him, until a fateful day when Orcs

attacked his traveling party. The ring slipped from his fingers, and

Isildur died.

The ring was lost for 2500 years until Gollum found it. The

creature kept the ring on his person for 500 years until it fell into the

hands of the hobbit Bilbo Baggins. He kept it for 60 years in the Shire,

until now."

Willow nodded. "Okay, now explain me."

Elrond shut his eyes briefly. "The Savior, on his death, gave his

friends the Elves a book. The Book of the Lost Angel. He instructed them

to take care of it, preserve it through magic. The book held a prophecy,

the coming of the Lady Firelight.

In the time of the second darkness, the Lady would be called to save

the people of Middle Earth. When we heard of the ring’s awakening and the

regrouping of Sauron’s power in Mordor, we knew the time of the second

darkness had come. All the signs pointed to it.

So we opened the book. Inside was a spell. It required the power

of all the Elf Lords of Middle Earth. We grouped and sent out the call for

the Lady," his eyes turned to Willow. "You answered that call."

Willow stiffened. Elrond continued. "The Savior left instructions

for the Elf Lords. All we needed to know was in the first hundred pages.

The rest is for the Lady," he handed Willow a thick book. "It will answer

your questions."

Willow looked at them in disbelief. "How do you know I’m the right

girl? You could have made a big mistake."

Elrond shook his head. "You are the one," he gestured to the book.

"Open it."

Willow glanced down at the book in her hands. It was enormous and

leather bound. Just like all of Giles’ books. Hands shaking, she opened

the first page.

The Book of the Lost Angel

Numerous blank pages followed the title page. She looked up at

Elrond.

"Once we did the spell, all the words fled from the pages," Elrond

explained.

"Oh," she turned back to it. She skipped ahead until she found

writing.

The top of the page blazoned the title: The Lost Angel.

Underneath was a charcoal drawing of Willow. She turned back to Elrond and

he nodded.

"We were shown what to look for."

"And there’s no go home spell," she realized. Gandalf shook his

head.

No way home. She couldn’t go home. She wouldn’t be with her

friends anymore. She was here until the end of her days. Willow was stuck.

Chapter Five

Willow stared down at the book in her hands.

Elrond had informed her the book was hers from now on. They invited

her to stay in the library to read it. She refused and ran out. She made

her way through the palace, never stopping once.

Eventually, she became tired and rested. She was in some strange

hall with gigantic murals on the walls. One was a painting of what had to

be Isildur cutting the ring from the hand of Sauron. Right across from it

was a statue and a pedestal. On it was the broken parts of a sword. Willow

looked from it to the painting. She had a pretty good guess at what it was.

There was also a bench off in the corner. Willow flopped down,

miserable. She should have just brooded, but her curiosity got the better

of her.

She opened to the page of her portrait. It looked familiar, she

didn’t know how, but it was. Shaking her head, she turned the page.

The Shadow will menace until the arrival of the Lady Firelight

A warrior sorceress too brilliant to defy,

Brought to set all things right,

Even in the Land of Mordor, where the Shadows lie,

A timeless beauty too strong to fight.

One Lady to aid them, One Lady to guide them,

One Lady to save them and from the darkness free them

To bear to Middle Earth a lasting peace and light.

William T. B. A. P. Exeter

Willow’s world fell around her. It wasn’t the passage so much as

the author.

William T. B. A. P. Exeter.

William The Bloody Awful Poet Exeter.

Spike. Spike had written in this book!

Frantically Willow turned the page, and there it was.

Dearest Willow,

Gods how we have all missed you. I can’t even describe the day I

heard the news. It seemed so irrational, the way Buffy called our office in

the middle of the night, crying and hysterical. Spike eventually had to

take the phone from her and explained. It didn’t seem real, Willow was

gone. No one ever thought it possible.

The day you disappeared was one of the worst in our lives. Plenty

more of those came in the years to come. Everyone came together, everyone

who loves you. And we searched. We searched long and hard. We searched

for three long years.

Then we found you, perfectly safe and sad around the edges. We

reached out for you, but no one could get to you. You were out of our reach

forever. We all cried that day. I thought Xander would die; Dawn wouldn’t

leave her room for days. Buffy wandered about, as if lost. Anya couldn’t

move, Spike didn’t say anything for weeks. Cordelia actually started filing

things in the right order. Giles drank himself silly. Even Connor wailed

for days, he felt the unhappiness in us all. The sorrow in our hearts was

more than we could bear.

Then Lorne came through. We got a word with The Powers That Be.

They would listen to our case. We demanded you returned to us. We threw a

hissy fit in front of the most powerful beings in existence. Until they

shut us up. Literally, they took our voices from us so they could get a

word in. They told us everything; we didn’t want to hear it. But they made

us. They made us understand, and they forced us to move on. It took time,

but we were able to realize that no matter where you are, you would not give

up as long as there were people to save, to help. We didn’t like it, but we

accepted it, though not for a few years.

In the end, we practically deified you to the coming generations.

And believe me, there are generations to come. We also knew where ever you

were, you wouldn’t be happy until you were positive we were okay. So this

book, the first few pages as instructions for those you will save, the rest

the story of our lives.

We love you, forever and always,

Liam Angelus Kieran O’Brien

May 30, 2006

Tears flowed down her cheeks, and she turned the page.

**

God, what a difference a lifetime will make. Her friends lived on

to old age with children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and so forth.

Buffy and Faith were the last of the Slayers. When the Savior

binded the realms, vampires disappeared from the Earth. The role of the

Chosen One was retired, and the Watchers Council turned to the study of

paranormal phenomenon.

British, tweeded Ghostbusters, Willow nearly laughed herself to

death.

Most amazing was the way they paired themselves out.

Angel and Spike shanshued. They regained their humanity, Spike

regained his soul, and eventually the chip was removed.

There were pictures of the two running around outside, in the sun.

One of Spike, arms outstretched and the caption: "Daytimes visits ain’t

suicide no more." She made a mental note of the grammatical errors, only to

turn the page and have Spike admonish her for wasting time thinking about

that. She grinned sheepishly.

Xander and Anya were married. They were happy. They had two

beautiful children. A boy, Jesse Alexander Harris, and a girl, Willow Buffy

Harris.

As for Buffy, she married Riley Finn. That nearly knocked Willow

right out of her chair. Apparently Riley had come back to help look for her

and the two had reconciled. They had one girl, Joyce Willow Finn.

Cordelia married Charles Gunn, the handsome ex gangbanger of Angel

Investigations. They had three boys: Angel, Wesley, and Ricky Gunn. They

were handsome devils.

Wesley married Faith. That one did knock Willow out of her chair.

Faith, how could someone marry Faith? She was in jail last time Willow

checked. But, after some serious redemption and jail time, the rogue

slayer’s former Watcher decided to give her a chance. They married two

years after her parole. They had two girls: Sasha and Anne Wyndum-Price.

Giles returned to England after the search for Willow ended. He

found Olivia again. They married the year before Giles became head of the

Watchers Council. One daughter: Jennifer Rose Giles.

Angel had become human. He was delirious; he could play with his

son in the daytime. He was able to take Connor to the beach. There was a

hilarious side story of Angel’s first sunburn.

He married Fred, the shy brunette who he saved from Pylea. In

addition to Connor, they had a daughter- Willa Anne O’Brien, and a son-

Kieran William O’Brien.

Spike returned to human and to his real name William. He wrote

poetry and novels for a living. He made millions.

He fell in love with Dawn, her little Dawnie. They married when

Dawn turned 21. They had one son- Alexander Liam Exeter and two

daughters-Willamina Anne Exeter and Buffy Sasha Exeter.

The book was covered in bios and pictures. Towards the end were

letters. Notes, poems, messages, and whatever else they wanted to tell

Willow.

Anya wrote about her cold feet on her wedding day. Xander wrote all

about how nervous he was about becoming a father. Buffy told of her

insecurities of letting Riley in. Riley wrote of how much he missed the red

head. Spike/William wrote of how he got over Buffy and eventually fell in

love with Dawn. Dawn told her she loved her. Angel drew portraits, left

notes of how much he appreciated Willow. Giles wrote to tell her of how he

thought of her as his daughter.

They all wrote things, their children wrote things. All to Willow,

all full of love.

At the ending, there was one last letter. From the Savior, from

Connor Liam O’Brien, Angel’s son.

He wrote of the prophecy and he wrote of the making of Middle Earth.

He wrote many things and Willow loved it all. But mostly she loved the

ending paragraph.

In closing, I’d like to add, though you were gone long before my

first word, I remember you. My father use to lament that I was too young to

remember the redheaded beauty everyone searched for, but he was wrong. I

remembered. I don’t know how, but then again I’m not exactly the most

ordinary human. I remember the day I was baptized. You and the rest came

down from Sunnydale. Father asked you to be a godmother to me. I remember

the way you held me in your arms inside the church. It stuck in my mind

throughout my entire life. One, because soon after you were gone and

everyone wanted to find you. Second, you loved me. I’m not saying the

others didn’t love me, but their love was an offspring of the love they had

for my father. When you held me, you loved me for being alive. Yes you

were glad my father was able to have a son, and you loved it made him happy,

but your love for me was a love you would give to any other child born. You

loved life, in its every form. I followed your example as best as I could.

I loved life where I found it, and it is because of that people call me the

Savior.

Yours truly,

Connor Liam O’Brien

**

Hours later, exhausted from her reading, Willow finished her book

and sat back. Finally the tears came. All the tears she had been holding

from the minute she saw the hole flooded out of her. Willow sobbed tears of

true sorrow.

A hand was placed on her shoulder. She looked up with her tear

stained face. Strider looked down at her sympathetically.

"I lost them," she sniffled. "I lost them all and I’m so far away

from home."

The tears came back, and Willow continued her cry. She needed

comfort, preferably in the shape of her old life. Or maybe just one friend.

Couldn’t she have at least one of her old friends? Or maybe someone

related to them?

Couldn’t they just bring her Xander, if only for one hour? Xander,

oh gods, she’d never see Xander again.

"I miss my Xander-shaped friend," she wailed. Strider looked at her

a bit funny. She cried some more. No one here even understood her.

Presently, Strider wrapped his arms around the weeping girl. She

leaned against his chest and cried. She cried many tears. Strider just

rocked her back and forth.

"It’ll be okay, Little One," he murmured, stroking her hair.

Did she mention Strider reminded her of Angel?

Chapter Six

Elrond called a council of Lords. Everyone was invited. Dwarf

Lords, Elf Lords, and Human Lords. It was just a gigantic smorgasbord of

Middle Earthlings.

Willow was the only female invited, she felt out of place. Then

again, being from 4400 years ago, Willow really was out of place. Nothing

to be done about it.

She clenched the cuffs of her dress.

It seems the elven seamstresses were having a real tough time

recreating Willow’s clothing. So she was once again decked out in Arwen’s

clothes, a white dress. Willow was being to feel a bit bland. It’s not

like she didn’t appreciate the gesture, but if she sees any more white

things here, she was going to go ballistic. Willow loves colors‘; being

bland was starting to grate her nerves.

So anyway, here she was waiting to be announced to Elrond’s council,

fidgeting in her borrowed dress, wishing she were in Mordor instead. At

least there she wouldn’t be put on center stage, like some freak on display.

Willow never managed to get over her stage fright.

Gandalf appeared at the end of the hallway. He motioned with his

hand. Show time. Willow was debating how long it would take Strider to

catch her if she took off running. Probably not too long.

Stupid well fit man.

Gandalf extended his elbow to her. She took it with shaking hands.

He smiled reassuringly at her. It didn’t help much.

"May I present, Willow the Lady Firelight," Elrond’s voice came

booming out to them.

Nope, didn’t help in the least.

Willow dropped Gandalf’s arm and turned to run back up the steps.

She ran right smack into Strider. He grabbed her arms and gave her an

amused look.

"I was just . . ." Willow trailed off when he turned her back around

towards the meeting.

"No, I can’t do this," she squeaked. "I’m just plain old Willow.

Hell, I’m nothing more than Velma, the most useless Scooby. Nothing special

here, I should just go back to my room and let you guys continue."

"Lady Firelight?" came Elrond’s call.

Strider patted her shoulder and led her straight into the council.

Silence greeted her. Willow looked out over the gathered. Men,

dwarves, and elves, all staring at her. She was stopped at Elrond’s left

side. He was giving some sort of introduction speech. Willow didn’t hear

any of it. There was blood roaring in her ears. Everyone just stared at

her and Willow got redder by the minute.

Presently, Strider gently pushed her to her seat, thankfully right

next to Frodo. The young hobbit brightened at the sight of her, a feeling

much reciprocated. She gingerly sat down. Strider gave her one last pat on

the shoulder before taking his seat across from her.

Next to the other humans. One dressed in purple and green silk,

noble written all over him, was staring at her appraisingly. Willow

reverted her eyes, only to find all the attendees staring at her. Not

helping with the easing of her mind.

Frodo grabbed her hand. She turned to him and smiled faintly.

Faintly, interesting choice of words, considering she was about to faint.

Yup, Willow Rosenburg was not long for this world of consciousness. She

turned pleading eyes on Elrond.

Thankfully, he diverted attention away from her.

"We are here to discuss a very real threat to us all," he extended

an arm in the direction of the hobbit. "Frodo Baggins, bring forth the

ring."

Frodo approached the center stage hesitantly. He quickly placed the

ring on the pedestal provided. He hastened back to his seat, sighing

heavily.

All eyes were on the ring, and the ring liked it. Willow felt an

illness creeping through her stomach. It made her head spin. What the hell

was in this thing? Willow never felt this kind of magic before. It was

pure blackness.

"It’s a gift," Willow snapped her head towards the voice. Noble

mortal man had gotten up and was pacing before the king.

"Long have my father and our men kept the border between Gondor and

Mordor. Your lands are protected by the blood of our people. Give us the

weapon of the enemy, we shall use it right."

"No," Willow frowned. That sounded a lot like her voice. Probably

because it was. Oh Boy. "You can’t use that thing. It’s just evil."

The noble looked at her strangely.

"She is right," Strider, bless his heart! "The ring only has one

master and will work for no one but him. We cannot use it."

"And what would a Ranger know of this?" the noble countered snidely.

Willow saw red.

"This is no mere Ranger!" Okay, that time it wasn’t her. Willow

glanced over at the speaker. It was a blond Elf, and he was really yummy.

Willow’s face turned red. Thank God no one here was a mind reader. She

really hoped there wasn’t.

"This is Aragorn," the yummy Elf continued. Yeah, Willow was real

bad. "Isildur’s heir and heir to the throne of Gondor."

The rest was a blur. Strider, or Aragorn, was Isildur’s descendant.

Isildur was Angel’s descendant. Willow mentally drew the lines. She

stared at Aragorn openly. He reminded her of Angel because there was Angel

in him. He was Angel’s ancestor. Her friend’s family, and he knew. Willow

saw it in his eyes, he knew all along. And he didn’t say a thing. Willow

wanted to start crying again.

Willow was jarred out of her thoughts by an explosion. She gave a

loud yelp at the noise. She looked towards center stage. A dwarf was being

pulled off the ground by his friends. The shards of what looked like an axe

surrounded the ring.

"The ring cannot be destroyed by any means we have here, Gimli son

of Gloin," Elrond uttered exasperatedly.

A snicker escaped Willow before she could help it. The dwarf glared

daggers at her. Willow turned red and sunk into her seat. This was going

well.

"The ring can only be destroyed from the same fiery chasm where it

was forged," Willow sat up straighter, this was interesting. "The ring must

be cast back into the volcano from whence it came, in the fires of Mount

Doom in the land of Mordor."

"Mount Doom, that’s encouraging," she muttered under her breath. A

giggle erupted from beside her. Frodo grinned up at her. Willow smiled and

relaxed a bit. Not everyone here thought she was a rude, silly girl.

Noble man began to laugh softly.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor. It is a barren wasteland

filled with poisonous fumes. On top of that, there is the eye," he held up

his hand in an O shape. "Not with ten thousand men could you do this."

"Well that instills confidence in me," Willow grumbled. This time

everyone heard her. A couple of the Elves were snickering. Willow was

going to die of embarrassment. Why couldn’t she just shut up?

"One of us must do this, it is the only way." Yummy Elf to the

rescue. Willow was definitely going to have to find out his name.

"And I suppose you think you should be the one," the dwarf, Gimli,

bellowed. "I’ll die before I see an Elf in possession of the ring of power.

Never trust an Elf!"

The council erupted into chaos. Everyone was fighting. Gandalf

jumped from his seat and noble man started fighting with him. It was not

going well.

The ring loved the fighting. She could almost imagine it crowing in

happiness. Willow was taking a serious disliking to that thing.

She heard a soft whimper. She looked over at Frodo; he was

clutching his head, as if in pain. Sweat beads were forming on his

forehead. The poor darling was in torment. She pressed her fingers against

his temples. He shut his eyes and a vision hit them both.

An eye, encased in flames. It was laughing, it loved the chaos.

Frodo opened his eyes and looked at Willow. "I will take it," he

whispered.

Willow closed her eyes in resignation. A tear leaked out. She had

hoped the hobbits would have been able to return to their home, the Shire.

It sounded so lovely; the hobbits were in love with it. Now, she could see

it was not going to happen. Frodo’s life was so intricately woven with the

fate of the ring, it was hard for her to see where one ends or the other

begins.

"I will take it," louder this time, drawing everyone’s attention.

"I will take the ring into Mordor." The fighting stopped, everyone stared

at the hobbit.

"Only, I do not know the way," Frodo finished hesitantly.

Willow stepped up behind him. "I’m going with him," she stated

firmly. "Not like I know the way or anything, but I’m going. Maybe you

could give the kid a map or something, cause I’m no real help with those

things."

Gandalf smiled at them proudly. "My dear children," he came towards

them with arms outstretched. "You will not bear this burden alone. I will

carry it with you, however long it is yours to bear." Willow and Frodo were

enveloped into a large, fatherly hug.

Strid- no Aragorn, also approached the two. "By my life or death, I

will protect you. My sword is at your disposal."

There was the Angel-ness again. Now she knew where it came from,

Angel.

"And my bow!" Yea! Yummy Elf was coming.

"And my axe!" The dwarf. Maybe he had some redeeming qualities.

Noble man looked hard at the volunteers. Willow returned his steady

gaze with her resolve face.

"The fate of us all is on your shoulders. We’re all counting on

you, little ones," he stated.

Willow guessed that was his way of volunteering.

There was a burst of rustling behind them.

"Hey!" Sam emerged from the bushes of the garden. He skittered out

to stand beside Frodo.

"Mr. Frodo isn’t going anywhere without me," he declared firmly.

Willow smirked and pulled leaves out of his hair. He gave her a warm smile.

"Indeed, it would not be so," Elrond affirmed sarcastically. "It is

hardly possible to separate you two, even when he is invited to a secret

council and you are not." Sam had the sense to look slightly shamed.

"We’re coming too!" came a shriek, followed by the pattering of

footsteps.

Merry and Pippin raced out behind from two pillars. Elrond looked

about ready to blow. Willow snickered and swept Pippin up into her arms.

"He had us tied up in a potato sack to keep us away," he informed

her indignantly.

Willow raised her eyebrows in amusement. "You certainly showed him,

didn’t ya?"

Pippin nodded emphatically. "Besides," he continued. "You need

people of intelligence on this sort of a question . . . Quest . . . Thing."

Merry rolled his eyes. "Well that leaves you out, doesn’t it

Pippin." Willow giggled some more. The whole ordeal was ridiculous. She

hugged the young hobbit in her arms more closely.

Elrond was smiling again. "Very well," he agreed. "One Lady of the

light and nine warriors to accompany her. You shall be known as the

Fellowship of the Ring."

Pippin was ecstatic. "So," he began amiably. "Where are we going?"

**

Willow had to find Aragorn. Yep, she had finally deprogrammed the

Strider out of her. She was looking for ARAGORN.

And she was having a damn hard time. She wished the hobbits were

here to help her look, but they were spending quality time with their old

friend Bilbo. He was quite the character, but Willow sensed he needed time

alone with the younger hobbits. So she had gone off, to find Aragorn, and

having no luck whatsoever.

"That’s it!" she fumed, plopping down on the numerous benches of the

palace. "I officially give up."

"Give up what, My Lady?" Willow glanced up. Boromir, noble guy.

Willow shrugged her shoulders. "I need to talk to Aragorn," she

answered, timidly. Not that he was intimidating or anything, in fact he was

quite nice. Willow still felt wholly out of place with anyone but her

hobbit friends. And Aragorn, Angel’s blood.

Boromir smiled kindly at her. "I saw him naught a moment ago," he

offered, pointing down the hall. "He was talking with Legolas."

Thanking him, Willow raced down the hall. She had some serious

things to discuss with Mr. Lets-keep-my-heritage-a-secret.

She found him in deep discussion with Legolas, the Yummy Elf.

Willow reddened. She was having a tougher time deprogramming that one out

of her. Both looked up at her cough.

"I need to talk to Aragorn," she stated quietly. Aragorn looked

down at the floor. He knew what was coming.

Legolas smiled agreeably and left without saying a word. Well

actually he did say something, but it totally flew over Willow’s head after

he smiled. Damn, the boy was fine!

At the rate her thoughts were going, Willow was probably burst into

flames. She had a hard time thinking productive thoughts when the handsome

Elf was around. It didn’t make much sense to her. After all, she just

broke up with Tara, the woman she loved. Willow was a lesbian, wasn’t she?

Her head hurt, she couldn’t understand much of her own feelings. But the

boy was fine! She just prayed no one else noticed the mammoth-sized crush

she was developing on Legolas.

Aragorn offered her a seat. She took it without saying a word. He

sat beside her, also wordless. The talk was getting off to a grand start.

Finally, after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Willow turned

to look Aragorn right in the eyes.

"Why didn’t you tell me you’re a descendant of Angel’s?"

Aragorn sighed. "My apologies, dear Willow. I am not proud to be

the heir of Isildur. When I initially met you and the hobbits, I decided it

was best not to tell you I was the heir of the Betrayer. It fills me with

great shame, I did not want you to know."

"Why?"

"I did not want you to think less of me for it."

"Why would I think less of you for it? It wasn’t your fault Isildur

did what he did."

"But don’t you see?" he turned pleading eyes on her. "I am his

heir. The same blood that flows through mine veins was his. The same

weakness-"

"NO!" Willow stood up, visibly angry. "Don’t you dare to ashamed

of the blood that runs through your veins. Yes, it belonged to Isildur once

too, but it is not the bearer of weakness or evil. It is the noblest blood,

greatest heritage that anyone can claim."

Aragorn looked stunned. "How so?"

She sighed and sat back down. "Do you know of Angelus?" He nodded.

"Right. Angelus was a vampire, a horrible vampire. He was called

the Scourge of Europe, he did terrible things. Then one day, he went and

royally pissed off some Romanian gypsies. They cursed him with a human

soul. The demon was subdued, and Angelus was left with the guilt of

thousands of deaths by his hand. He nearly gave up. Crawled into

alleyways, fed off rats, and lived quite the pathetic existence for over 100

years.

Then, a demon came to see him. Well, a half demon named Whistler,

who was actually one of the good guys. He cleaned him up and took him to

Los Angeles, California. Whistler showed him a girl, a beautiful blond girl

who stole his heart at first sight. She was Buffy Summers, the Vampire

Slayer.

Soon, she was moved to Sunnydale, the Hellmouth. He followed her.

She lived as normally as one could, being the person standing between the

world and hell. She had friends. A British librarian who loved to read and

wore tons of tweed. A goofy young man whose bravery was unbound. And a

tiny meek little hacker girl whom Buffy brought out of her shell. That

hacker was I, and I became the Slayer’s best friend.

Angel, as he now called himself, watched over Buffy and her friends.

He saved my life more than once. He shared a love with Buffy that was so

beautiful and entirely painful. They tried as hard as they could, but a

vampire and a slayer were not meant to be.

He went back to LA; he started an agency there. He spent his life

helping the helpless. His soul was strong, and he passed that strong soul

onto his son, Connor. You guys call him the Savior. So, you see, the blood

you have in your veins is perfect blood. Blood of brave warriors. It’s not

the blood that causes weakness. It’s the person’s soul. And you have a

good soul, a part of Angel’s soul is in you."

"How can you be so sure?" he whispered faintly.

Willow tipped his face up to look him in the eyes.

"Because I’m the one who gave him that soul. I can kind of sense it

like a mile away," she answered calmly.

He stared at her amazed.

"You gave Angelus his soul?"

Willow nodded. He turned away, as if contemplating her words. Then

his eyes dimmed and he opened his mouth to speak again.

"No!" she interrupted before he could even begin.

"No more whining and self doubt. You’re a great guy, worthy to be

called Angel’s heir. No use arguing about it mister. I’m more than ready

to whip out the old Resolve Face."

Aragorn closed his mouth and smiled.

Then he frowned, as if confused.

"What is a ‘Resolve Face’?"

Chapter Seven

And they were walking again.

The Fellowship departed from the house of Elrond early in the

morning. They had set out on foot. Willow was really missing the days of

automobiles and public transportation. She wasn’t athletic enough to do so

much walking.

It wasn’t all bad. The Elven maids had finally finished her

clothes. She was once again clad in her leather pants and nice green tank

top. Well, replication of her former clothes. The sweethearts had even

made her a jacket that matched her pants. It looked a lot like Spike’s old

duster. When she had gotten it, she had begun bawling her eyes out. The

poor maids thought they had done something wrong. It took quite a long time

to explain she was just homesick. The maids were sympathetic, but they

couldn’t understand why the jacket had set her off. Willow decided best not

to tell them the duster was a trademark of a certain bleached blonde vampire

whom she once called friend. That would have made them think she was just

plain nuts. As it was, they thought her babbling habit was some sort of

personality disorder.

Arwen had seen her off privately. She gave Willow a beautiful

silver locket. She had wished the redhead well. The Elf woman had taken to

looking at Willow with awe and some jealousy. Willow was pretty sure it had

to do with her friendship with Aragorn. Like those two were hiding

anything. Willow knew the score.

Anyways, where was she? Oh yeah, the walking. There was a lot of

that. The only highlight of the travel was walking behind Legolas. Yummy

Elf had quite the nice ass. Of course, that highlight was also a lowlight.

Whenever she dwelt on the fact, she turned a horrible red shade. The

hobbits had noticed but chalked it up to the strenuous walking. She didn’t

disabuse them of the notion.

Finally, they stopped for a break. Frodo and Sam set happily about

making lunch, a lot of lunch. Merry and Pippin were off with Boromir, he

was teaching them how to use of sword. He had started off trying to teach

Willow, but she had shown quite an amount of skill with the basics of it.

He had, however, informed her that her style was too rigid and she needed to

be more innovative. Being one to take criticism lightly, Willow promptly

asked him for a lesson in staff fighting.

Twenty seconds later, she had the large man in the same position she

had Aragorn when she first met him. Flat on his back with her staff jabbing

him in the stomach. Yummy Elf and Aragorn had burst out laughing. Willow

would have joined them, but she felt kind of childish tricking Boromir like

that. And having her thought patterns return to calling Legolas the Yummy

Elf. She really needed to control that.

As for Boromir, he laughed it off good-naturedly.

"I should have known better," he reasoned. "After all, what would

the great Lady Firelight need with my instructions?"

Great Lady Firelight. She had liked the sound of it, initially, it

was kind of cool. But after being referred to by it so many times, Willow

was about ready to stake Spike for thinking up the stupid name. She just

wanted to be Willow, no one else but Willow.

Merry and Pippin were pretty quick learners. And they looked so

adorable trying to fend off the parries of Boromir. Willow watched happily

from the sidelines for a while, until Gandalf called her.

"My dear girl," he started after she settled down next to him, "why

is it you hoard your magic inside you?"

Willow hung her head in shame. "I have to," she explained softly.

"I became addicted to doing magic. I lost it, spent all my time trying to

get more of it. I left myself vulnerable for attack, and I dragged my poor

Dawnie right into it. I nearly killed her one night. After that, I gave

the whole mess up."

Gandalf knit his eyes together in confusion. "I don’t understand

how you can think so badly of your talents. Yes, I see you had a bit of a

downturn with it, but that was because you were using the wrong tools. The

use of the dark magics will almost always lead to trouble. Now, if you

started magic again, but this time with Wise magic, you would have no such

problems."

Willow opened her mouth, but failed to come up with the words to

properly refuse. Gandalf patted her hand lightly. He then handed her a

book.

"This is Wise magic," he explained. "Think of what I have said.

This may be what you were looking for."

Then Gimli started complaining about something called Moria.

Gandalf had visibly paled, and it looked like the two were about to go at

it. Willow left them to their own devices; she had had enough of fighting.

She looked at the book in her hands. Magic. Could she trust

herself to do magic again? What if the same thing happened? What if she

lost it and this entire world of Middle Earth was left to pay the

consequences of her actions? Willow couldn’t do that, she didn’t dare risk

it.

A nagging feeling in her mind drew her attention away from the book.

Something was coming, it smelled of magic. It reeked of dark magic. And

it was focused on the ring.

Willow stood up and walked to the edge of the cliff. Yup, they were

on another cliff. Willow was debating developing a fear of heights.

Nothing good ever happened to her on a high elevation. Then again, on the

ground, things weren’t always that much better. Maybe she should live on

the clouds, didn’t see a bad side to that. Except she couldn’t fly, stupid

human limitations.

Someone hopped down beside her.

It was Legolas; he was intent on whatever it was too. Normally,

being this close to him would have made Willow very distracted, but the

magic on the wind was even greater than her silly attraction to the Elf.

But he still had a great ass.

"What is it?" he asked. Willow shrugged and turned back to "it".

A dark mass on the horizon, moving towards them.

"It’s just a whiff of clouds," Gimli offered from behind them.

"It’s moving awful fast for a cloud," Aragorn mused.

"Against the wind," Boromir added.

Gandalf’s eyes grew wide. "It’s the Crebain! Hide, hide

everything!"

And then there was chaos.

Willow grabbed her books and her staff. Legolas grabbed her arm and

pulled her underneath a small crevice. Her heart was beating rapidly; she

couldn’t see the others at all. She felt the crebain get closer. The magic

rolled off them in waves.

Willow breathed heavily, though quietly. Slowly, she became aware

of how close Legolas was to her. The Elf was sprawled out on top of the

redhead. Her face went red and her breathing quickened. The Elf turned his

eyes on her, a question on his face. She tried to turn hers away lest she

reveal something with them.

Blue eyes stared into green. The crebain moved closer, and so did

Legolas. Willow’s breath caught, her eyes widened. She watched as the Elf

lowered his face to hers. Her eyes closed. Their lips meant.

Willow was blown out of the water. The crebain arrived, shrieking

and cawing up a storm, but she barely noticed. All she felt was Legolas’

lips on hers; it was burning her up from the inside. The Elf pried her lips

apart and slipped his tongue into her mouth. Rational thought ended there.

Willow had never been kissed like this before. Yeah, she had tongue

with Oz, Xander, Tara, and once with Spike (something they never mentioned

to anyone else), but it never made her feel like this. She pressed closely

against him; she needed more of his touch. He complied, his hands roaming

her body feverishly fast. And then:

"They’re gone, everyone out!"

Aragorn’s shout jerked Willow away from Legolas. The Elf stared at

her hungrily, and she went redder than her hair.

"We should go," she squeaked. She leapt out of their spot without

giving him a chance to answer. As she headed to the others, she tried to

cool her flush face and prayed her lips weren’t too bruised by the kiss.

No one seemed to notice, that was good. They were all focused on

something, most likely the crebain. Willow remembered them, and she was

totally focused on their situation.

Riight.

"Spies for Saruman," Gandalf spit distastefully. "The southern way

has been blocked," he turned around abruptly. "We must head north, take the

passage of Caradhras."

Everyone groaned. Willow stepped close to Aragorn.

"What’s Carrot Toss?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "Caradhras," he corrected her mildly. He

gestured behind them. "The mountain."

Willow followed his motion. It was the mother of all mountains, and

covered in snow. What fun.

She pouted and whimpered. Aragorn smiled pityingly and gave her arm

a squeeze before turning to help the hobbits pack up their supplies. Willow

turned to help him, and she caught a quick glimpse of Legolas. He was

glaring at Aragorn with what looked like jealously on his handsome face.

Oh boy, what had she done now?

**

Willow got her wish. The company wasn’t walking any more. Now they

were trudging. Trudging through the snow. Uphill, well up mountain.

Carrot Toss was one bitch of a mountain. She preferred walking to this.

What’s that saying about a double-edged sword?

Willow also decided she hated snow. Snow bad, sun good. She was a

Californian at heart. She needed the beach and the sand and the sun. She

also needed to mend the whole situation with Legolas, but that wasn’t going

to happen any time soon.

Speaking of the Elf, he was having no problems with the snow at all.

He was just skipping about like a, uh, well a fairy or something, which he

was. Just walking on top of the snow like it was no big deal. If she

didn’t have such a huge crush on the guy, Willow would be seriously mad at

him. As it was, she was just irked. Well, maybe more than irked, but since

she was playing with his emotions, Willow felt she should keep her feelings

to herself.

Also, there were the murder looks Legolas was shooting Aragorn.

Willow was afraid to even talk to the man lest the Elf lose it entirely. Of

course, Legolas was projecting killer stares at any other member of the

Fellowship Willow ventured close to. Even the hobbits, it was unnerving.

Willow had to talk to him, but privacy was a really big issue at the moment.

Being that there was none of it. Also, there was that overwhelming urge to

run as far away from the situation as possible.

She heard a yelp behind her. Frodo had slipped. Aragorn pulled him

to his feet. Boromir walked towards them and then stopped. Frodo was

frantically searching his neck for something. Boromir bent down and plucked

something from the snow. Willow felt the ring send out its call. It was

calling Boromir, and the guy was having a hard time resisting.

"It’s a wonder we toil so hard for such a simple thing," he

murmured. He brought his hand up, as if to touch the ring. Willow leaped

forward and stayed his hand.

"Don’t touch that thing," she warned him softly. "It’s trying to

pull you in."

"Boromir," Aragorn looked the man straight in the eyes. "Give the

ring back to Frodo."

"Of course," Boromir mumbled, distractedly. He handed the chain

back to Frodo. "I care not," he insisted with a strangled laugh. With a

ruffle of the hobbit’s hair, the man turned back up the slope.

Willow turned concerned eyes to Aragorn. He shrugged and helped

Frodo back up the hill. Willow lent her hand out to him, and slowly the

three climbed to meet the others.

In front of them, the group waited patiently. Legolas was simmering

quietly. His gaze concentrated on Aragorn. Willow dropped Aragorn’s hand.

This was going to get ugly.

**

The snow just got worse.

It came thundering down. The company was resorted to trudging

single file up the mountain, with Gandalf paving a way with his staff. Did

she mention Carrot Toss was one bitch of a mountain?

The hobbits were having the worst of it. The snow came up to their

noses. Boromir and Aragorn were forced to carry them halfway through the

hike.

Willow clung to the back of Aragorn’s clothes, pulling herself along

with them. She was well aware that every time she touched Aragorn, Legolas

started to fume. Right now, she didn’t give a rat’s ass. She was cold and

miserable and clinging to Aragorn gave warmth and support.

A sudden dread filled Willow’s mind. Magic, strong magic, barreling

straight towards them. She had a feeling it was that Saruman guy again.

"Legolas," she called. The Elf was at her side in an instant. "I

need to talk to Gandalf," she shouted over the wind. He nodded, looked

slightly disappointed, and pulled her out of the snow. Nimbly, he ran to

the front of the line, pulling Willow safely behind him.

Why didn’t he mention he could do this before?

"Gandalf, there’s some real bad mojo headed our way." Willow

pointed out over the horizon. "Someone’s sending us bad luck."

Legolas nodded. "There’s black magic on the wind," he affirmed.

Gandalf paused; he seemed at a lost at what to do. Suddenly, a giant

rumbling came from above. The magic sent rocks tumbling down the mountain.

"Get back!" came Gandalf’s cry.

Legolas pulled Willow up against the mountain wall and covered her

head. As the rocks came down, he placed kisses on her neck. They were

under assault and he could only think with his libido. Great. Fantastic.

She would knock some sense into him, but those kisses were mighty pleasant.

Willow was the real Restraint Girl.

"He’s trying to bring down the mountain!" Again, Aragorn’s cry

pulled Willow out of Legolas’ arms. The Elf growled.

If the situation weren’t so serious, she would have laughed. He

sounded exactly like Spike when he did it.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn continued. "We must turn back!"

"No!" the wizard refused. "We must keep moving."

He turned out to the horizon, hefted his staff and mumbled something

in another language. He was doing a counter spell. It wasn’t strong

enough.

Willow was about to head over and offer him her magic when another

rumbling shook the mountain.

Legolas grabbed her again, spun her around, ducked her head, and

stuck his tongue in her mouth. As the snow buried them, she was quite sure

he didn’t need to do that last part.

The snow stopped falling and the company dug itself out. Willow

still had Legolas’ tongue in her mouth during the process. Never occurred

to her to push him away, what with all the danger surrounding them. Yeah

right, she’d permanently join the Elf at the lip if such an act had roused

much attention. Did she mention he was a really good kisser?

Detaching herself rather reluctantly from her, ahem, friend.

Turning towards the others, she checked to make sure everyone had been dug

out.

She wasn’t avoiding looking at Legolas, nope not at all. She was

just worried about her friends. Not in the least trying to avoid the Yummy

Elf behind her. Oh God, she was back to calling him Yummy Elf.

"Gandalf," Aragorn shouted. "We must go back. It is folly to

continue!"

"Why try to brave the mountain?" offered Gimli. "Why not go under

it instead? I say we take the road of Moria."

Gandalf looked lost. He turned to Willow, she shook her head. She

didn’t have a clue what everyone was talking, so she decided to stay out it.

"Let the Ringbearer decide," he finally relented.

Frodo paused, deep in thought. He turned apologetic eyes to

Gandalf. "We take the mines," he decided. Gandalf paled, but nodded.

"All right," Willow enthused. "Let’s get the hell off Carrot Toss."

"CARADHRAS!!"

Willow rolled her eyes.

Chapter Eight

They were off the mountain. Willow felt like cheering. She would

have too, if not for the somber attitudes of all the others. She knew

Legolas’ foul mood was ninety percent her fault, the others just felt

defeated. Gimli was the only one in high spirits.

"My cousin Balin will give us a royal welcome," he kept on boasting.

Willow was cool with that. It sounded much better than "My cousin Balin

will feed us alive to his pet ogre."

Willow wasn’t sure there was an ogre. Maybe she was just over

thinking things, again. But Gandalf was so against this place, it made her

wonder.

What the hell could be so horrible? He neglected to answer any of

her questions. The wizard just kept marching on to Moria, even though he

looked like he prefer heading down into the Hellmouth.

They came to a clearing. It was a giant mountain wall, covered in

vines and symbols.

"The walls of Moria," breathed Gimli in awe.

Willow had to agree with the awe. It was quite a sight. Now if

only that nagging dread in the back of her mind would fade, everything would

be great. That and resolving the whole Legolas problem, everything would be

great. Not likely to happen.

They walked around the rim of a lake. Gandalf had paused in front

of a block of stone. He cleared away some veins, glanced at the moon,

mumbled some words, and stepped back. The wall began to glow. Writing and

symbols appeared, all in the shape of a door. It was pretty cool.

"What does it say?"

"’The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter’,"

Gandalf translated.

"What does that mean?" asked Merry.

"Oh, it’s quite simple," the wizard answered. "You just speak the

password to prove you are a friend and the doors will open."

Gandalf stepped back from the door. "Annon edhellen, edro hi ammen!

Fennas nogothrim, lasto beth lammen!" He slammed his staff against the

door with great pomp.

Nothing happened.

He tried again. Nothing. The wizard paused, and scratched his

head.

"Now what do we do?"

**

The company had settled down for a long sit. Gimli and Boromir had

both lit up. Willow really wanted to know what the stuff was, only to be

told it was halfing weed. Like that answered any questions.

Well, okay, it answered only one.

Sam and Aragorn were unhitching Bill, their ever faithful pony.

They couldn’t bring him into the mines. That is of course, if they ever get

in there themselves. Gandalf wasn’t having the best of luck. But he kept

on trying. Give the guy points for perseverance.

Merry and Pippin were absently chucking rocks into the lake.

Legolas was staring at Willow, and she was studiously ignoring him. Hell,

she even started to read the Wise book Gandalf gave her just so she would

have a reason not to look at him. This whole situation was entirely too

tense.

Willow kept shooting glances at the water. Something was off. She

felt a little afraid. Gods, she prayed there weren’t frogs in the lake.

Aragorn walked over, stopping the hobbits’ mild game.

"Don’t disturb the water," he warned, eyes flicking over the dark

pool.

Willow straightened. What was wrong with the water?

Aragorn met her eyes. "Just a feeling," he answered her silent

question.

"But not any frogs, right?"

Aragorn frowned. "Frogs?" he repeated.

Willow nodded frantically. "I have frog fear. I know it sounds

stupid and that I need an adult fear, but it’s just how I feel. After all,

phobias aren’t suppose to make sense," she rambled on.

Aragorn smiled at her. "Frog fear," he repeated. "How perfectly

Willow."

Willow blushed, he was becoming more and more like Angel as the time

went on. It was beginning to pull at Willow’s heart. She missed her

friends.

Legolas, of course, misinterpreted her blushing, stomped off to the

other side of the lake. Aragorn watched him in confusion. He looked to

Willow.

"What is bothering Legolas?"

Willow’s eyes widened. "Nothing," she stammered. "Nothing is wrong

with him. Why would anything be wrong with him? And if there was, why do

you think I know? What exactly are you implying?"

Aragorn held up his hands in surrender. Willow took a deep breath.

"He has a personal issue going on," she offered apologetically.

"It’s not my place to say what it is. Sorry I snapped at you." It was the

half-truth at least. Aragorn bought it.

"No offence taken, my lady," he replied, settling down next to her.

He leaned over. "I’ve just noticed," he whispered to her, "that when anyone

gets really close to you," Aragorn slipped a lock of her hair behind her

ear, "Legolas seems to get very angry." He smiled at her slyly. "It’s

almost as if he was jealous."

Willow gave a nervous laugh. "Why would that make him jealous?"

Aragorn grinned. "I don’t know," he admitted, this time putting his

lips to her ear. If he weren’t Angel’s descendant, she would be mighty

uncomfortable right now. "But look at his face," Willow turned to looked at

Legolas, who was watching them very keenly. "Doesn’t he look jealous to

you?"

Willow caught on fast. "You’re purposely trying to make him

jealous," she accused in hush tones.

Aragorn grinned again. "Now how could I do that, when being

friendly with you doesn’t make him jealous?"

Willow glared at him. "You’re evil," she fumed. Aragorn laughed at

her. He patted her knee and got ready to stand up. Legolas was going to

burst. Quickly, before she could react, Aragorn planted a soft kiss on her

lips. Legolas shot across the shore, standing possessively in front of

Willow in one instant.

Willow shot up. "Knock it off," she ordered. "The others are

staring!"

Aragorn looked at Legolas appraisingly, the mirth replaced by a

deadly glare.

"You should no better to start a romance on a mission, old friend."

Legolas’ eyes flickered. Willow guessed he realized the whole thing

was a set up. He blushed and looked at his toes. Willow turned wide eyes

on Aragorn.

"Do not let yourself be distracted," he warned. With that, he

grabbed Willow’s arm and dragged her away from the Elf. She stared at him

in confusion as he propelled her over to Frodo and Gandalf. Dropping her

beside the hobbit, Aragorn returned to his own seat, effectively blocking

Willow’s view of Legolas.

"What was that all about?" Frodo whispered.

"Nothing," she stammered. "Aragorn and Legolas don’t agree on

something. It’s not the end of the world."

Frodo frowned but accepted her explanation. It was sort of the

truth. Willow wasn’t sure what Aragorn was mad about, but it was definitely

something revolving around her and the Elf. Willow absently wondered if he

knew about the stolen kisses.

"I give up!" came Gandalf’s cry. He plopped down beside them,

utterly dejected.

Frodo sighed. "I wish the door would just understand we are friends

and let us through," he lamented.

A light went off in Willow’s brain.

"Frodo, you’re a genius!" she crowed, planting a big wet one on the

hobbit’s nose. He looked shocked, Gandalf looked curious.

"It’s a riddle," she explained. "What’s the elvish word for

’friend’?"

Gandalf pursed his lips together. "Mellon," he drawled

thoughtfully.

There was a loud creaking. The stone doors pushed open. Everyone

jumped up in excitement. Willow smiled at Frodo.

"See? A genius you are."

**

They entered the passage tentatively. Didn’t want any surprises.

It was very dark; no light existed in the entrance.

Gandalf whispered some elvish words and the top of his staff started

admitting a light. Gimli was going on and on about the great treatment

Balin was going to give them.

Willow kept the hobbits carefully behind her as she followed Aragorn

into the entrance. Aragorn, who had put Gimli and Boromir in between her

and Legolas. His anger seemed to be focused on the Elf, not her. It made

her wonder what he thought was going on. She would ask him, but it didn’t

seem like the most opportune time.

Something snapped underneath her foot. She looked down-at bone.

She stepped on a bone, and there was plenty more.

"This isn’t a mine, it’s a tomb," came Boromir’s calming statement.

Thanks for clearing it up.

She looked down at the corpse in sorrow. Why couldn’t it just be

gold or flowers or something? Why is it always bodies that Willow stumbled

upon?

Gimli was having hysterics. Willow walked over to him, placing her

hand on his back in comfort. The dwarf was wailing.

Legolas drooped down over a body and pulled out an arrow. He

sniffed it delicately.

"Orcs!" he hissed, dropping the shaft away as if it were

contaminated.

Everyone drew his or her weapons. Willow edged her way back to the

hobbits. The men were helpfully blaming each other for the latest

development.

Oh, the comradeship in this group.

Screaming drew her attention back to the hobbits. She heard

splashing and shrieking. The other three hobbits were crowded over a fallen

Frodo. Sam was desperately hacking at something.

Another splash and the hobbits were thrown back. The others raced

outside. Large tentacles were wrapped around Frodo’s leg and had him

suspended in the air.

Great, a sea monster. Or was that a lake monster?

Everyone rushed out, hacking at any part of the body that moved.

Like that was helping any, the limbs were just falling around the group.

They had to dance around them to avoid being pummeled.

Willow decided to ignore the body of the thing and concentrate on

the tentacles. She heard the whiz of arrows as Legolas let some loose on

the creature. Aragorn, Gimli, and Boromir were hacking away at flailing

limbs.

Willow focused on the one tentacle holding Frodo. Discerning it

from the others, she drew her sword and sliced through the appendage. Frodo

started to fall back down; a tentacle knocked down Willow. Aragorn pulled

her to her feet, shouting instructions at the others. Boromir charged back

into the mine carrying Frodo. Legolas let some more arrows go. It was a

nice mass of confusion.

And then the creature fully emerged from the water.

Willow’s eyes widened, she knew what it was. The last time she had

seen one was the day the Gatehouse opened. The Scooby Gang hadn’t bothered

to fight the thing; it was too huge and too strong. It had demolished the

Sunnydale Harbor during its stay on the Hellmouth.

Yeah, Krakens were bad news.

It came at them suddenly. Aragorn gathered her up in his arms much

like Boromir had Frodo. The whole company charged for the entrance.

Legolas fired more arrows, Gimli chucked more axes, and it did little to

impede the creature’s progress.

It followed them into the mines. The walls shook as it tried to

shove itself into the entrance.

Stupid move.

Concentrating on the little Elvish Willow could remember from her

recent reading, she cast a spell. The door and its surrounding walls

collapsed on the creature, killing it instantly.

Gandalf stared at her in amazement. She looked at him in hysterical

anger.

"I thought you said Connor closed hell and made all the monsters go

back!" she accused.

He looked slightly affronted.

"He did," the wizard insisted. "Only creatures of this earth were

allowed to remain."

Willow frowned. "The Kraken is a creature of this earth?"

Gandalf shrugged. "Apparently," he conceded. He gave her another

look.

"We have no choice but to take the roads through Moria now."

Willow felt a bit indignant. "I was just trying to prevent the sea

monster from eating us," she mumbled, burying her head in Aragorn‘s chest.

The first time she had done magic in this place and someone was already

criticizing her for it.

Aragorn patted her hair and glared at the wizard.

Gandalf sighed in defeat.

"I know lass," he relented. "You did a good thing. We should get

on our way."

Legolas sidled up to the wizard. "Aye, maybe Aragorn should put the

Lady down so we can see to her injuries."

Willow blushed, she had forgot about that. Quickly, the redhead

hopped out of Aragorn’s arms.

"No medical attention needed," she replied sheepishly. "Just got

the wind knocked out of me."

Gandalf turned back to the mines. Legolas and Aragorn glared at

each other. Boromir raised an eyebrow at Willow. She shrugged and turned

to check the hobbits for any injuries. Boromir turned to check on Gimli.

Satisfied, they all turned and followed Gandalf further into the

mines. Legolas and Aragorn walked together, side-by-side, glaring venom at

each other.

The Fellowship was on the verge of suicide.

**

This trip was turning out to be a lot of fun. Walking to trudging

to trudging while freezing, to fighting Krakens and now, climbing up the

steep entrance of the former mine turned tomb.

There were bodies everywhere. It did little to calm Gimli, or

Willow for that matter. It was an obvious one-sided massacre. And whatever

won was most likely still in the mines with them.

And so they proceeded in silence. Well, as much silence as they

could muster. Willow was having a hard time not swearing as she climbed the

slippery rock steps. A few of her statements had caused Sam to turn red.

Great, now she was a bad influence on the younger ones.

Legolas had positioned himself on her right side. Every now and

then, he lent her a hand to steady herself with. Aragorn was not happy. He

was glaring at the Elf but not making a scene for Willow’s sake.

"He is jealous," Legolas whispered to her after catching her once

more.

Willow frowned at him. "Who’s jealous?" she muttered, concentrating

on pulling herself yet another step.

How come dwarves, a race of people tinier than humans, made steps

taller than the average human man? It was frickin’ insane.

"Aragorn," Legolas replied.

"What about Aragorn?" Willow asked.

"He is jealous," Willow snorted.

"No really," Legolas insisted. "Think, why else would he be so

angry with only myself in relation to our affair?"

Willow shook her head in refusal. "No, he’s Aragorn. He’s totally

in love with Arwen. And besides, he’s Aragorn."

Legolas stared at her pointedly. "He is a man," he countered. "A

man with two perfectly functioning eyes. Methinks his anger is an offspring

of the jealousy he feels at our closeness."

Willow frowned at him. She thought over his words. No, it was

impossible. Willow wasn’t sure why Aragorn was so angry at the Elf, but

wasn’t because he was interested in her. That was preposterous.

Sneaking a peek at Aragorn behind her, she reaffirmed that. He was

watching the progress of the company with concern. He met her gaze and

smiled. Willow smiled back. Aragorn was Aragorn; he had no mushy feelings

concerning her.

His smiled vanished into a glare when Legolas put a hand on her

back. She might have to rethink her position.

Presently Gandalf reached the top of the stairs. The wizard

stretched and waited for the others to join him. Once together, he turned

around as if to continue. In front of them were three different passages.

He stopped suddenly.

"I have no memory of this place."

**

They were lost. Gandalf sat on a rock facing the three options. He

was smoking profusely and deep in thought. Willow was pretty sure the

halfing weed wouldn’t do much to help clear his memory.

The hobbits were hungry. Not that it was news or anything. The

hobbits were always hungry. Just now, they were whining about it. Well,

Pippin was whining about it. Merry was telling him to be quiet, Sam was

moping about leaving Bill the pony outside, and Frodo had gone off to talk

to Gandalf. She overheard something about a Gollum, the thing that had

found the ring like 600 years ago. Willow was pretty sure it was the thing

that had been following them for about three days. Normally, she would have

been freaked, but Gandalf had seemed unperturbed by it. So she let it

slide. After all, the wizard knew a lot more than she did.

Boromir was trying to tell her about the white city of Gondor. It

sounded like a kick ass place. Of course, it would have sounded better if

the man ever got to start his story properly. Legolas and Aragorn having

some mild spat or the other were constantly interrupting him.

After the third interruption, Willow decided she had had enough.

Excusing herself from Boromir’s side, she charged over to Aragorn. She

grabbed his arm and led him away from the rest of the group. Everyone was

staring at them. Willow didn’t care; she needed to talk to the man.

"What is your problem?" she hissed at him.

Aragorn looked at her calmly. "Nothing is wrong."

"Yeah right," she countered. "That’s why you and Legolas are about

ready to chop each other’s heads off. Well, depending on whether or not I

beat the two of you to it. Now what is your problem? I thought you and

Legolas were good friends."

Aragorn’s eyes darkened. He looked like Angel in full anger mode.

"Aye, we are friends," he answered darkly. "I expected more of him

on this matter. I knew he was drawn to you, but to take advantage of you in

this manner-"

"Wait a minute," Willow interrupted. "Taking advantage how?"

"By pressing you with advances in your delicate state."

"Delicate state?"

Aragorn looked at her sadly. "You were so saddened when you

discovered you could not return to your loved ones. You are lost and

vulnerable and he is taking advantage of it to suit his needs," he spat out

the last part.

Willow stared at him for a minute. And then she burst out into

laughter. It wasn’t that loud laughter, but the soft no noise making

laughter. After all, they still didn’t want the Orcs to know they were

there. But Willow was practically hysterical with mirth.

Aragorn thought Legolas was trying to get into her pants. He didn’t

even suspect it was really the other way around. And being an

overprotective man, just like Angel, Aragorn was outraged and trying to fend

off the presumed nefarious intentions of the Elf. Legolas misinterpreted

his anger as jealousy, thinking he has some sort of rival for Willow.

It was like some bad soap opera. Something worthy of Passions, what

with all the munchkins running about.

The rest of the company was staring at them. Aragorn was holding

her up when her laughter reduced her to keeling over.

"What is so amusing?" he asked in confusion.

Willow took several deep breaths, almost always followed by a squeak

of laughter. Giggling she leaned over and whispered the truth in Aragorn’s

ear.

His eyes widened. He stared at the redhead in shock. Slowly, he

joined her in silent laughter. The whole ordeal was so ridiculous. Willow

glanced back at the group. Legolas looked crestfallen.

Stifling her laughter, she told Aragorn to go apologize to the Elf

while she composed herself. Obediently the man walked over to Legolas.

They had a whispered conference. Legolas was reduced to the same silent

laughter. The rest of the group looked completely lost.

Finally composing herself, Willow trotted over to the group.

"So," she prompted Boromir. "You were talking about some white

city?"

Boromir smiled and opened his mouth to speak. And then:

"Aha, it’s this way!"

The hobbits jumped up excitedly. Willow turned back to the man.

"You are so finishing your story someday," she told him.

Boromir bowed deeply.

"As you wish, my lady."

The company joined Gandalf and Frodo in front of one of the

passages.

"You remembered?!" exclaimed Frodo in excitement.

"No," the wizard shook his head in amusement. "The air is clearer

in here. When in doubt, follow your nose."

Chapter Nine:

They walked single file as before. Gandalf in the lead and Aragorn

bringing up the rear. They came into a giant hall.

"Behold, Durin’s city, the halls of the Moria," Gandalf informed

them.

"It’s amazing!" Sam declared. Willow had to agree. The hall was

huge, giant pillars everywhere. It’s eerily beautiful.

They kept walking. Presently they came across a corridor. Faint

light emitted from a slightly ajar door. They walked towards it.

Suddenly, Gimli broke from the pack and raced into the room.

"No, oh no!" the dwarf could be heard moaning. The others followed

him into the room. It was covered with bodies, just like the rest of the

place. Gimli knelt before a large granite slab.

Willow paused. She had been in enough mausoleums to know a tomb

when she saw one. She walked over to the dwarf and wrapped her arms around

him in comfort. Gimli continued to wail.

"What does it say?" came Pippin’s question.

"’Here lies Balin, Lord of Moria’" Gandalf read. "So it is true, he

is dead."

Gimli cried harder. Willow rubbed his back. Tears pricked her

eyes. What a horrible day.

Gandalf picked something up from the floor.

"It’s a record," he explained. Brushing away dust, the wizard

opened the book to its final pages.

"’We cannot get out. They have taken the Bridge. We cannot get

out. Drums- drums in the deep. They are coming.’"

Willow gulped at the entry. This just got worse and worse.

A huge clash brought everyone’s attention to the back of the room.

Pippin stood beside a well, wincing guiltily with every bang.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf declared. "Next time, throw yourself in

and save us the trouble of your stupidity!"

"Hey, that’s enough!" Willow interjected. She went to stand beside

the hobbit.

"He made a mistake," she stated evenly. "You don’t have to massacre

him for it. We’re all scared enough as is. Don’t start diminishing

self-esteem as well."

The wizard stared at her long and hard.

"Resolve Face," she warned, pointing a finger to her face.

Pippin snickered. The wizard shook his head slightly. Willow

caught a bit of a smile of his face.

"You will come to all’s defense, even when we are against one

another," he sighed. "May haps you will save all of us."

A faint noise interrupted her reply. Everyone stopped. It was

drumming.

The men jumped into action.

"Orcs," Legolas hissed.

Boromir raced to the door and peered outside. An arrow embedded

itself in the door, barely missing his head. Hastily, he and Aragorn set

about barring the door.

"They have a cave troll," Boromir laughed mirthlessly.

"I knew there had to be something!" Willow shrieked. "It ain’t an

ogre, but it’s close enough."

Everyone stared at her in confusion.

"Just ignore me," she instructed them. The Fellowship returned to

work. The door was barred as well as it could be.

Whoever was on the other side started banging against it. It

wouldn’t hold for long. Everyone drew his or her weapons. Willow and

Gandalf pushed the hobbits behind them.

"It won’t hold," Aragorn warned.

"Let them come!" sneered Gimli, standing atop the tomb with axes in

hand. "There is still one dwarf in Moria that can fight!"

The door started to come apart. Weapons and claws reached through

the openings.

Aragorn and Legolas let arrows lose. Shrieks could be heard from

the Orcs as the arrows found their marks. Willow twirled her sword in her

hand. God, she hoped she was ready.

The door was slammed open. In entered a large blue creature with a

chain wrapped around his neck. He was scary. And he had friends.

"Hey!" Willow shouted in recognition. "Those are the nasty tower

workers!"

"Orcs, my lady," Gandalf informed her.

The enemy charged.

Willow raced about, cutting down as many Orcs that came her way.

The hobbits were doing okay, Sam was getting into it. The boy was fiercely

going after the Orcs.

Willow kept cutting them down while keeping an eye on the hobbits.

Then the troll set his sights on her.

With a huge bellow, the troll charged at her. Willow freaked.

She took off, stabbing Orcs as she went. She led the troll around

in circles. Finally, he trapped her in a corner. It came at her. Legolas

jumped in front of her, arrows striking the creature. It was stalled. The

Elf wrapped his arm around Willow’s waist and carried her away while the

troll was fazed.

Behind a minor sanctuary, Willow turned and kissed Legolas soundly

on the mouth.

"Thinking I love you just now," she informed him.

The Elf beamed at her happily.

Shrieks from the hobbits drove them out of their hiding spot.

"Aragorn!" Frodo could be heard screaming.

Willow raced over at his cries. Aragorn lay in an unconscious heap

by Frodo. The creature obstructed much of her view. She could only see the

troll lunge his lance into the hobbit.

"NOOO!" she screamed. Pippin and Merry jumped on the thing’s back.

It jerked away from Frodo, trying to pull them off. Legolas threw arrows at

it, Gimli threw axes, and Boromir and Gandalf finished off the remaining

Orcs.

Willow looked to Frodo. He wasn’t moving. She turned back to the

troll. It chucked the hobbits off its back.

Willow was pissed. She gathered her magic. She didn’t need a

spell, this was just pure emotion. Her anger gathered at her fingertips.

Electricity crackled off her body, her eyes glowed an inhuman green.

The troll stopped at the sight of her. She snarled at it.

The energy left her hands and barreled towards the creature. It

blew a hole right through him. The troll flopped to the floor dead.

Everyone stared at her. Willow raced over to where Aragorn held

Frodo in his arms.

"Is he. .?" Willow trailed off, her eyes filling with tears.

Coughing from the hobbit answered her question. Frodo opened his

eyes and stared at them.

"I am all right," he assured them. "I am not hurt."

Willow yanked the hobbit into her arms.

"I was so scared," she murmured.

"I am sorry," he replied.

She laughed through her tears. "Not your fault, silly hobbit."

"How?" came Boromir’s question.

"I think there is more to this hobbit than meets the eye," Gandalf

answered.

Wordlessly, Frodo lifted up his shirt and showed them a chain mail

he had on underneath.

"Mithril," breathed Gimli. Willow touched the armor. It was

beautiful.

More drumming drew their attention away from the hobbit.

"We must make for the bridge," Gandalf informed.

The Fellowship gathered itself together and raced out of the room.

Willow kept Frodo clutched desperately in her arms.

**

And they ran.

The whole Fellowship raced madly for the bridge, or something.

Willow wasn’t entirely sure where they were headed, but the others seem to

have a goal in mind.

It would have been okay if only it hadn’t been for the masses of

Orcs that suddenly appeared everywhere they went.

Willow was forced to put Frodo down mid run. The Orcs were chasing

them, flying down the huge pillars of Moria. Willow threw as much magic as

she could at them. It helped a little, but not much. At one point, they

had the Fellowship surrounded.

Willow glanced around them. She gathered her magic into her hands.

She shot a look at Gandalf. He raised his staff. They were as ready as

they could be.

And then magic flooded the hall. Black magic, of a very evil kind.

Everyone sensed it. The Orcs went running for cover.

Willow was guessing that was a bad sign.

"What is this?" Boromir whispered. "New devilry?"

"No," answered Gandalf. "Very old."

Fire and shadow cast upon the halls. Willow gulped audibly.

"Is that a balrog?" she asked tentatively.

Gandalf nodded.

Shit.

"Your weapons are of no more use here," he informed them. "Run!"

And they ran.

Willow herded the hobbits in front of her, pushing them along

briskly. Didn’t want to give the balrog a chance to catch up.

Fire burned the trail behind them.

Yep, definitely didn’t want that thing to catch up to them.

They came to a series of stairwells. None looked too sturdy. But

given the options, what else could they do?

They came to a gap in the stairs. Legolas leapt across easily.

"My lady," he motioned.

"Oh no," Willow protested. "I may be from Sunnydale, but I ain’t

that crazy."

"Now with it lass!" Gandalf commanded, throwing her across.

Willow shrieked in panic. Legolas caught her deftly and turned back

for Gandalf.

When the wizard landed, Willow gave him a loud smack on the arm.

"Don’t do that!" she admonished.

The wizard grinned a sheepish apology.

Arrows flew around them. Willow gazed towards the source. More

Orcs, shooting at them from the rafters. Willow tossed lightning at them.

The Orcs screamed as the bolts fried them alive. Teach those bastards.

Next came Sam, virtually tossed across by Aragorn. Boromir clutched

both Merry and Pippin in his arms and leaped across.

Aragorn turned to Gimli.

"No one tosses a dwarf," he protested. The dwarf squared his

shoulders and leapt across the barricade. He came up a little short.

Legolas latched onto his beard to keep him from falling into the abyss.

"Not the beard!" he shrieked.

The Elf smirked a little and hauled the dwarf to safety.

A sudden rumbling shook the cavern. The steps crumbled away,

stranding Frodo and Aragorn on the other side.

The Fellowship panicked. They couldn’t get to their friends and

they had to deal with the arrows fired at them by the Orcs.

Willow squared her jaw. She concentrated on the wavering steps. In

her mind, she reached an invisible hand out to steady it. Sweat formed on

her forehead. She shook physically from the force of holding the steps up.

The steps steadied.

"Careful lass," came Gandalf’s warning. "Do not let your hold

slip."

"Not helping wizard," Willow choked out.

"Frodo, lean forward," commanded Aragorn. The two strandees leaned

forward, pushing the stairs forward. Boromir and Legolas tensed, preparing

to catch them.

The stairs creaked forward, the two jumped into the arms of their

awaiting comrades. Willow let go of the stairs with a gasp. It took a lot

out of her.

"Hurry!" came Gandalf’s command. Easy for him to say.

Legolas grabbed Willow by her waist and pulled her along. She was

too dizzy to make it on her own.

The Fellowship raced across the bridge. The fire trailing behind

them took form. The balrog reared up in rage. Gandalf turned to face it.

"You cannot pass," he snarled at it. "I am a servant of the Secret

Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will

not avail, flame of Udun. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass."

The balrog had no answer. A fiery whip appeared in his hands.

This was not good. Gandalf was tired; Willow had done too much

magic already. She had very little left.

The balrog shot his whip at the wizard. A blue glow flashed when

the whip met Gandalf’s magic.

He didn’t have much left, Willow could tell. She had to help.

"You cannot pass!" Gandalf and Willow bellowed in unison. She sent

out her magic. A flash of light burst out in the middle of the air. The

bridge gave out under the monster. He fell. They won.

Willow fell to the ground in a heap. Legolas wrapped an arm around

her waist, pulling her to her feet.

Gandalf turned to face them. Willow smiled weakly at him. They

won.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of red. She couldn’t

warn him in time. The balrog’s whip spiralled upwards and knocked the

wizard off his feet.

"Gandalf!" Willow screamed in panic. She tried to use magic to pull

him up. Nothing. She was out of magic. She had done too much. She gazed

into the wizard’s eyes in shock. The wizard gazed back and understood.

"Fly you fools!" he commanded. Then, he let go of the ledge. And

Gandalf the Grey fell into darkness.

"NOOOO!" came Frodo’s heart breaking scream.

Willow was aware of pulling. Legolas was pulling her up some steps,

leading her to the exit. But Gandalf was left behind.

"NO!" she protested, sobbing. "We can’t leave him!"

"We must!" came Aragorn’s response.

Legolas pulled her into sunlight. The Fellowship ran from exit,

dropping exhausted beside a small pond.

Gandalf the Grey had fallen into darkness.

**

The whole company was in sorrow.

Pippin lay on the ground, the force of his grief unable to keep him

upright. Merry sat next to him, crying his eyes out. Sam sat alone on a

rock, weeping. Gimli and Boromir stood side by side, looking on in

helplessness and sorrow.

Willow couldn’t stop sobbing. Legolas held her in his arms. She

cried into his tunic. The Elf stroked her hair.

"We must move," Aragorn spoke softly.

Willow turned disbelieving eyes on him.

"Give them a moment’s peace!" demanded Boromir, his own deep voice

catching with emotion.

"We cannot stay," Aragorn stated. "By nightfall, this whole area

will be crawling with Orcs. We must make it to Lothlorien. Come on,

Legolas get them up."

The Elf paused. He looked at the weeping girl in his arms.

"Go on," she whispered, drying her tears on the back of her hand.

"I’ll get Frodo."

He looked at her, still unsure.

"Go on," she prodded, pulling away from him. "You heard Aragorn, we

have to get to La-La land or whatever."

He smiled at her sadly.

"Lothlorien," he corrected her quietly.

"There too," she agreed absently, this time giving him a push in the

direction of the others. Right now, all she wanted to do was to wrap

herself up in the Elf, but there were more pressing matters. Her comfort

would have to wait until they got to safety.

The Elf gave her a parting hug before going to help Aragorn gather

the others. Willow watched him trot off. Boy still had a great ass. She

wanted to go jumping into his arms and start bawling anew.

She turned away abruptly. She couldn’t afford to start crying

again, she wouldn’t be able to stop. She looked for the hobbit. He was off

walking by himself, as if in a trance.

"Frodo?" Willow called after him questioningly.

The hobbit turned at the sound of her voice. His face was streaked

with tears. Willow’s heart broke.

She gave a slight sob and opened her arms. The hobbit ran into them

and the two of them cried together.

Chapter Ten:

They were in a forest now. It was pretty, peaceful, and calming.

And Willow couldn’t enjoy it. Every time she blinked, she saw Gandalf

falling away from her. Falling to his death because she didn’t have enough

magic to save him. She let another person down.

They walked in quietly; no one had words for their grief. Legolas

was holding her hand as they walked. She would have enjoyed it except she

wanted to hold onto the Elf and cry till her eyes dried up.

Gimli and the hobbits walked ahead. The dwarf was telling the

hobbits some story about an enchantress in the forest. Whatever, like that

mattered. Bring on the evil enchantress. Killing something right about now

sounded good.

"Don’t you lads worry," Gimli assured them. "I have the ears of a

fox."

Then he saw the arrow pointed at his face. They were surrounded by

Elves, all pointing arrows at them. Willow was getting real tired of having

projectiles aimed at her.

Legolas had his bow up immediately. An arrow pointed at his head

stopped his movement. The Elf holding the bow motioned him to lower his

weapon.

A flash of lightning followed by a yelp from the offending Elf drew

everyone’s eyes to Willow.

Her hands crackled with electricity. Her eyes glowed green. The

witch had had enough.

Aragorn placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

"It is all right," he soothed. Willow lowered her hands and her

eyes slowly returned to normal. She shot their captors deathly glares.

They all backed up a bit.

"The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark,"

stated one of the Elves snidely, breaking the tense silence.

Gimli seethed in indignation. Willow smirked a bit.

"Haldir," Aragorn whispered to the head Elf. Willow frowned. She

knew what he was saying. But he was saying it in Elvish. Since when was

Willow fluent in Elvish?

"We must see the Lady and Celeborn. We are in need of your help,"

Aragorn finished.

The Elf frowned. He looked at Willow in slight suspicion. She

returned his gaze steadily.

"You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Woods," he announced

finally. "She will decide what to do with you."

And with that, they were ushered away.

**

They were led to a city hidden deep within the forest. Like much of

what she had seen in Middle Earth, the city was breathtakingly beautiful.

Haldir led them into a hall.

They stopped at the base of a staircase. A couple was descending

it. Willow felt their magic before she could make them out. Slowly, they

came into view. Two beautiful Elves, one lady one lord, both dressed in

white, both glowing.

"Lady Firelight," the male greeted her. "You have come to Middle

Earth at last."

"Yeah, it’s a kick ass place," she answered numbly.

The lord smiled lightly at her words and then frowned.

"Ten departed from Rivendell yet only nine are before us," he stated

questioningly. "Where is Gandalf? I have much desire to speak with him."

Willow’s eyes overflowed with tears. She stood crying silently,

only Legolas’s arms holding her upright. The hobbits began to weep anew.

"He has fallen into shadow," the lady exclaimed softly. Willow

raised her face to look at her.

"The mission stands on the edge of a blade. Slip one way, and all

is lost," she paused, eyes roaming over the group. She smiled slightly.

"But hope remains, as long as the company is true. Come, you are weak with

much toil and sorrow. Tonight you will rest safely in our city."

The lady turned to her.

Welcome to Lothlorien, Lady Firelight.

Willow’s eyes widened. A mind reader.

It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could have done. Let

his sacrifice be. Forever will we chant the name of Gandalf the Grey in our

songs.

Willow looked into her deep blue eyes.

I am the Lady Galadriel. We will talk later.

You bet we will, Willow answered.

**

Willow followed Galadriel silently. The Elf had woken her from her

sleep and gestured her to follow. The redhead extracted herself from

Legolas’s arms and followed. Lord Celeborn had given Willow her own room,

but she had needed to be with her friends.

She followed the Elf silently. The whole city was quiet. Everyone

slept or silently lamented the loss of Gandalf.

They came into a clearing. Aragorn stood waiting by a small

waterfall. She looked at him questioningly but he only answered with a

shrug.

Galadriel motioned Willow to join her at a small pool at the

waterfall. The redhead approached slowly, eyes watching the lady’s every

move. Galadriel poured water into the pool.

"Will you look into the mirror?" she asked.

"Sure," Willow answered. "What’s in there?"

"Things from all space and time," Galadriel answered. "No one knows

what they will see. The mirror decides for you."

"Why is Aragorn here?"

"He is here on a hope of mine that you will bring an image of his

ancestors to light," Galadriel admitted. "He has many doubts of who he is.

He must realize he comes from a long line of protectors."

Willow nodded. She leaned over the pool.

At first she only saw her own reflection. Then the image wavered

and she saw something else. Buffy’s house, the living room, right after she

had been sucked away.

-Where is she? Spike roared.

The group floundered around. Buffy got on the phone to call Giles

and then Angel.

Another image bounced up. Everyone arriving in Sunnydale to look

for her. The LA Fang Gang and Giles with a whole bunch of Watchers. Riley

appeared eventually. They poured over books. Buffy and the vampires beat

up several creatures for information. Fred scanned the web. Riley made

calls to the military.

Time passed. Connor got larger. He was walking soon enough. Dawn

grew, became more beautiful than ever. Everyone looked harried. Xander

appeared lost, Anya beyond pain. Angel was frantic. He yelled a lot,

especially at Lorne.

Tears flowed down Willow’s cheek. Gods she wished she could talk to

them, let them know she was all right. Her tears continued to flow. A few

hit the pool. The images wavered and then glowed.

Magic bounced off the pool and took form in front of her.

"What is this?" Aragorn demanded, drawing his sword.

"I know not," Galadriel admitted. "This has never happened before."

A cavern appeared before them. Willow approached the image slowly.

Something important was about to happen.

"Willow?" came a voice. A very familiar voice. Dawn, beautiful at

eighteen, stepped in front of the image.

"Dawnie," Willow whispered.

The girl broke into a grin.

"IT’S WILLOW!" she shrieked. "GUYS, I FOUND WILLOW! COME QUICKLY!"

Footsteps were heard resounding off the walls. Her friends filtered

into the cavern.

"Red," breathed Spike in relief. He made for the redhead. Only to

be stopped by an invisible wall. He pounded on it furiously.

Angel’s words came back to the redhead.

Then we found you, perfectly safe and sad around the edges. We

reached out for you, but no one could get to you. You were out of our reach

forever . . .

Tears flowed down her cheeks. This was it, the last time she would

ever lay eyes on her friends.

"I’m okay," she whispered to them. "I can’t come home, but I am

okay."

"What do you mean you can’t come home?" demanded Xander.

Angel stepped forward. "Willow just hold on, we’ll find a way

through."

"There isn’t a way through," she told him through her tears. "This

was all meant to be. I’m sorry I can’t come home. I’ll miss all of you

forever, but this is what was meant to be."

"NO!" came Buffy’s protest. "Nothing is set in stone. We are

getting you out of there."

Their pleading and demands broke her heart. Willow’s knees gave out

from the force of her sobs. Arms encircled her. She looked up. Aragorn

held her in his arms, eyes watching her carefully. She smiled at him and

then turned to her friends.

"I’m safe here," she assured them. "I’ve got some friends here who

can take care of me. You could say it’s in their blood."

"Who the hell is that guy?" Spike demanded.

"Do I know you?" was Angel’s question.

"He’s of you," Willow answered softly. "Know that I am safe with

him. He is of you."

"Connor," breathed Angel. The vampire grinned. "My Connor makes

it."

"You all do," she whispered.

"My lady," came Galadriel. "The image is wavering. You must say

your farewell."

"Now just hold on for one minute you pointy eared freak," Spike

hissed. "Red is not saying goodbye. She’s coming with us."

Galadriel frowned. "This is the great poet William Exeter?"

Willow laughed. "He’s just a grumpy old man who can write pretty

poetry."

"Willow!" Dawn cried. "Don’t leave. Not again."

"I’m sorry," Willow answered. "I’m so sorry."

The cavern faded. Other images appeared. Her friends, all

assembled in Buffy’s house once more. Xander and Anya sat on the couch,

both simply staring forward. Buffy wandered from room to room, putting

things away and then taking them out again. Giles sat in the far corner of

the dining room, pouring himself drink after drink after drink. Angel sat

in the kitchen, brooding away the time. Fred sat next to him, cuddling

Connor to her herself, calming the agitated baby. Riley sat on the

staircase, looking at the front door as if willing Willow to walk through

it. Gunn and Wesley watched on helplessly as Cordelia bit her nails and

muttered to herself. In her room, Dawn lay on her bed. She was sobbing and

clutching a photo of the redhead to her chest. Spike sat on Willow’s old

bed, in her old room. There was a pink sweater laid out before him.

-That lilac number. Could have eaten you right then.

Spike buried his head in her sweater as blood tears rolled down his

cheeks.

Willow wanted to die for all the grief they felt. Slowly time

passed. Her friends were able to smile again. They accepted their loss and

turned their heads to other things. Marriages happened. Babies happened.

Connor grew, became the Saviour. He binded the realms, made all things

peaceful. They all lived happily ever after.

The image slowly dimmed. Willow was left in the clearing with

Aragorn still holding her up. Silence reigned.

"Hope you got something out of that," Willow finally whispered to

the man. She quickly extradited herself from his arms and ran back into the

city. She ran fast. Soon, she came upon the room Celeborn had made for

her. Slamming the door behind her, Willow fell onto the bed in tears.

Her door creaked open.

"My lady?" Legolas called. She lifted her head and stared at him

mutely.

He shut the door behind him and approached the bed.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly. Willow shook her head.

"Can I help?"

She looked at the Elf. He was always around for her. Throughout

their mission, she had been drawn to him. He saved her, helped her, and

generally looked out for her. And there were all those kisses. Slowly she

realized the Elf loved her. She also became aware that she loved him as

well. But how to say it?

"Willow?" he asked, blue eyes lined with worry.

She smiled at him. "That’s the first time you called me Willow

instead of my lady."

Legolas shrugged slightly, a smile forming on his own lips.

Willow sighed and got up. Wordlessly she held out her arms for the

Elf. He sunk down beside her and pulled her into his embrace. She buried

her face into his neck and closed her eyes.

"I love you," came his whisper.

"I know," she replied. Willow raised her head to look him in the

eyes. He leaned down and placed a kiss on her lips. Willow sighed in

contentment. She pushed up against him, turning them both around as one.

She lay down on her back, pulling him with her.

No more tears were shed that night.

**

Willow woke with the sun shining on her face. She moaned slightly

and buried her head into soft blond hair. That woke her right up. She

didn’t have blond hair.

Willow opened both eyes slowly. She turned her head slightly.

Legolas lay asleep next to her, arm draped across her stomach. The events

of the previous night came back to her. Oddly, she wasn’t at all

embarrassed or even self-conscious. She was content, not happy after all

she saw last night, but content here with her Elf. Her Elf, her Legolas,

her love.

Smiling, she gazed at him. He eventually opened his eyes and looked

at her.

"Good morning," she whispered.

"Good morning," he answered. His hand came up to stroke her cheek.

"Never leave me."

"Never," she consented.

Happy, the Elf planted a kiss on her lips and gathered her up in his

arms. Willow lay in his embrace happily.

**

They were leaving Lothlorien.

The Fellowship was assembled by the shore of the Great River. The

Elves of Lothlorien gathered to see them off. There were three boats

supplied to them. All three were crammed pack with food and various other

supplies.

Lady Galadriel drew Willow to the side.

"Lady Firelight, I have a gift for you," the Elf presented a crystal

bracelet. "A protective charm. It will always let you know where your love

is."

"Love?"

"I am not as blind as you think," Galadriel shot a glance at

Legolas. "Your lover, Legolas Greenleaf, prince of Mirkwood."

Willow blushed slightly.

"Do not be embarrassed," Galadriel admonished. "The love he has for

you is truly beautiful. Your love for him is likewise. This charm will

help you find him if you are ever lost."

Willow thanked her and turned back to her company.

"Lady," a hand on her arm stopped her. "Do not wait too long to

tell him that you love him. It is something you both need."

Willow stared at her long and hard. Finally, she smiled and thanked

the Elf once more. She turned around and rejoined her group.