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A/N: Yes, I'm back with another challenge response.  This is a crossover fic with "The Lord of the Rings," challenge #58 on the Bloodshedverse.  Details will be published at the end of the fic.  No peeking unless you want to be spoiled.  Must thank Debs, once again, for looking this over.


Chapter 1: A Sacrifice For My Love

“You know quite well, deep within you, that there is only a single magic, a single power, a single salvation...and that is called loving.” – Hermann Hesse

“I choose to suffer for those I care; I will sacrifice myself as long as you are there.” – Amy Kleer

************************

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

His eyes scanned along the makeshift tower looking for something to grasp onto and break his fall.  The ground was closing in fast, too fast, and he prepared to have his bones crushed under the impact…

There!

With a slight shift of his body, his hand just managed to reach the protruding pole, gripping it tight, nearly pulling his arm out of the socket as his descent came to an abrupt halt.  Grunting under his breath, he ignored the pain in both his arm and back, swinging back and forth on the pole until his momentum was enough to launch himself back onto the steps that lead towards where Dawn was tied to a post like the proverbial sacrificial lamb.

His duster flared behind him as he vaulted the steps.  Pain receded.  Only Dawn mattered.  Getting back to her.  Saving her.  Preventing her from being gutted by the demon that had gotten the best of him.  He was almost to the top when the ball of energy formed and he knew he’d been too late.  He’d failed her.  His Niblet had been hurt because he’d been too cocky, too sure in his success in beating Doc. 

The demon would die.  He’d sealed his fate the moment he touched his ‘Niblet.  Just then, Doc sailed past.  Copied his headlong fall to the ground below, his tortured screams no comfort in the least. They only increased Spike’s guilt.

Buffy. She’d been the one to do it – just not in time.  The portal was open and dimensions were about to collide.

Her voice sounded in his ear as he hurried up the last few remaining steps, soft words as she tried to soothe her distraught sister, prevent the girl from jumping to save the world.  To right the wrong her spilled blood had inadvertently caused.

No!  She wouldn’t.  She couldn’t!  He wouldn’t let her…

“…Be brave. Live. For me.”

Spike caught the slayer before she could hurl herself off the end of the platform, his arms banding tight around her as she struggled against him.

“Spike!  What are you doing?  There’s not much time.  Let me go…”

“You think I could watch you do it to save the ‘Bit and the rest of us?  Jus’ let you throw yerself o’er the edge?”

“I don’t have a choice. Death is my gift. She told me so.  This is something that I have to do.  You have to let me go, Spike.”

“No!”

“It needs blood.  Hers, mine…it doesn’t matter…” Buffy started struggling against him, desperate to see the world righted, her destiny fulfilled.  Maybe then she could finally rest.  She stilled in his arms, looking up at his face to try and plead with the stubborn vampire to see things her way…to let her do this last act as the slayer.  She was surprised to see the ridges and fangs that marred his face.

“Spike…wha?”

He lifted his hand, the caress to her face surprisingly gently, only serving to increase the slayer’s confusion.

The rest of the world slipped away, leaving just the two of them standing near the edge of the platform.  Dawn, the ball of energy…everything disappeared as slayer and vampire stared at one another.  Time seemed to stand still. His eyes blazed with emotion.  Everything he wanted to say, to voice, was there in his eyes for her to see.  Love seemed too inadequate a word to place on what he felt for her.  She was his everything.  And he refused to allow her to kill herself to save them.

“I’m sorry, Buffy,” he told her.  Finally spoke to break the silence that had seemed to settle around them.  Her real name sounded strange on his lips.  Using it to convey to her his regard.  Now wasn’t the time for all the pet names he’d called the slayer.  He was laying it out for her, heart in his eyes, telling her in no uncertain terms how he felt.  Begging her to understand, if not accept.  No apologies, no recriminations.  Just a love like nothing he’d ever felt.  When he saw that she got it, heard that little gasp that told him she’d finally realized, he spoke.  Apologizing to her for everything that he hadn’t done.  For what he was about to do.

“Sorry I wasn’t fast enough…strong enough.  Sorry that I have to do this.”

He struck before she could realize his intent.  Fisted his fingers in her hair and attacked her neck, his bite surprisingly tender considering…

The chip fired, bolts of electricity zinging through his brain and nearly incapacitating him. He ignored it, gulping huge quantities of her blood into his mouth, all the while balancing his desire to see her live with his need to drink enough to close the portal.  His knees nearly buckled under the strain of the pounding in his head, but he persevered, determined to see his promise, his sacrifice, through.  His pain would be over soon, and he could die in peace, knowing that she’d lived.  That they’d both lived.  His girls.  His promise to his lady kept.

She slumped in his arms, weak from blood loss, and he retracted his fangs from her neck, licking the wounds closed as he mumbled his apologies into her skin.

“Sorry, Buffy.  So sorry.  Love you…love you so much…”

Easing her lax form down on the metal floor, his hands roamed over her face and hands, verifying that she’d be ok.  That he hadn’t taken too much.  His fingers tucked a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear, wanting nothing more than to kiss her lips as a last goodbye.  But he didn’t.  He’d violated her enough.  He couldn’t – wouldn’t – commit that last atrocity.  Besides, a kiss not freely given by her wasn’t something that he wanted.

The outside world intruded then.  Dawn rushing up and falling to her knees beside the slayer’s head.  The dragon flying near the tower, its flapping wings producing gusts of wind that rushed through their hair.  Bolts of lightning zinging out from the energy mass that continued to increase in size, even as Spike had sipped of the slayer’s blood.

“What did you do, Spike!  I trusted you!  How could you kill her?” Dawn wailed at him as she cradled her sister’s head in her lap.  Blue eyes accusing his own.

“Niblet…’m sorry.  I had to,” he mumbled, unable to bear her censure.  It killed him to see her look at him like that.  Like he was so far beneath her.  Like he’d betrayed her trust. His head lowered in shame, taking in the pale form of the slayer one final time.

Spike turned away, resolve in his spine as he rose unsteadily to his feet, the lingering effects of the chip not quite overcome by the enhanced properties of the slayer blood coursing in his veins.  He walked off, towards the edge, not bothering to look back to see the condemnation in his ‘Bit’s eyes before she glanced back down at her sister.  Just threw himself over the edge and into the huge ball of energy. 

He felt like he was being bathed in sunlight, only he wasn’t burning.  His body danced along an invisible wave, his mouth open in shock as the energy seemed to consume him.  Invading his body to seek out that which would end the cycle, close the portal and restore the world once more. His blue eyes stared unseeing, until it became too much and his eyes drifted closed.

Spike’s last thought was of her.

Buffy.

*****************

She came to feeling something wet spatter at odd intervals upon her face.  Groggy, her mind momentarily forgetting why, she struggled to sit up.  Immediately, she was enveloped by her sister’s arms, mournful sobs turning to cries of elation at her sister being alive.

“Buffy!” Dawn gasped.  “You’re ok.”

“I’m fine…”

Before she could get out the “what happened,” it hit her.  Her hand went to her neck, fingering the twin pinpricks.  Memories rewound and were replayed in her mind as she pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly before her sister provided her steadying grip.

Spike.

He’d bitten her.  Drank her blood.  The look of love and regret in his eyes.  Oh god!  She glanced around, noticing the oddly peaceful morning.  As if not moments before hell had come to play on Earth.  He’d done it.  Gave up his life and closed the portal.  For her.  For them.

She broke away from her sister, a burst of speed coming from somewhere – she knew not where – as she raced down the numerous steps to the ground floor.  She paused atop the last set of steps, her eyes scanning the ground in search of him…

…but came up empty.  There was nothing there.  No trace of the black-clad vampire that had been a menace for so long, only to become a reluctant ally.  The peroxide pest that had kept the promise he’d given her was no more.  No hint of leather was found as her eyes swept over every available space.  Refusing to give up, she jumped down the last flight of stairs and began a frantic search for him.

When it hit her, when the reality of his complete disappearance made itself know, Buffy collapsed to the ground in a heap.  Her legs giving way as the short burst of adrenaline left her body.  She didn’t cry.  Couldn’t cry.  The moment she’d shared with him before he’d bitten her was something she wanted to hold tight. 

Buffy felt them come close then.  The Scoobies.  Her watcher.  All thought she was grieving for Dawn.  Her sister.  As Dawn finally made it down the last few steps, their grief-stricken features changed to ones of confusion.  If it wasn’t Dawn that had closed the portal, who had…

“Spike,” she whispered to their silent question. “Spike saved me.  Us.”

Their shocked expression only grew as the slayer continued.  Telling them how he’d bitten her.  Drank her blood.  Then calmly jumped to undo what Dawn’s blood had started.

“I knew he couldn’t be trusted,” Xander yelled, his mind so set in hating the blond vampire, he couldn’t see that he’d done it to help, not hurt, the slayer.  “He was just biding his time.  You could have been killed!”

Seething hatred stole through her body.  Yes, Spike had hurt her in the past.  Pre-chip Spike had been the Big Bad at his finest.  But, he’d changed.  Only no one had noticed.  Not even her.  She was just as shocked as the others had been when he’d done it.  Sacrificing himself to save them all.  Oh, she knew he’d done it for her and Dawnie.  Everyone else was just a bonus.  A freebee.  Like a gift with purchase.  He’d had no love for the Scoobies or the rest of the world, but if it meant saving the slayer and his “’Bit,” then he was the vamp for the job.

And, she wouldn’t let anyone desecrate the memory of his final sacrifice.

“Shut up, Xander,” she ground out from her position on the floor.  She slowly rose to her feet, ignoring her weakness, slayer mode in full effect as she confronted her biased friend.  “I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth regarding Spike.  He died saving our lives.  Yeah, he took some of my blood.  Big deal.  Better him than me, wouldn’t you say?  Because he stopped me from jumping.  Me! So, I don’t want to hear another comment about how evil he was, how manipulative…because, in the end, he kept his promise.”

She turned then, her harsh mask encompassing the rest of their ragtag group as she spoke.

“Now, I’m going home.  It’s been a long night, and I need some rest before I have to deal with the next thing the Hellmouth decides to throw at me.”

Buffy nearly collapsed with exhaustion, but was caught by her watcher.  Giles slipped his charge’s arm around his shoulder, holding it with one hand as the other wrapped around her waist and pulled her close, walking slowly out of the construction area. 

Dawn hurried across the space and walked behind them.  The younger girl’s guilt ate at her; she’d been so cruel, so unforgiving and judgmental as she’d railed at the one person who had been her friend.  She’d been so intent on her sister, she’d never seen him get up and jump into the energy ball.  Hadn’t known what had happened to Spike until her sister had said something just now.  A regret that she would have to live with for the rest of her life.

Giles helped the slayer as she limped her way back home, but his mind was a million miles away.  Spike had done it.  Had forsaken his demon and sacrificed himself for the good of humanity.  It was definitely something worthy of reflection in his Watcher’s diary.  A vampire, soulless but for the government chip in his head, had done something so extraordinary as to cause him to rethink the rigid teachings of the Council.

Xander stared after the retreating threesome, Anya held tight in his arms.  Years of history and built up prejudice were too firmly entrenched to be done away with one act, no matter how big it had been.  Rather than express his opinions, he kept his mouth shut and started for his own house.

Tara was too confused from her recent trauma to focus on what Buffy was saying.  The last thing she really remembered with some clarity was attending the festival in the park.  Everything else was just a blur.  She tried to concentrate on what Willow was saying.  Something about going home, getting some rest.  It sounded like a good idea, she was tired but she wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe after a day’s rest she’d learn what had happened.  Tara allowed herself to be pulled away, the huge tower left behind; it’s sudden appearance no doubt to be explained away by the local government.

***************

Spike woke for a moment, but didn’t open his eyes.  His body ached, having been subjected to a torture far worse than Angelus could ever dish out.  The cool ground beneath his cheek beckoned a return to a healing slumber.  Vamp senses stretched outward, sensing no danger, and he allowed himself to slip back into unconsciousness
tbc

A/N:  Thanks again go to the lovely Debs for the beta.  Also, for those of you die-hard LotR’s fans, and the rest that were swept away by the movies: The next few chapters take place before the first film, “The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring” and most information is pulled from the books preceding that event; although, obviously I’ve manipulated the storyline to suit my needs.  I’ve been deliberately vague in explaining the identities of the characters in these next few chapters so that people that have not read the books or seen the movies will just feel like they’re original characters in my fic.  True fans will know exactly who I’m referring to.  Also, once we get into the setting of The Fellowship, Aragorn’s behavior will be reflected more by the characterization in the film, than what may have been perceived from the books.

Chapter 2: A Warrior’s Path Chosen

“Destiny is not a matter of chance, it is a matter of choice.”  – William Jennings Bryan

******************

Heat.  A pleasant sensation that bathed his face in warmth.  Like the skin of the slayer beneath his fingertips, its soft caress soothing.  Lulling him to sleep just a tad bit longer.  A warm blanket enveloping his frame…

Spike bolted upright, scrambling upon the ground as he tried to race towards the shade.  Before he realized that he wasn’t going up in flames.

‘What the bloody hell?’ he questioned silently, his hands raised in the air, flipping it back and forth as the light seemed to reflect off his pale skin.  He stared in awe as the sun’s rays had no harmful effect on him whatsoever.

A noise off in the distance cut short this new discovery, and he jogged towards the rustling coming from the brush in the distance.  When a childlike cry rent the air, his jog turned into a flat out run, his vampiric speed carrying him across the barren expanse of land and into the trees beyond.

His blue gaze took in the scene before him but a moment before he thrust himself into action, ripping the strange demon off the young boy and hurling it some distance away. Spike shoved the kid behind him, the harsh movement causing him to fall to his back as the vampire momentarily forgot about his enhanced strength at the coming fight.  He glanced down, making sure the boy was alright, before positioning himself in front of him as the beast charged.  The fleeting thought that the chip hadn’t activated did nothing to sidetrack him from the demon hell bent on his prize.  As the beast charged, Spike waited until the last possible moment before sidestepping, using his booted foot to trip up his foe.  When the creature landed face first on the ground, he pounced.  With his back to the boy, the blond-headed vampire allowed his demonic features to come the fore and used claws and fangs to quickly dispose of the demon that had dared to attack the small child.

Spike pushed himself up off the dead…whatever it was, human mask firmly back in place as he went to check on the kid.

“You al’right?” he asked the shocked boy, kneeling down beside him where he still lay, stunned, sprawled upon the ground.

The boy just nodded at the strangely dressed man, too shocked to speak.  He’d thought he was going to die, and just knew that Elrond wasn’t going to be pleased when he found out that he’d ventured outside the protective boundaries of Rivendell.  It was a good thing the stranger had come along.

“Well, come on.  Le’s get you home then,” Spike told the kid, helping the boy to his feet as he stood up himself.  “What was tha’ thing anyway?”

“It was an Orc.  You talk funny,” the dark-haired boy replied.  “My name’s Estel.”

“Spike.”

“Spike?  What’s a spike?”

“’s my name.  Spike’s my name.”

“Oh.”

Estel walked off and Spike was left with no choice but to follow.  The barren land quickly gave way to lush landscape.  In the distance, he could hear the sound of running water.  Soon they were on a path that led to a huge city.  Tucked inside steep mountains, numerous waterfalls cascading down around its structure, Spike thought the stone creation was the most beautiful piece of architecture he’d ever seen.  As he continued to climb the winding path leading to the city proper, he felt a peace envelope his being, soothing him.

As the pair began to encounter people – he wouldn’t say humans, what with the pointed ears and all – he was surprised that no one moved to stop him.  Just allowed him to walk freely amongst them.  Strange.

Even stranger was the person he was finally led towards.  Straight brown hair, wearing a silver headband reminiscent of a crown, his flowing robes doing nothing to detract from his regal bearing, the man – elf he was later to learn – just looked into his eyes as if they could see into Spike’s soul, or would if he’d had one.  As quickly as the intense look began, it was over, and he watched as a slight smile played about the man’s lips as he gestured for them to sit.

“You’re not of this world, are you, my friend?”

“Don’ rightly know.  Not sure where here is exactly,” Spike replied.

“You’re in Rivendell, home of the elves.  My name is Elrond.  And you are?”

“Spike.”

“Spike?”

“Yes.  Spike.  Used to be William, but I gave up that poncey name once I was turned.  Struck more terror in the heart of me victims…not that I do that anymore.  But, been Spike ever since.  See no need to change it now.”

“Very well…Spike. What brings you to Rivendell?”

“Like I said, don’ rightly know.  Last thing I remember was jumpin’ off a tower to save Bu— Well, to save the world.  Nex’ thing I know, ‘m here.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that…”

“You are,” Spike asked surprised.

“Legend told of a stranger.  A hero. One that would help unite man and see the end to Sauron.”

“Well…you got the wrong guy.  ‘M not a hero.  Jus’ a regular bloke.”

“Estel?”

“Yes, father,” the boy spoke meekly.

“Tell me how you came to be in the company of Spike.”

“He saved me from an Orc.  Past the boundaries of Rivendell,” Estel replied honestly.

Elrond’s brow quirked, slim line arching in a pronounced vee, daring the stranger to deny the title of “hero.”

“Anybody woulda’ done it.  ‘Twernt no big deal,” Spike protested.

“If you insist.  Although, many would probably resist their destiny…” Elrond turned away, gaze intent upon the young boy that had moved off to play with a few other children, having been dismissed with a look from his “father” after his brief explanation.  He roused himself a moment later, gifting the newcomer with a polite smile.  “You will stay with us.  Estel will show you where you may sleep.  Relax.  Let the peace of Rivendell flow through you and calm your demons.”

Spike didn’t respond verbally to the other man’s good will.  Just nodded and rose to his feet.  He was tired, and confused.  His body still felt like it had been run over by a freight train and he wanted nothing more than to sink back into oblivion and pray this was just a nightmare.

********************

For the first time since he’d been turned, Spike slept through the night, and woke with the sun.  He almost jumped out of his skin as the morning rays shone on his bed before he remembered that the sun had no harmful effect here.  A less cynical person might have marveled at the fact that he’d given up being around the slayer – his only means of being bathed in sunlight – to be rewarded with it here.  In Rivendell.  Wherever Rivendell was.  He’d have gladly given it all up just to be back with her, but never at the expense of her own life.  Better him than her.  Just knowing that she lived…

No.  It was better this way.  He was comforted by the fact that he’d kept his promise.  Had saved Dawn…and the slayer.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he noticed a change of clothes lying over the back of a chair.  Muted colors.  Something not overly ostentatious, even if the cut left much to be desired.  But, he wanted to fit in, so he slung the garments haphazardly over his shoulder and went in search of a shower.

Spike walked out of his room and encountered the young boy he’d saved.  Estel.  When the vampire enquired as to the location where he could freshen up, he was led by the boy to a pool of water that, surprisingly, was rather warm.  He stepped behind some shrubs and quickly divested himself of his clothes, not at all concerned about his nudity, and waded out into the water.  Estel had left as soon as he’d shown Spike the location, but soon returned with fragrant soaps – not the least bit feminine in scent – and some clean cloths to dry off, grabbing Spike’s discarded clothes when he left the second time.

He grumbled under his breath about bloody thieves stealing his togs, but soon dismissed the lad from his mind and resumed his bath.  When he’d finished washing up, Spike swam a few laps, reveling in the invigorating warmth of the pool.  The whole area seemed enchanted, as if touched by magic – but not the kind that set his skin on edge.  Rather, he found himself lingering, long after he’d finished, just so he could bask in the peace that permeated from the place.

A snapped twig to his left had his vampiric countenance rushing to the fore as he tried to ascertain who it was that had invaded his sanctuary.

“Be easy, golden warrior, I’ll cause you no harm,” the soft, melodious voice came to him.

Spike moved towards the sound of the voice, pausing when the water was waist high. “Easy enough for you to say, luv, but I’ll reserve judgment for now.”  His head cocked to the side, waiting to see if he’d get to put a face to the voice that had drifted out of the forest.  His whole body tensed in anticipation.

His ears picked up no further movement, and he was just about to dismiss the creature from his mind and gain the rocks that held his borrowed clothes when she stepped from behind the bushes.  To say she was a vision was an understatement.  An ethereal beauty, she was.  Dark hair, pale skin, a flowing purple gown that just enhanced her radiance.

“I’m Arwen, daughter of Elrond.  And, you are Spike, a stranger to our land.  The one the legend foretold.”

“You got the name right, don’ know ‘bout that whole legend nonsense,” Spike replied, ridges and fangs receding as the perceived threat disappeared.

“No.  You wouldn’t see.  But, I see it.  All around you.  Such vibrant colors proclaiming your status.  In time, you too, will see.”

He stared hard at her, trying to decipher if she was real or not.  When she seemed to practically disappear before his eyes, he put the matter firmly from his mind.  Chalked it up as a dream, a byproduct of his delusional mind.  Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, he turned and exited the pool, drying off with the cloths and slipping into his new clothes.

********************

From his spot on top of the bridge, Spike stared down at the scene below.  The boy, Estel, was engaged in a mock hand-to-hand battle with another boy.  An elf.  Not a human.  And, unfortunately, the elf was winning.  Something.  A driving urgency of some kind, was telling him to go down there and…

“You would not know it, but he will be a great warrior someday.  A leader among men,” Elrond commented as he came to a halt beside the newcomer.

“You’re right.  I wouldn’t. Boy keeps droppin’ his shoulder,” Spike commented.  “Where’s ‘is family?  Seems a bit outta place, you bein’ with the pointy ears an’ all ‘an him not. Smell different too.”

“Smell diff—” he asked confused, but was cut off as he watched the man before him transform his face into something resembling an Orc.  Only not. “What?”

“Vampire, mate,” Spike told him, tapping his nose.  “Can smell the difference.”

“Vampire?”

“Yeh. ‘M a demon. Only ‘m not evil.”  Spike’s eyes widened comically at the slip, pushing away from the edge to begin an agitated pace up and down along the bridge. Elrond watched him, equal parts amusement and confusion playing on his face.

“What am I sayin’?  Of course, ‘m evil.  ‘M the Big Bad!  Ain’ got no chip in me head to tell me nay anymore.” The blond vampire continued to pace, oblivious to the elf lord as he argued with himself.  “Oh, who ‘m I bloody kiddin’?  ‘M still a neutered vamp, even with the chip not workin’.”

He paused, about ten feet separating the two as he told the other, “She’s ruined me, she ‘as.  Lovin’ her.  It’s changed me.  Jus’ can’ see me’self goin’ back to bein’ all with the blood ‘n mayhem.  Although, was kinda fun fightin’ that…whatcha’ call it?  Orc?”

“The creature that attacked Estel?  Yes, that was an Orc,” Elrond confirmed.

Spike walked over to the man, his forearms once more relaxing on the rail as he eyed the human boy.  “So, what’s the story with him?”

“Estel?”

The vampire just nodded, eyes locked on the dark-haired boy.

“His name is Aragorn.  He’s Isildur’s heir, a descendent of kings.  When he was two, his father was killed by Orcs, making him the Chieftain of Dunedain.  The boy’s mother, fearing for her son’s life, brought him here.  To me.  I took him in, like he was my own.  Changed his name.  I have spent the last four years protecting him, his identity.  In time, he will know his path.  Now, all I can do is mentor him in our ways.”

Spike grunted, wincing as the boy fell yet again.

‘Plucky li’l bastard,’ he thought.

Elrond watched the newcomer, waiting.  He’d known, being gifted with “the foresight,” but he’d wanted the other to choose his own path without persuasion.

“Give him to me.”

“I’m not sure—”

“I’ll train ‘im.  ‘S what I do.  ‘S what I know.”

“Why would you—”

“Dunno, mate.  See a bit of me’self in ‘im.  It's what ‘m here for, right?” Spike rationalized.  “Besides, ‘m gonna need somethin’ to keep me busy.”

“It will be as you say.”

*********************

And so it began.

The years slipped by for Spike.

Welcomed into the home of the elves, he adapted to their ways.  Learned their language.  Created a new life for himself.  The bleached hair grew out, giving way to the honey brown curls of his human days.  These were eventually tamed as his hair continued to grow in the manner of the elven males.

The boy became a constant companion at his side.  And Spike took his pledge to heart, training the youth, molding him into a fierce warrior.  The vampire taught Estel the fine art of wielding a blade, and Elrond taught Spike the skills of the bow.

The moniker “Spike” eventually faded being replaced by another.  Gifted by Elrond.  Kriger.  Warrior.

And even though thoughts of the blond slayer never completely left his mind, he was happy.  Having finally found his niche.

Then, Estel gained his twentieth year, and the peace and tranquility Spike had grown to appreciate while living at Rivendell came to an end.

Chapter 3: Rush to Destiny

“I do not know beneath what sky nor on what seas shall be thy fate; I only know 
it shall be high, I only know it shall be great.” – Richard Hovey

“Out of our beliefs are born deeds; out of our deeds we form habits; out of our 
habits grows our character; and on our character we build our destiny.” – Henry 
Hancock

********************

“Kriger…” Elrond hailed, speaking in his native tongue without a second thought.

Spike was oblivious to the elven lord’s greeting, caught somewhere between a 
premonition and a dream, his body unnaturally still as he gazed towards one of 
the waterfalls.  It was his special spot.  A place he sought when he wanted to 
think.  To remember.  

Buffy...

Though many years had passed, he could still picture the blond slayer in his 
mind’s eye.  The Niblet, too.  Today marked his fourteenth year here in Middle 
Earth.  At Rivendell, the land of the elves.  And, each year he wondered in vain 
as to whether or not Buffy still lived.  Or, if some demon – some vamp – had had 
their one good day.  He liked to think not.  In his fantasies, she was still at 
her peak, the oldest slayer on record.

It helped him get through the day.  Held the thought close until he managed to 
put it behind him, waiting for the next year to come where he’d wonder yet again 
if she still lived, denying that it could be anything but as he believed.  
Another anniversary spent reminiscing about the one he’d given his life for.  
Such as it was.  Coming here hadn’t exactly been the hell he’d been expecting 
when he’d drunk Buffy’s blood to seal the portal.  No… here, it was almost a 
slice of heaven.

His chaotic thoughts drifted from the slayer to the new life he’d been granted 
here.

The past fourteen years had probably been the most peaceful time he’d spent 
since being turned.  Rivendell’s inhabitants had treated him as a long lost 
friend. As a temporary father figure, and now a blood brother, by the boy – 
who’d since grown to a man – he’d trained since Spike had practically claimed 
the lad as his own.

It had been difficult at first – taking over Estel’s training.  With both 
himself and Elrond looking after the boy, it was somewhat confusing at times as 
to who had the final say-so in everyday matters.  But, as the human had quickly 
grown both in height and knowledge, Spike had relinquished the role of mentor, 
and adopted a more familial role.  Becoming more of an older sibling than a 
parent.  And that subtle shift had eased whatever conflict he and Elrond might 
have had over the boy’s upbringing.  

His relationship with the elven lord was similar to what he’d had with Angelus 
when Dru had first turned him.  Not so much with the art of the kill; although, 
Elrond had taught him the use of the bow – a skill at which the vampire had 
quickly excelled – but the elf was someone he could talk to.  About anything.  
Without fear of disappointing the other.  Many a night the two had discussed 
what had lead to the vampire to being here.  He’d helped Spike be at peace with 
the decisions he’d made, both in his own time and here on Middle Earth.  Had 
helped him get past the self-doubt, encouraging the vampire to fulfill his own 
destiny.

“Kriger.”

His name called more loudly this time interrupted his thoughts, and he turned 
away from the waterfall to see Elrond watching him assessingly.  Spike affected 
a quick head bow in deference to the elven lord and apologized for his lack of 
manners at the other’s approach.

“Think nothing of it.  I know this is your refuge, and I wouldn’t have bothered 
you.  But, my daughter has returned from Lothlorien and I would like you to meet 
her.”

“Of course,” Spike replied, falling into step alongside the other.

As they neared Elrond’s home, Spike felt a weird prickling along the back of his 
neck.  Something was there…he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it.  The two 
men stepped inside, Spike a few steps behind the elven lord, his blue gaze 
lighting briefly upon the opulent furnishings scattered about the huge room.

In the distance, a slim figure garbed in a filmy light blue dress, her long 
auburn hair cascaded in rivulets down her back, stood with her back to him, 
talking in hushed tones with Estel.  Spike smiled, seeing the bemused expression 
on his blood brother’s face.

‘Someone’s smitten.’

“Arwen, come and meet Kriger,” Elrond called out to his daughter.  The tone of 
his voice seemed slightly annoyed, as if he, too, had seen the look on the 
human’s features, and was trying to stop it.

Spike watched as Estel practically snapped to attention at the sound of his 
adopted father’s voice, like a child caught doing something he wasn’t supposed 
to be doing.  When the woman turned around, and Spike got his first look at 
Arwen, his eyes flared wide.

“I know you,” the vampire burst out before he could catch himself.

Beside him, the elven lord seemed confused, his eyes shifting from his daughter 
and the vampire as she approached.

Arwen didn’t say anything until she’d stopped next to the guest standing by her 
father’s side.  Seeing his uneasy expression, she laid her hand on his arm, 
murmuring, “Be easy, golden warrior.”

The same words of greeting she’d voiced the first time he’d seen her.  The 
memory firmly implanted in his brain.  She’d come to him often over the years – 
usually when he was in a low point of his life.  Not that things at Rivendell 
had been bad, far from it, in fact.  It was just that thoughts of the slayer had 
never been far from his mind, causing him to sometimes slip into a state of 
melancholy.

Now, as her touch seemed to radiate up and down along his arm, its heat 
spreading through his entire body, Spike once again felt a sense of peace invade 
his being.

Moments later, he recovered, features settling into his trademark smirk – 
something many had been witness to as the vampire sparred with them – covering 
her hand with his own and bringing it to his lips so that he could bestow a kiss 
upon the back side.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Arwen,” he told the dark-haired beauty, gifting 
her with a wink.  “Elrond never told me what a beautiful sister I’d acquired 
when I became Estel’s blood brother.  Shoulda’ figured the fairy that was my 
constant companion over the years had to be one of his get.”  His snarky look 
relaxed into a sincere smile at the girl’s blush, forgiving her in an instant 
for the mild deception.  She was just too pure to have had nothing but his best 
interests at heart.

Sensing Estel’s fidgeting, he looked away from Arwen and glanced at the human 
that was closer to him than his vampire family had ever claimed to be.  With a 
smile of understanding at the dark-haired man, he released her hand and took a 
step back.

Arwen’s color never lessened as she realized her actions had been brought to 
light and was just waiting for her father to object to her interference.  But, 
there had been no helping it.  She would have traveled to Rivendell if her 
father had allowed it.  Because, from the first moment he’d been placed in their 
world she’d felt his presence.  Broken and confused, his pain calling out to her 
like no others.  Felt it as if it were her own.  And so, had used her calming 
influence to heal him.

For though he may not have known it at the time, his presence was key to the 
survival of Middle Earth and the final defeat of Sauron.  

Her eyes flitted between the two men – one dark, one light.  The bond between 
them was strong.  Had been forged that first day so long ago.  Her slight 
interference had only strengthened it, something that she wouldn’t regret.

Turning away from them, she addressed her father.  It was he that needed to be 
placated.  Soothed.

“You cannot look at them now and tell me it had no benefits,” she told him.

“Arwen…” The low grumble of his voice indicated his displeasure with his 
daughter’s meddling, even if he were guilty of some initial nudging on his part.

“Father—” she began, then stopped.  Suddenly remembering their avid audience.  
Elrond noticed this too, and gestured them all towards the table for their 
evening meal.  He and his daughter would discuss her behavior later.

********************

“You would have her relinquish her immortality?  Her age, experience, and 
lineage place her far above your station.  If you love her…” His voice faded as 
Elrond apparently walked behind some barrier, but not for long, as his words to 
Estel – and catching the first part of the conversation, Spike knew that he 
could only be referring to his daughter and the budding love between the two – 
continued. “…listen to me! A great doom awaits you, either to rise above the 
height of all your fathers since the days of Elendil, or to fall into darkness 
with all that is left of your kin.”

Spike hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, respected the elven lord too much to ever 
entertain the thought, but it wasn’t exactly something he could prevent.  
Vampire here.  But, hearing those prophetic words, Spike couldn’t prevent his 
feet from moving into the chamber.

“Then I will be there to make sure that that doesn’t happen.”

Both men looked up at his announcement.  Spike didn’t look at Elrond, his eyes 
going instinctively to his blood brother.  Seeing the look of wary confusion in 
his eyes, he surmised that the elder had finally told him about his heritage.  
Watched as the human searched his own gaze…

“You knew?”

“Yes, Aragorn.”

“But why?”

“It was not my place to say.”  Spike’s gaze shifted to the elven lord, his 
quirked brow telling him without words that this would be the result.

“He was too young, the news would have been an unfair burden…”

“’F you say so, mate.”

“What’s done is done.  I cannot rewrite the past, even if I’d wanted to.  His 
ignorance guaranteed his safety,” he told the vampire before turning to his 
adopted son.  “How you use the knowledge now, is up to you.”

“I must go.  I can’t stay here…can’t stay here while the unrest in Middle Earth 
grows.”

Elrond nodded as if expecting no less.

********************

“Fear not, sweet fairy, I’ll keep him safe,” he told her in their native tongue, 
brushing a stray lock behind her ear before pressing a kiss to her forehead.  He 
could feel her trepidation and once again tried to reassure the elven girl.  
Switching to his language, his words for her ears alone, he told her, “’S my 
promise to you, Arwen.  And you know I keep my promises…’s what brought me here 
in the first place, yeah?”

Spike didn’t question the easy familiarity he had with Arwen – for him, it felt 
like he’d known her for years.  Had in fact, if you counted her dreamlike visits 
over the years.  They had a bond, the two of them.  Nothing overtly sexual.  
She’d told him that she’d been able to feel him, and if he concentrated hard 
enough, he could feel traces of her as well.  Similar to the bond he shared with 
his vampiric family, although, not quite the same.  For one thing, she gave him 
peace, where his family only gave him blood, destruction, and mayhem.

Sensing Estel’s approach, he pulled back, arms still lightly gripping her 
shoulders as he waited for her to look at him.  When her head still remained 
bowed, his placed one hand under her chin and coaxed her gaze towards his.  
Unshed tears shimmered in her eyes, clouding the hope that burned bright within 
the blue depths.  His fingers trailed along her cheek, a whispered “Trust me” 
escaping his mouth before he broke contact and stepped away – allowing Estel his 
moment alone with her.

Moving off into the courtyard, he wasn’t surprised to see Elrond waiting for him 
by the stables.  The two had discussed at length his decision to follow Estel, 
and in the end, the elven lord had agreed.

He’d been sent here for a purpose.  His place was with his blood brother, his 
job – to keep the human safe for the brewing battle with Sauron.

“Come, Kriger.  I’ve something for you,” he said by way of greeting.  Spike 
nodded and gained the other’s side as he headed toward the stable area, his 
curiosity piqued as the elven lord moved deeper into the stable proper.  Sounds 
of the horses shrill neighing erupted all around as the beasts sensed their 
master.  Towards the end, they came to a stop, and the vampire watched as Elrond 
lifted his hand over the gate as if silently calling to the horse within.  A 
moment later, it showed its face, and Spike was struck with awe at the 
intelligence that seemed to emanate from its eyes.

“His name is Shelerof.  Fast of feed, and strong in spirit, he’s known only my 
touch upon his back.  He will bear you in your journeys with Estel.”

“M’lord, I can’t.  It’s too much…” Spike began, one hand patting the neck of the 
red roan stallion.

“It is my gift to you, so you shall not refuse.”

“I…thank you,” he murmured slightly to Elrond, head bowing slightly in 
obeisance.  

“I’ve one other thing for you, then I’ll leave you to prepare,” Elrond told him.  
Spike watched as he turned and gestured to another that had been waiting by the 
stable door.  The lad ran off returning moments later with a handcrafted bow and 
quiver.  Taking the items from him, Elrond turned and handed them to the 
vampire, a wry, “I trust you’ll know what to do with these,” leaving his lips as 
he placed them in the vampire’s upturned hands.

A gleam entered Spike’s eye as he took note of the bow and arrows.  

“Oh yes, I know what to do with these,” he quietly agreed.

“Good!  Then I’ll leave you to make ready.”

The vampire watched as the elven lord walked off.  A half-smile played about his 
lips – neither was good at goodbyes.  Turning away from the departing figure, he 
placed the weapons aside and mumbled to his new steed, “Well, let’s see about 
getting you geared up.”  His hand trailed down the front of his face, and he 
chuckled when the stallion flicked his head to have him repeat the gesture.  
“Smart one, aren’t you?”

The animal blew air out of his nose as if answering his new master, causing 
Spike to grin and repeat his petting before moving off to obtain saddle and 
bridle.

********************

As the two figures – clad in similar attire, their persons and steeds bearing 
armor and weapons – rode out of Rivendell, they both cast one long glance 
backwards, each reluctant to see the end of their stay.  For Rivendell had been 
their home.  Their sanctuary.  When they faced forward, their eyes locked for a 
moment, as if vowing that whatever the future may hold, no harm would come to 
their Eden.  Then they kicked the mounts into a gallop and set out on their 
journey.

********************

With the elven world tucked away in his memory, Estel put away the name gifted 
by Elrond.  Not ready to take up the mantle of Aragorn, direct descendent of 
Isildur, son of Elendil, he became known throughout Middle Earth as Strider.  A 
ranger that roamed the lands with his brother, William the Bloody. A man who 
earned his name by feeding from their vanquished enemy – Corsairs, small sects 
of Sauron’s armies, those that would harm anyone Strider called ally; it 
mattered naught.

For many years the two traveled the countryside, staying in places sometimes for 
years at a time.  Doing anything in their power to gain word of Sauron’s plans.  
Finally, almost twenty-five years after leaving Rivendell, the two came across a 
wizard.  Gandalf the Grey.  Wise beyond his years, he had taken one look at 
Spike and known he wasn’t from Middle Earth.  The vampire had confirmed the old 
man’s assessment by allowing his demonic features to slide forth, the telltale 
ridges and fangs not shocking the wizard in the least.  

With the man’s easy acceptance of him, Spike – along with Strider – had quickly 
called him friend, their paths often crossing over the years.

Almost fifty years after their departure from Rivendell, the two were ready for 
a much needed break.  A desire to see their home like a siren’s song, its voice 
whispering on the wind and driving them onward.  On their way back, they stopped 
by Lothlorien and were surprised to see Arwen there.  Spike swung down from his 
steed, having no compunction whatsoever about swinging the girl in his arms as 
he pulled her close for a hug.

“My li’l fairy!  What do you here in Lothlorien?” he asked after setting her 
back on her feet.  He’d automatically switched to her Elvish; he and Strider 
always communicated in their language both as a means of secrecy and in a desire 
to not forget what they thought of as their native tongue.

Spike watched as she blushed and stammered, unused to his exuberance.  

“Leave off, Kriger,” Strider told him as he dismounted and claimed Arwen’s hand, 
lifting it to his lips for a soft kiss.  “Hello, my Tinuviel.”

“It is so good to see you.  Both of you.  Tell me…how long can you stay?”

The two men shared a look.  A silent “forever” their heartfelt reply.

“For the season,” Strider told her, slipping his hand in hers and allowing her 
to lead the way, Spike falling into step beside him.

********************

The next few months allowed the men to relax and heal.  The death and 
destruction slowly making its way through Middle Earth having no claim to 
Lothlorien, or any of the other elven strongholds.  Over the period spent there, 
Strider – at the urgings of Spike – allowed his feelings for Arwen to become 
known, and the two pledged their troth atop Cerin Amroth.  The vampire felt 
proud to bear witness to the event, the love between the girl who had become 
like a sister, and the human with whom he’d shared a blood rite, something that 
he’d wished he’d been able to share with his slayer.

If only…

Spike pushed the nostalgic thoughts aside.  His golden girl was probably resting 
with the angels, her constant sacrifices for good assuring her a place in 
Heaven.  It comforted him to know that she was up there, possibly looking down 
on him.  Noticing how he’d changed.

‘Ahhh… Buffy…God, how I miss you.’

********************

Not long after the betrothal ceremony, Spike and Strider had set out for 
Rivendell, only to be confronted by an enraged Elrond.  News had apparently 
reached him of the human’s betrothal to his daughter.  They’d not stayed long, 
the sound of the elven lord’s words ringing in their ears as they galloped away 
from Rivendell.

“Arwen will marry no lesser Man than the King of Gondor and Arnor.”

********************

As several more years passed, unrest in Middle Earth continued to grow.  
Sauron’s strength rising as he sensed the recovery of his ring. 

Word from Gandalf had eventually come that the One Ring had been found, and 
Strider and Spike increased their protection around the Shire, where it was 
rumored the ring resided with one of the hobbits.  Gandalf had later told them 
that the ring was in possession of a hobbit named Frodo Baggins, who would be 
leaving the Shire to escape the Ringwraiths’ notice, and Strider promised the 
wizard that both he and William would see to their safety.

********************

“Buffy, are you sure you want to do this?” Willow asked.

The slayer just narrowed her eyes at her friend, sick of hearing the question 
put to her time and again in the months following Spike’s sacrifice.  Ever since 
the redheaded witch had mentioned a possibility of retrieving him from whatever 
hell dimension he’d been sent to.  Her hope had sprung eternal and she’d ignored 
both her friends’ and watcher’s degrading tirades of the blond-headed vampire 
that had saved her life – all of their lives – by sacrificing himself. 
Determined in her desire to see him brought back.

She rolled her eyes.  

It was all right if Spike had sacrificed himself to save the world in their 
books, so long as he stayed gone.  But, the first mention of saving him, they’d 
quickly shown their true colors.  Well, except for Tara and Dawn…and possibly 
Anya – though the former vengeance demon didn’t seem to care about it one way or 
the other.  Unless Spike’s revival would gain her money or, she shuddered to 
even think it, orgasms, Anya couldn’t be bothered.  But, that was just Anya.

“Ok, ok… I get it,” she pacified her angry friend.  Sometimes she wondered why 
she had even opened her big mouth about the spell.  It had been a need to show 
off to the others, prove her growing skills as a witch.  Both Giles and Tara had 
seemed unsure, but Buffy had locked onto the idea like a pit bull and wouldn’t 
let go.

Willow glanced around the room at the assembled cast.

“Everyone take their places,” she told them and watched as Buffy stepped inside 
– careful not to disrupt the markings – the inner portion of the star that was 
surrounded by a circle, the rim touching each of its six points.  The remaining 
members – Giles, Tara, Anya, Xander, and Dawn – along with herself, took up 
positions at one of the star’s six points.

“Are we ready?” she asked.  All around, everyone nodded, lighted candles head 
firmly in hand.  “Buffy?”

Buffy glanced at the dagger held in her hand, then seeing her friend’s go ahead, 
quickly sliced her wrist and allowed her blood to spill onto the ground where 
she stood.

Willow began chanting the spell, carefully pronouncing the Latin that both she 
and Giles had spent weeks deciphering.  All around them, the wind picked up as 
magick seemed to fill the air.  The redhead’s voice grew in volume to be heard 
over the increasing noise.  Unfortunately – and no one seemed to notice her 
misstep – instead of saying “from,” Willow was saying “to.”

The next thing the small group knew, they were hurtling through time and 
dimensions, all of them staring agog at the sights passing before their eyes 
before they all blacked out from the overwhelming sensations.

When they came too, all of them holding their heads at the fierce headache they 
all seemed to be feeling, a confused glance around revealed many things.  First 
of which was that they were not where they’d been – in Buffy’s basement.  
Instead, they stared in awe at the towering room.  Almost like a great hall, the 
walls stood nearly twenty feet high and made of stone.  The craftsmanship was 
archaic but lovely, the sparse furnishings bespoke of age and quality.

Xander summed it up nicely by saying, “Uh…Toto…I don’t think we’re in Kansas 
anymore.”

“Heroes know that things must happen when it is time for them to happen. A quest may not simply be abandoned; unicorns may go unrescued for a long time, but not forever; a happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story.” – Peter S. Beagle

******************

Chapter 4: Harbinger of Pain

Buffy struggled to her feet and did a quick circuit about the room before returning to where the group sat huddled together.

“I think we should split up.  See if we can find any clues as to where exactly we are,” the slayer told them.

When Dawn moved to go with her sister, Buffy held up her hand.  “Go with Giles, Dawnie.”  The girl frowned but nodded reluctantly, moving to stand by the watcher.

The slayer lifted her arm to look at her watch and noticed that it didn’t appear to be working.  Her brows narrowed thoughtfully as she gazed at the unmoving dials.  She tapped it for a moment, as if that alone would get the second hand to start moving, yet still no response – the thing was dead.

“Alright.  Stick with your buddy.  Anything doesn’t feel right, run.  Meet back here in twenty minutes, okay?”

“Uh, Buff, how’r we supposed to know when twenty minutes is up?”  Xander pointed to his own watch.  “My watch is dead, too.”

“So’s mine,” Dawn chimed in.  At Giles’ frown, the teenager crossed her arms over her chest, telling him, “Well, it is.”

“I don’t know, guys,” Buffy replied sarcastically.  “Why don’t you try counting.”

When Giles looked to interject, and perhaps chastise her for her bitchy comeback, the slayer held up her hand.  “Look.  Just guesstimate, ok?  I just don’t want this to be an all day excursion.  Do a quick sweep and come back.  Is that too much to ask?”

They all shook their heads in silent answer to her question and wandered off.  Xander and Anya disappeared down one corridor, while Giles and Dawn took another direction.  Willow and Tara took the stair, leaving Buffy to try and find an exit and scout around the building.

The slayer had just slipped out of the huge front door and hurried down the stairs when she felt a presence at her back.  With a burst of speed, she slipped out of sight, breathing hard for a moment at having almost gotten caught.  When she felt it was safe, Buffy snuck a peek around the corner and watched as an elderly man – his white hair and beard unusually long, garbed in matching flowing white gowns and holding in his right hand a staff that was as easily as tall as the man himself – descended the steps to greet someone racing on horseback towards him. 

Horseback?

That puzzled her almost as much as the second man’s appearance.  For he, too, bore similar attire – only darker and less regal.  She remained glued to her spot as they moved off along the grounds, their stiff posture suggesting their discussion to be something of grave importance.  After a bit, the slayer left her hiding place, sticking to the trees as she slowly stalked the pair.  Words like “ring” and “Shire” floated on the wind as she followed, but they made little sense, telling her nothing that would help pinpoint their location.

The pair soon made their way inside, leaving the slayer to scout around the grounds for more clues.  She gave the weirdly dressed men a few more minutes head start, before hurrying back to the steps that would take her inside.  Everyone was waiting for her, their anxious faces relaxing once they saw her return.  Everyone, that is, except Willow and Tara.

A loud bang, much like the slamming of a door, startled the group, and the slayer tore up the stairs, yelling for the others to take cover.  A scream – a female scream – echoed off the walls.  Willow!  ‘I’m coming, Willow!’  Sounds of a struggle lead her towards a set of doors and her friends, but try as she might, she could not get them to budge.  Something powerful, almost evil…no definitely evil, was inside, its malevolent talons squeezing the life out of those that seemed opposed to its whim.

Inside the room, Willow stood beside Saruman, eyes black as the darkest evil, having just suffered an invisible blast from the wizard.  As the power consumed her, the redhead’s face twisted with a sinister smile, intent upon the two held bound by her master’s staff.  Then the figures were thrust upwards, their bodies spiraling higher and higher, to be imprisoned on the roof of the Isengard tower.

‘Buffy?’

The voice in her head startled the slayer, and she jumped back from the door as the harsh sounds of fighting faded.

‘Tara?’

‘Run, Buffy.  Get the others and get out of the tower.  Hurry.’

‘Not without you and Willow.’

‘Willow’s gone…turned.  I don’t know what happened.  MOVE!  They’re coming towards the door.  Hurry, Buffy.’

Buffy raced down the stairs, yelling for the others to follow her as she ran towards the door that would lead her out of the tower.  Grateful when they offered up no objections and rushed after her.

‘Tara?’

‘I’m still here.  Gandalf says when you get to the bottom of the steps to go right.  There’s a stable back there.’

‘Stable?  Wait!  Gandalf?  Who is Gandalf?’

‘He’s a friend.  He’s with me right now.  Now mount up and ride across the bridge.  Hurry, before Willow and Saruman realize you guys are there.’

“Uh, Buffy,” Giles questioned as they ran blindly towards some building.  “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know, Giles.  Tara—”

“Tara?”

“Yes…Tara.  She’s in my head.  Telling me what to do.  So… you ever been horseback riding?” she asked him as they came to a stop.

“Certainly…now what’s this all about.  And why are we running.”

“Look, Giles.  I don’t have time to explain right now.  I’ve got to get these horses… whatevered, so that we can get out of here.  Like now.”  Giles, seeing his charge’s urgency, made quick work of saddling five horses for her. 

No one said a word as they guided their mounts out of the stables and quickly gained their backs.  Of the five of them, only Giles and Anya had ridden before, and it was a sight to see Xander, Dawn, and Buffy steer the animals after settling in the saddle. 

“Come on.  We have to hurry.  Giles, get us across the bridge.”

The watcher nodded and took the lead, kicking his horse into an easy canter, figuring that would be the easiest gait for the others to adapt to.

‘Buffy?  Gandalf says to head north along the mountains.  You need to get to Rivendell.  Rivendell, okay?  Remember that…’

‘Tara?  Tara?  Tara!’

She almost turned back, hating to leave either of her friends behind.  But, Tara appeared safe for the moment.  She wasn’t alone, and appeared to have a protector in this Gandalf person.

******************

Once Buffy felt it was safe enough, she signaled for Giles to slow down.  Having never been on a horse, she’d relied on her slayer skills to keep her upright.  Unfortunately, Dawn and Xander didn’t have the same luck and were barely clinging to their mounts.  Right now, a nice walk would do them all a bit of good.

“Now can you tell me what in the world is going on?” Giles questioned as he reined his mount in alongside hers.

“Honestly, Giles, I just don’t know.  What I can tell you is that we’ve got to get to Rivendell.  Appears our questions will get answered there.”

“Hey, Buffster?  Where’s this Riven-whatsit?”

“Rivendell.  And it’s that way,” Buffy replied, lifting her arm and pointing in the general direction of due north.

“Yeah, I kinda figured that, what with us heading in that direction.  I’m just wondering how long my butt’s gonna be stuck in this saddle.” 

“Gee…I don’t know, Xander.  Tara didn’t exactly mention that while we were racing away from that …whatever the hell that place was.”  Buffy was tired, and confused, and angered that she’d had to leave both Tara and Willow behind; she really didn’t want to have to deal with Xander’s lip right now.  She pulled away from the others, taking the lead – not that she really knew where she was going, just that she was to follow the mountain range north.

For several hours they rode in silence, until Giles took it upon himself to ride up alongside the slayer.

“I think we need to stop and water the horses,” he told her.  “And, I’m not sure what passes for food around these parts, but maybe I could hazard a guess at the local vegetation… see if anything is edible.”

“Huh?  Yeah, ok.”

The two dismounted, signaling to the others that they were stopping for the moment.  Each of them led their horses to the stream, allowing them to drink their fill.  Anya, in a show of practicality, created a makeshift cup with her hand, allowing some of the cool liquid to fill the space, then brought it to her lips to drink.  She was far less squeamish than the others about drinking straight from the source.  Besides, it wasn’t as if the water could actually be polluted, given the lack of any sign of modern convenience.

Buffy shrugged her shoulders and followed the ex-demon’s example.  And once Buffy started drinking, the others fell into line.  Such that no one noticed the lone man on horseback who silently slipped from the saddle and stealthily made his way to the stream.

Boromir figured the petite blond as an easy hostage – someone to use as leverage while he figured out just who these people were.  Dressed in strange clothes, there was no telling what manner of people they were…

His arms reached out, intent on capturing the young girl, when suddenly he went sailing over her head to land in the water in front of her.  He recovered quickly, drawing his sword as he rose to his feet, his eyes quickly scanning the others to note their position.

“Buffy, be careful!” Dawn hollered. 

Buffy ignored her sister, having eyes only for the man that had attacked her.  He was stalking towards her, sword at his side.  Almost as if he’d drawn it on reflex alone, not in any real desire to hurt her.  Taking a chance that that was the case, she asked him, “Do you know the way to Rivendell?  Gandalf said I needed to go there.”

That brought him up short – about six feet in front of her.

Boromir eyed the girl, surprised that he was able to understand her quite easily. Pointing his sword at her, he asked, “You know Gandalf the Grey?”

“Yes,” she lied.  “We just left that tower earlier today, and he told us to go to Rivendell, that he’d be along later.”  This last part was pure fabrication on her part, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Isengard?”

“Yes.  Isengard.  That’s it.  Sorry, I’m horrible with names.  Mine’s Buffy, by the way. Buffy Summers.”

“Boromir of Gondor,” he announced, sheathing his sword and climbing out of the water.  “And you are in luck, Buffy Summers, for I, too, journey to Rivendell to seek Lord Elrond’s council.  But…I must warn you.  The way is long and hard.  Are you sure that you…” he paused, glancing around at her companions. “…and your friends are up for the task?”

The slayer snorted.  After dealing with a hell god, riding on horseback to Rivendell should be a piece of cake! 

******************

The darkened interior did much to disguise the figure standing motionless in the corner.  His nondescript cloak, hiding the weapons that would proclaim his “profession” – Ranger.  Amber eyes noticed the moment the four little wee people entered the Prancing Pony, the ones Gandalf had mentioned to both him and his brother.  He glanced over and caught Strider’s slight nod, indicating that he’d seen their entrance, his hardened features illuminated briefly as he took a pull on the pipe between his lips.

Two sets of eyes watched over the hobbits as they made their way over to the barkeep, noting their distress and confusion when word was given that the wizard had not been heard from or seen in awhile.  Spike just hoped that no harm had come to the grizzled old man.

All seemed quiet as the four settled around a table and ate, and the two rangers breathed a sigh of relief that none of the taverns inhabitants seemed intent on bothering the little people.  Now all they had to do was wait until the four retired to make their presence known, at the request of the one their apparent leader sought.

Spike watched as one of the hobbits walked off, a reluctant smile pulling at his lips as the little man’s words drifted towards him.  ‘Li’l bugger ‘pears game for anything, if he thinks he’s gonna finish that pint.’  Dismissing him, the vampire returned his concentration to the leader.  He seemed drawn, paler than the others.  The burden he’d undertaken having apparently shaken him.

His eyes having left the small group to take a sweep around the room, Spike didn’t notice him get up and rush towards where the other hobbit was perched up at the bar, pointing, “That’s him, that’s Frodo Baggins.”  Suddenly, Frodo lost his footing and stumbled backwards, his prize – his burden – flying free from his hands, the gold ring catching the light of the fire as it tumbled in the air before settling on the hobbit’s finger.

And he disappeared right before their eyes.

Pandemonium broke out amongst those standing the closest to the downed hobbit, and Spike watched as Strider came out of his chair from his spot in the corner across the room.  Spike’s attention, while keeping an eye on the two that had remained at the table, was consumed with the Ringwraiths as they felt the pull of their master’s ring. 

They were close…and getting closer.  The shrill cry of their horses neighing tearing into his skull.  The pounding of their hooves against the ground ever gaining on their location.

Strider kept his eyes trained on where Frodo had last been, his eyes ever alert for any slight movement that would indicate the direction he’d taken.

There.

A slight movement of an empty table, then Frodo appeared, having removed the ring from his finger.

The ranger reached down and pulled the hobbit to his feet, whispering a harsh, “You draw far too much attention to yourself, Mr. Underhill.”  Strider easily lifted the hobbit in his arms, trusting Kriger to look after the others still in the main hall, as he escaped to the rooms above stairs.  Only once he was safely behind a closed door did he release the hobbit, angry with the other’s carelessness causing him to be somewhat harsh in his manhandling.

“What do you want,” Frodo asked, backing away from the Ranger and awkwardly rising to his feet, his back against the wall as he tried to put as much distance between him and the man.

“A little more caution from you.  That is no trinket you carry,” he replied, pacing back and forth as he checked the windows for any signs of Sauron’s faithful.

“I carry nothing,” the hobbit lied.

“Indeed.”  Strider’s tone of voice sounding surprisingly like his brother’s in that moment.  Extinguishing the candles that were lit about the room, he told his guest, “I can avoid being seen, if that is my wish.  But, to disappear entirely?  That is a rare gift.”  He pulled the hood of his clock off his head, allowing the other the first glimpse of his features.

“Who are you?”

“Are you frightened?”

“Yes,” Frodo whispered.

“Not nearly frightened enough.  I know what hunts you,” Strider replied honestly.

A movement at the door had him pulling his sword just moments before it burst open, revealing the remaining members of Frodo Baggins group.

“Let him go, or I’ll have you, Longshanks!”

Brandishing nothing more than fists, a chair, and a candlestick, the tiny trio brought a reluctant grin to his lips as he sheathed his sword.

“You have a stout heart, little hobbit, but that will not save you. You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They’re coming,” Strider told the hobbit, before lifting his eyes to see the same amusement in his brother’s blue eyes as he leaned against the doorframe.

“I made sure they weren’t followed,” Spike told him.  The sounds of a voice at their back caused the three hobbits to jump in alarm and make their way towards Frodo.  “As far as anyone below is concerned, they’ve slipped up to their room.”

“Let’s just pray it works.”

Spike nodded grimly and sealed the door, moving to the window to keep an eye out for the Ringwraiths.

******************

“They’re here,” Spike whispered sometime later.  At the far side of the room, Strider drew his sword and waited.  The slide of metal upon metal woke Frodo, and his eyes flicked from one Ranger to the other, taking note of their battle stances.

Moments later, the sound of screeching filled the air, waking the remaining hobbits.  No one could sleep through that noise – the creatures’ keening cries promising retribution at being denied that which they sought.  It was only after the Ringwraiths disappeared and the two men in the room seemed to relax, that Frodo voiced the question on each of the hobbits’ minds.

“What are they?”

“They were once men. Great kings of Men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine Rings of Power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question. One by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgul, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring. Drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you,” Strider replied.  “Now sleep, we’ve a long journey ahead and you’ll need your rest.”

The hobbits obediently moved off, each seeking their own pallet.

Spike stepped away from the window and crossed the room to stand beside his brother.

“When’s the last time you slept?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, once you’re dead.  Sleep.  I’ll take the first watch.”

Seeing the argument just waiting to happen, the vampire added, “I’ll wake you in three hours and you can do the same for me.”

Strider nodded, pulling off his sword and laying it within easy reach as he stretched out on his own pallet.  Within minutes, he was asleep and Spike was left to watch over the others.

‘Gandalf, where are you?’

******************

Before daybreak had broken, the small group was well on their way.  While Spike rode Shelerof, frequently scouting ahead and checking their flank, Strider stayed with the hobbits, his own mount turned into a packhorse of sorts.  Listening to the quiet grumblings of his group, he thought that maybe his brother had the right of it.  Although, trying to get Shelerof to pack anything but his own rider and gear would be an exercise in futility, well knowing the temperament of the roan stallion gifted to his brother by Elrond.

“Where are you taking us?” Frodo finally asked.

“Into the wild.”

“How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf’s?” Merry whispered to Frodo.

The hobbit sighed, answering, “We’ve no choice but to trust him.”

“Yeah, but…did you see his friend?  Scary.  And not said hardly more than two words the entire trip.”

“Which makes me wonder just where exactly he’s leading us,” Sam piped in.

“To Rivendell, Master Gamgee.  The House of Elrond,” Strider replied, his pace never slowing.

“Did you hear that?” Sam exclaimed.  “We’re going to see the elves!”


Chapter 5: A Call to Arms

“Faith is not belief without proof, but trust without reservation.” – Anonymous

******************

As Strider crested the latest hill, he saw Kriger atop the crumpled remains of a stone watchtower.  Even from a distance, the two men shared a look.  It was a good place to camp for the night.  The high perch the tower sat upon made it easy to discern whatever might approach.

The ranger gestured to the structure telling the hobbits, “This was the great watchtower of Amon Sul. We shall rest here tonight.”  By the time he and the others arrived in their makeshift camp, Kriger had disappeared.  The only sign of his presence, Shelerof, who he’d stripped bare of saddle and reins – his loyalty to his master the only thing keeping him from leaving as he picked at patches of grass that had grown among the rubble.

Strider led his horse over towards the other, hobbling it to the ground before removing its reins so that his mount could graze.  Reaching into one of the packs, he pulled out a stash of weapons wrapped in some cloth.  He returned to where the hobbits had sunk wearily to the ground, their slight bodies unused to the hurried pace they’d kept since leaving the tavern.  With swift movements, he unrolled the cloth, grabbing swords barely longer than his forearm and thrusting one to each of his charges.

“These are for you. Keep them close. I’m going to have a look around… Stay here,” he told them before rising and disappearing into the night.

Strider quickly caught up with his brother, knowing that he’d take point to guard the hobbits.  With his heightened senses, it was the logical choice.

“They’re getting closer, and we’re still six days from Rivendell at the pace we’re going,” Spike told him without preamble.  Strider didn’t bother to question how he knew that he’d drawn near, just nodded in agreement as he crouched down beside Kriger.

“You suspect they’ll make a stand tonight?”

“Goes without saying, mate.  You cover the rear in case they get past me.  Hopefully, those boys’ll have the good sense to keep quiet an’ hide when this goes down.”

Strider stood, placing his hand on Kriger’s shoulder as he did so.  He watched as the other man looked up at him, blue eyes piercing in their intensity.  Unspoken words passed between them before they quickly parted company.

******************

Tara sat beside the wizened old man, oddly comforted by his presence.  Her world had fallen apart after her girlfriend had been injected by the dark magicks of the white wizard.  Saruman, Gandalf had called him.

A butterfly, or what looked like a butterfly – maybe it was a moth – soon appeared in her periphery, and the blond witch was amazed that something so beautiful, so pure, had managed to find them atop this tower, while all around, evil and destruction were being doled out with such brute force.  Even she could hear the groans of the trees as their roots, buried deep within the earth, were ripped free and sent deep below ground to become the fuel that was needed for the army being created.

In the blink of an eye, her companion’s arm shot out, his hand closing around the delicate creature.  Her eyes widened in surprise as he began crooning to it, and the tiny thing listened attentively as if it could understand exactly what the wizard was saying.  Then Gandalf opened his hand, and it flew off…away from the destruction, its destination unknown to her.  When she thought to ask what had just happened, he just took her hand in his, patting it in a comforting manner.

“You will have to have faith in me, my young protégé.  For, they will come soon, and our escape will depend upon your actions.”

“I-I-I’ll be r-r-ready.   I-I-I’ll n-n-not let…you down.”

Gandalf smiled down at the young witch, pleased with her response.  Pure of heart, this one was.  She would help temper the coming storm.  His eyes closed, and he rested his back against one of the tower’s pillars, saving his strength for when Saruman made his return visit.

******************

Boromir hadn’t been kidding when he said that the journey would be long and arduous.  But, as she gazed at the sight before her, the past several weeks…months…just seemed to melt away.  Rivendell was beautiful, more so than she could have ever imagined.  A picturesque setting straight out of a fairy tale.

Looking down at the tattered clothing hanging off her frame, she almost didn’t want to cross the bridge that lead to her destination – her bedraggled appearance no place for the perfection of the elven lord’s home.

Oh, she knew all about Elrond, and Middle Earth, and the brewing war with Sauron.  Each night Boromir would open up a little more, telling Buffy and the others what he knew.  They learned all about Middle Earth’s various inhabitants and their history – both peaceful and hostile.  As the tales grew more and more grim, the slayer had worried after the friends she’d had to leave behind.  Her despondency had continued to grow with each telling, even as the lush landscape called to something buried deep within her soul.

“Do not worry.  If Gandalf has sent you here, you and the others will be most welcome,” Boromir assured her.  She nodded at the warrior before guiding her mount to fall into place beside his.  Behind her, a weary Giles, Dawn, Anya, and Xander followed.

The closer the ragtag group got to the heart of the city, the more stares they generated.  Word had obviously been sent ahead to the elven lord, because a small committee of well-dressed elves was waiting for them in the square.

Boromir took charge, quickly dismounting and paying homage to Elrond.  He expressed his desire to seek the elf’s council on a matter of grave importance and told how he’d met his fellow companions along his journey.  That they, too, were seeking Rivendell only at Gandalf’s request.

The comment elicited a raised brow from the elven lord, but he didn’t comment.  When Boromir finished his tale, he gestured for Buffy and the others to dismount so that he could introduce them.  The slayer felt Elrond’s gaze bore into hers as her name was mentioned, but it was gone so quickly, she may have been mistaken.

Her attention was drawn away when she heard her name called.  Faint…but there was no mistaking that voice.  Tara.

Her eyes locked on the girl rushing towards her, the gown she wore stunning in its elegance, the flowing lines enhancing the womanly figure of her friend.

“Tara!” Buffy broke away from their small party, not caring if she appeared rude to her host.  Right now, all that mattered was seeing her friend.  Making sure that she was ok.  The girls threw their arms about each other, laughing and crying at their reunion.  Dawn and the others soon joined in, creating a group hug that even Giles participated in.  After a few moments, the slayer remembered her state of dress, pulling away from Tara and getting the others to follow suit.

“Sorry…we’ve been on the road for quite some time.  Didn’t mean to get you all dirty.  It’s just that, I was so worried and all…I hated to leave you behind like I did.”

“Nonsense!” she replied, her wide smile telling them that she didn’t mind in the least.  “I told you to go.  Beside, I had Gandalf to look after me.”  Tara indicated the wizard that had finally drawn near, his approach much more dignified.

After the latest round of introductions were complete, Elrond and his small entourage stepped forward to lead his guests towards several rooms so that they could refresh themselves – and maybe sleep.  Gandalf fell into step beside him as they walked.

“Any word on the others,” Elrond asked him, voice low so that it would not carry.

“No news as yet.  When I failed to meet Frodo at The Prancing Pony, I’m sure Kriger and Strider met them in my stead,” Gandalf responded, equally discreet.

“I pray you are right,” the elven lord murmured.  “I received news today that the Ringwraiths seem centered around the area of Weather Hills.  Most likely tracking the ring.”

“Fear not, Elrond.  The hobbits will be kept safe by the rangers.  You worry for naught.”

“Not so,” the elf rebutted.  “For if the ring were to fall into the hands of Sauron, I fear all will be lost.”

“You dwell too much on the actions of the past.  Strider will fulfill his destiny,” the wizard replied.  “Man will be redeemed in your eyes.”

Elrond said nothing to the wizard’s pronouncement. 

Behind them, Buffy silently listened to their exchange.  Their words had floated over her, the conversation not really pertinent until she’d heard the wizard talking about destiny.  There was something in the way he stated it that caused her to stiffen slightly.

Callings and destinies were nothing new to the slayer, and she couldn’t help but sympathize with the unknown person they were discussing.

******************

Spike caught sight of the fire out of the corner of his eye and took off running towards the ruins – even as he cursed the hobbits for their foolishness.  Nothing like a nice beacon to let the Nazgul know of their whereabouts.  The vampire only hoped that Strider saw the signal as well and even now was rushing back to join him.

As he crested the top of the ruins, Spike witnessed their leader extinguishing the fire, berating the others of his kind for their stupidity at drawing the Ringwraiths to them.  Finally!  Someone among them with a little common sense…

“Hurry,” he told the four, racing into the clearing.  “Up the stairs.  I’ll hold them off as long as I can.  Now GO!”

He managed to turn back around just in time to evade a blow to his back.

‘Bugger, these things are fast,’ he thought as he brought his sword up just in the nick of time.  The clash of steel on steel rang out in the night as Spike battled four of the Nazgul – a fifth having snuck off towards the hobbits, the ring calling to it like a master to its dog.  He just prayed the four wee people could hold them off until Strider arrived to protect them.

As Frodo cried out, apparently attacked by the lone Nazgul, Strider leapt into the clearing, waving a torch of fire and brandishing his sword.  Apparently, the Ringwraiths didn’t like the flame and their ghost-like forms faded back from the vampire to escape it.

“Upstairs.  Go!” Spike shouted.  “Get to Frodo and the others.”

Spike caught the torch easily as it was flung towards him by Strider, sweeping his arm back and forth in an arc to drive the four away from him.  His face shifted, his demon eager for the fight, and he let out a growl as he charged.

***

Strider raced up the steps and quickly drove off the lone Ringwraith.  Only, it was more like the creature left of its own accord, and the ranger found out why shortly thereafter.  Frodo had been run through by its blade.  Its poison, slowly seeping through his system.

“Strider!  Help him,” Sam cried.

“He’s been stabbed by a Morgul blade.  This is beyond my skill to heal.  He needs elvish medicine,” the ranger told him.  He lifted Frodo over his shoulder and carried him down the stone steps to see Kriger quickly dismantling their makeshift camp and stowing their meager gear.  A shrill whistle sounded, and Shelerof came trotting into the clearing to stand calmly before his master.  As his brother quickly saddled his horse, Strider left the clearing and started towards Rivendell.

“Hurry,” he called over his shoulder to the hobbits.

“We’re six days from Rivendell.  He’ll never make it.”  Concern for his friend sharpened his words to the ranger.

“Gandalf,” Frodo whimpered from his perch on the ranger’s back.

“Hold on Frodo,” Strider coaxed.  “Hold on…”

******************

The group finally stopped in Trollshaws, the hobbit’s condition deteriorating so rapidly they were forced to delay their journey in an attempt to slow the progress of the poison wending its way through Frodo’s body.

Behind him, he could hear the cries of the Nazgul gaining on them – his brother’s fierce growls an echo to theirs as he kept them at a distance.  Strider set Frodo down, frowning as he caught sight of the injured hobbit.

“Sam, do you know the Athelas plant?”

“Athelas?”

“Kingsfoil…”

“Kingsfoil.  Aye.  That’s a weed.”

“It may help to slow the poison.  Hurry!” he told the hobbit.  Then he turned to the remaining two hovering near.  “Stay with him.”

Thinking two could find it faster than one, and knowing that Kriger would prevent the Ringwraiths from getting too close, Strider also looked for the plant.  So intent on his task and confident in his brother’s abilities, his defenses were down – to the point where he didn’t even see or feel the blade until it was pressed against his neck.

He stilled automatically, hands out to his side as he thought frantically of how he was going to extract himself from this situation.

“What’s this?  A ranger caught off guard?” the musical lilt of her voice drifted down to him, and he let out a pent up breath as his head lifted to gaze at the elf standing before him.  She took his breath away, always would, her ethereal beauty a shining beacon in the dark woods.

Strider stood and hurriedly led Arwen to where Frodo lay dying.  She knelt at his side, her eyes quickly assessing the extent of the hobbit’s injuries.

“He's not going to last. We must get him to my father. I’ve been looking for you for 2 days,” she told the ranger, eyes still on Frodo.  The language of her forefathers a musical lilt upon the air.

“Where are you taking him?” Merry asked as he watched the ranger lift Frodo into his arms.

The elf ignored him, speaking only to Strider. “There are 5 wraiths behind you. Where the other 4 are, I do not know.”

Strider placed Frodo on Asfaloth, the white horse she’d ridden. Speaking to her in elvish, he told her to stay with the hobbits.

“I will take him. I am the swifter rider,” she responded in kind.

“The road is dangerous…”

“Frodo dies… If I get across the river, the power of my people will protect him.”

At his hesitant look, Arwen laid a hand upon his cheek, telling him, “I do not fear them.”

Just then Spike came into the clearing, seeing the dilemma on his brother’s face.  He spoke in low tones to his horse, in the same elvish language.

“Strider.  Take Sherelof.  Guard her back.”

“But…”

“Don’t argue with me.  Just do it.”  Spike led his horse beside the white beast Arwen was riding.  He didn’t bother with greetings, the urgency of the situation overriding that desire.  When Strider had gained his stallion’s back, the vampire murmured his praise to his mount before looking up.

“Ride hard.  Don’t look back.”

With a slap to his horse’s flank, the pair was off, racing towards the security of Rivendell, even while they drew the Ringwraiths to them. 

As day broke, the horses galloped into the clearing – all nine of the Nazgul racing behind them.  Their mounts seemed in tandem, eating up the ground at an alarming rate, their headlong race towards the sanctuary Rivendell provided a choreographed dance as they weaved in and out of a few stray trees.  Strider kept his brother’s mount half a horse length behind Asfaloth, protecting Arwen’s from attack.

The ranger was just about to draw up short and take on the Nazgul when they burst through a crop of trees and into the river that protected Rivendell.  Their horses reared to a stop, and they turned to taunt the Ringwraiths to draw near.  As the nine horsemen followed after their prize, Strider drew his sword.  Behind him, Arwen was chanting, calling upon the river’s power to sweep the nine riders down its meandering path and away from them.  The group soon disappeared beneath the raging tidal wave, and the pair hurried towards Elrond, praying all the while that they’d made it in time.

******************

Spike grumbled under his breath at the long walk he had ahead of him.  On feet, they’d be another three days, at least, reaching Rivendell.  Already he missed his mount, this being the first time he’d been separated from the roan stallion since he’d been gifted him by Elrond.  Maybe he could impress upon the wee ones to hurry…

******************

It had been almost a week.

A week spent worrying about a man who’d been like a brother to him.  He took that back.  Not like.  Was.  Was a brother.  Blood brother. 

His shadow.  His confidant.

Which was why Strider was ready to tear out of Rivendell to see what was keeping him.  Well, there was that…

…and the fact that his Buffy was here.

At Rivendell.

With a small group of her friends.

The ranger had eyed the strangers warily, until Gandalf had explained who they were and why they were here.  He listened to the wizard but still did not seek them out.  Instead, he spent his time with Arwen – after all, it had been some time since they’d last been together.  However, as the days had slipped past, his sense of urgency had grown, until he was ready to charge out of the elven fortress and determine what was keeping Kriger. 

From his room, he heard the shouts ring out, excitement from Rivendell’s inhabitants that one of their own had returned, and he breathed a sigh of relief, knowing instinctively who had returned.  He glanced out the window to see Arwen rush forward and assure herself that Kriger was ok.

He smiled at the picture, the tension leaving his body at knowing that his brother had made it safely – if rather tardily – to Rivendell.

******************

The Scoobies were drawn to the scene by the shouts and cheers of the elves.  Leading a dark-colored horse loaded with supplies, a lone man walked along the path leading to where Elrond and his daughter stood waiting.  In front of him, small people, who reminded Buffy of dwarfs, raced ahead, their excitement at seeing the wizard precipitating cries of greetings.

The slayer watched as the man handed off his horse to one of the younger elves, a few whispered words in a language she couldn’t understand.

‘No doubt an elf returned home,’ Buffy thought as she turned away.  Before she could complete the maneuver, the man threw off his cape, his shoulder-length golden brown locks glinting in the sun.  There was something about the way he moved that caught her attention, her body freezing in shock.

He smiled then, and Buffy knew.  The sharp edges of his cheekbones were a dead giveaway – even if the attire he wore was an exact duplicate of the other human that had shown up a few days ago.  Ranger, someone had called him.

She watched helplessly as he caught sight of Elrond’s daughter.  The two rushing towards each other in greeting.  Tears formed in her eyes as she witnessed Spike lift the elven girl in his arms, twirling her around in circles as he hugged her tight – speaking to her in a different language, while her father looked upon the pair indulgently.

The affection between the two as they embraced obvious to the most casual of observers.

Dejectedly, she turned from the scene and walked away.

Spike had clearly moved on.

And, it surprised the slayer how much it hurt.

Chapter 6: Behold the Fellowship


Spike set Arwen down on her feet, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before releasing her.  Turning to Elrond, he affected a slight bow.  The elven lord smiled in genuine welcome, a soft spot in his heart for the stranger that had become one of their own.

“The wee one, he made it, yeah?” Spike asked.  He tuned out the impromptu celebration at his return, concerned only for the safety of the one Gandalf had told him and Strider to watch over.

“He’s fine.  Recovering in bed…although, now that his friends have arrived, I doubt that will last for much longer.”

The vampire nodded, relieved; the tension draining from his body upon discovering that their quest had not been in vain.  That Strider and Arwen had made it back to Rivendell in time.

“Come…we’ve much to discuss.  Friends, new… and old, to greet.  But for now, I’m sure you’d like to rest.  Mayhap let that stallion of yours know you’ve returned.”

Spike looked at the elf inquiringly.

“After Strider came tearing in on his back and got him rubbed down, Sherelof’s refused to settle…except in my presence.”

“If you will excuse me, I’ll go there now.”

Elrond nodded waving him off.  “When you’ve finished, come find us in my study.”

Spike replied that he would after he’d cleaned up, then disappeared into the crowd of well-wishers.

******************

Spike spent extra time with his stallion, praising him for a job well done, treating him to a full rubdown – even though the vampire knew Sherelof had received only the best of care from the elven lord.

The rote motions allowed his mind to wander, and he couldn’t help think that just for a moment, she’d been here.  The telltale warnings that had diminished with time and distance – a vampire’s early warning system that a slayer was near.  But, he dismissed the notion as impossible.  The desperate wish of a vampire who knew that such would never be.

‘Prolly just the thought of being home, in Rivendell,’ he thought. Rivendell softened his hardened edges.  It granted him peace in an otherwise crazy world – one quickly forging its way into all out war.  But here, in his sanctuary, Spike could allow himself to dream…to remember.

When his horse’s coat gleamed from his reverent attention, and Spike had put away his cleaning implements, he left the stallion so that he could see to his own needs.  His feet quickly gained the quarters that had been set aside for him whenever he happened to find his way home, and a soft smile graced his lips when he noticed the clothes laid out for him.

“Only for you, li’l fairy, would I be caught dead in such poofter-ish clothing,” he mumbled to himself as he snagged the garments, drying cloths, and bathing supplies lying atop them, in his hands and made his way to the stream.  It would be nice to wash off the weeks of dirt, grime, and stench from his person – it being the first thing the vampire did upon returning to this enchanted land.  As if it unsettled him to be so unclean while residing in so opulent a setting.

With his body cleaned and his mind refreshed, Spike slipped into the beige tunic and matching pants then pulled on his soft-skin boots.  Bundling his dirty clothes and cleaning supplies in his hands, he left the area to dispense with his soiled clothes and seek out Elrond.  The tone of the elven lord’s voice had sounded rather dire, and the vampire had kept him waiting far too long as it was.

******************

“Gandalf, the enemy is moving. Sauron's forces are amassing in the east-- his eye is fixed on Rivendell. And Saruman, you tell me, has betrayed us. Our list of allies grows thin.”

“His treachery runs deeper than you know. By foul craft Saruman has crossed orcs with goblin-men, he's breeding an army in the caverns of Isengard. An army that can move in sunlight and cover great distance at speed. Saruman is coming for the Ring,” the wizard replied.

Spike stepped into Elrond’s study just as the elven lord spoke again.

“This evil cannot be concealed by the power of the Elves. We do not have the strength to fight both Mordor and Isengard!”  He paused, motioning Kriger forward before he spoke once more to the wizard.  “Gandalf, the Ring cannot stay here.”

Gandalf had hoped…

But it was not to be.  The elven lord was right.

“This peril belongs to all middle earth,” Elrond continued. “They must decide now how to end it. The time of the Elves is over-- my people are leaving these shores. Who will you look to when we've gone? The Dwarves? They hide in their mountains seeking riches-- they care nothing for the troubles of others.”

“It is in Men that we must place our hope,” Gandalf responded.

“Men? Men are weak. The race of men is failing. The blood of Numenor is all but spent. Its pride and dignity forgotten. It is because of men the Ring survives. I was there Gandalf. I was there three thousand years ago...”

“There is one who could unite them, one who could reclaim the throne of Gondor,” the wizard remarked after a moment.

“He turned from that path a long time ago. He has chosen exile,” Elrond argued.

“Jus’ because he’s not sittin’ on the throne right now doesn’t mean he’s given to exile.  ‘M surprised you’ve so little faith in him,” Spike entered into the conversation.

Elrond turned to face this new attack from Kriger.  “You weren’t there.  This…this madness is a result of men.  Isildur had a chance to end it all.  Instead he kept the Ring for himself.”

“Aragorn is Isildur’s heir, not Isildur.  He’s grown up here, wise to the teachings of elves.  Of you… and me.  Do you think I would let him come this far only to hide in cowardice?”

“Elrond is too close to the situation, Kriger.  You are right.  But so, too, is Elrond.  It was unfair of me to think that the Ring could be concealed here in Rivendell.  We’ll let those assembled decide what is in the best interests of middle earth.”

The three men nodded.  They could do no more.

Elrond walked over to Kriger and placed a hand on his shoulder.  “When was the last time you slept?”

“Don’ remember.  I’ll be alright.”  He shrugged off the elven lord’s concern.  “You said we’ve guests?”

“Yes, but they’ll be assembled for the meeting on the morrow.  You can greet them then.  Get some rest.  I fear tempers will flare and I’ll need you with your wits about you.  I will make your excuses to the others.”

The elven lord had spoken, and Spike gave an incline of his head and did as Elrond asked.  Not that he was opposed to a little sleep.  Here at Rivendell he could truly relax enough to let his guard down.

******************

All around her, people seemed in relative good cheer – even with the threat of war looming over their heads.  She’d been dragged to the banquet hall by Tara and Dawn, only going because she’d hoped to catch another glimpse of him.  Of Spike.

She’d told no one of her suspicions, not wanting to deal with their contempt of the vampire that had saved their lives.  Both Giles and Tara had commented on her distractedness – which she’d put off as her just being nervous.  After all, it wasn’t every day that she saw elves and dwarves and hobbits all clustered in the same room.  Hell, it wasn’t like she’d seen them at all.  Plus, the slayer had detected the slight undercurrent in the air, how the four groups of people mainly kept to themselves. Except him – Spike’s dark-haired Ranger twin – who sat amongst a different group of elves talking to the blond elf she’d been introduced to as Legolas.

After a while, Buffy noticed others filtering out of the room and felt safe that she could do the same without offending her host.  Standing from her place at the table, she made her way towards Giles and the others to let them know she was returning to her room.

“…see how he sits with them.  Him and his brother, William the Bloody…they ignore their own kind, preferring the company of elves to those of their own blood.” Boromir scoffed.  “Best be wary of that one.  The Ranger is not to be trusted.”

She froze, seeing if any of her friends noticed the moniker.  Only expelling her breath when they didn’t appear to make the connection.

“I…uh…I’m headed to bed.  And, out of this.”  She fingered the long flowing gown, which was beyond beautiful, but completely impractical when it came time for her to fight.  “I’ve not worn anything this fancy since me and Cordy battled it out for Homecoming Queen.”


“You sure you’re ok, Buffy,” Tara asked.

“I’m fine.  Just tired…and wondering what this meeting tomorrow is about.  I’ll see you guys in the morning.  Dawn, not too much longer and no wandering off on your own.”  With a wave of her hand and a smile that in no way reached her eyes, she left amid their cheerful goodnights.

Outside, in the hall, her shoulders slumped. 

He hadn’t shown.

And the blond-headed slayer had taken note the moment the elven girl had slipped away.  No doubt gone to be reunited with her vampire.

‘My vampire,’ Buffy thought.

So lost in memories of the past, and Spike being here and seemingly happy with some elven girl, the slayer took a wrong turn.  But, truth be told, she hadn’t really been tired so much as wanting to escape the hall where the lack of the vampire’s presence was all she could concentrate upon.

She wandered around Lord Elrond’s home and soon found herself in a room that appeared dedicated to preserving the history of battles once waged.  Her eyes were drawn to the painting of two men clad in armor fighting in some epic battle, the intensity of the portrait so great she could practically hear the clank of steel upon steel as their swords met.  Off to the side, stood a marble statue, holding in its hands a shield turned sideways like a platter.  Atop it lay a shattered sword, and on closer inspection, Buffy noticed it resembled the one the human was wielding.

But that wasn’t what held her attention.  No…

Her hand reached out as if to touch it, knowing instinctively the feel of the supple leather beneath her fingertips.

Folded carefully and situated on a shelf near the statue was the duster the blond-headed vampire had never been without.  Tears flooded her eyes at the proof that the man she’d seen – the one that had walked among sunlight with no fear of bursting into flames – was indeed her Spike.

Sensing someone’s approach and not wanting to be seen, she hurriedly left the chamber to find her bedroom.

******************

Spike stared agape as everyone made their way towards their seats that had been situated into a huge circle.  He managed to close his mouth and school his features as he sat down beside Strider, but not before the other man had noticed.

“You did not know?” Strider whispered.

Spike didn’t answer but for the slight negative shake of his head, his eyes glued to where the slayer was taking her seat and was looking everywhere but at him.  Strider would have said more, but Elrond began speaking.  Spike forced himself to look away, his hair shifting to partially cover his face, not wanting to draw attention to himself – but, oh how it hurt not to look upon her face.  A face he hadn’t seen it what seemed like forever.  Forcing her from his mind so that he could concentrate on the eleven lord’s words.

“Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate…this one doom.”  The elven lord turned to the hobbit named Frodo.  “Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”

Frodo gained his feet rather warily, nervous about being around so many strangers and not quite healed from his injury.  Carefully, he placed the ring on a tree stub that passed for a makeshift table.  Those native to middle earth eyed the treasure with something akin to awe, each having been told stories of the Ring’s power.  The Sunnydale crew was trying to figure out what the fuss was about, but refrained from saying anything.

“So it’s true…” Boromir whispered from his place beside Buffy.

“The curse of man,” the man to his left retorted.

“No…” Boromir replied shaking his head. “It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring?”  He gained his feet, speaking to the group at large. “Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!”

“You cannot wield it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master,” Strider told him.

“And what would a Ranger know of this matter?”

The growl startled everybody, all eyes seeking its source in the darkly-clad person beside him.  Before Spike could voice his objections at the human’s ignorance, Legolas leapt into the fray.

“This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.”

“Aragorn?”  Boromir began incredulously. “This is Isildur’s heir?”

Spike surged to his feet at the human’s obvious distain, forgetting for a moment the slayer and her friends as he became intent on teaching the bloke some manners.  He growled again, the gesture indicative of his anger.  Strider stood and put a calming hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Let it go, Kriger,” he told him in elvish before glancing at Legolas and telling the elf to regain his seat.  The elf appeared just as rebellious as Spike, and it took another “please” before Legolas did as he requested.

The vampire glanced at Strider, clearly not impressed with the other’s interference, but did as he asked – for now.  However, he threw an amber glare in the warrior’s direction, then felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach when he noticed the slayer’s eyes on him.

‘She knows.’ he thought, stunned.  A quick glance at the other Scoobies revealed their confusion at his sudden outburst, but otherwise, they seemed unaware of his identity.

Once the shock of that wore off, a thousand questions seemed to bombard him at once.  Not the least of which were how she and the others had gotten here and why none of them were dead.

The wizard stood, gaining everyone’s attention and bringing a semblance of order to the meeting.  “Aragorn is right.  We cannot use it.”

Lord Elrond joined the wizard, adding, “You have only one choice.  The Ring must be destroyed.”

One of the dwarves stood – Gimli – who announced, “What are we waiting for?”  Renting the air with his battle cry, he brought his axe down upon the golden circle, and gazed in shock as he axe shattered into numerous pieces.

“The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came,” the elven lord announced.  “One of you must do this,” he added, eyeing each member of the group assembled.

Bickering broke out almost immediately upon that pronouncement, everyone gaining their feet, their shouts increasing to be heard over the other. 

No one noticed the hobbit, Frodo, stand and offer to take the Ring to Mordor.  No one, that is, except Spike.  ‘Brave li’l man.’

Gandalf was the first to have the hobbit’s words penetrate, breaking off from his argument with Boromir to stare in resignation at Frodo.  He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

One by one, the arguments lessened, then died away completely in the face of the hobbit’s courage.

“I will take the Ring to Mordor,” Frodo told them. “Though…I do not know the way.”

The wizard walked over to the hobbit and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  “I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, so long as it is yours to bear.”

Strider stood and knelt before the hobbit.  “If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will.”  Kriger joined his brother and repeated the same oath. 

The gasps of some of the Sunnydale crew at his slightly accented voice were drowned out as Legolas offered his bow and Gimli volunteered his staff. 

“And my….well…me,” Buffy added, joining the group.  If Spike was going, she was going.

“Buffy! No!” Dawn burst out her denial, having to be held in place by Tara.  The slayer glanced at her sister and nodded her head before turning away. 

“You carry the fates of us all, little one,” Boromir spoke as he joined the group, stopping next to Buffy.  “If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done.”

“Mr. Frodo is not goin’ anywhere without me!” Sam announced, bursting into the space from his hiding spot behind a bush.

“No indeed,” Elrond drawled, highly amused at the hobbit’s antics. “It is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not.”

Two more hobbits rushed into the space from where they’d been listening in at the doorway.  Adding their insistence to be included in the group.

“Eleven companions…So be it!  You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!” Elrond proclaimed.

The gathering broke up soon thereafter so they could prepare for their journey.  Buffy would have talked with Spike, but when she turned in his direction, both he and the other Ranger – Aragorn – were gone.  Shoulders slumped in dejection, the slayer returned to her friends.

The moment Buffy gained their side, Dawn launched herself at her sister, hugging her tightly.  Buffy held her close, soothing her sister as best she could.  Together, the two lead the way back to the slayer’s room so that she could pack.

“I have to do this, Dawnie.  You’ll be safe here with Giles and the others,” she told her sister as she started rummaging through her drawers for something suitable to wear.  Buffy could see Xander gearing up to spew his hatred of the blond-headed vampire, but she was having none of that.  “Not one word, Xan!”

“But—”

“Don’t make me choose…because, right now, you’d lose,” she hissed at him. “Back off.”

“Buffy’s right, Xander,” Giles interjected quietly.  “We know nothing of what has transpired here.  By all outward appearances, he’s well-loved by this city’s inhabitants.”

Everyone knew the “he” the watcher was referring to.  There was no mistaking that voice, even if the accent wasn’t quite as pronounced.

The slayer’s breath hitched at her watcher’s words, and she bit her bottom lip against the pain of his announcement.

“But he’s a…” he trailed off as a new thought struck him.  “Sunlight!”

“Doesn’t affect me, whelp,” Spike announced, standing at Buffy’s open door and glaring at the boy.  After a minute, he turned towards the slayer.  “Hello, Buffy…’Bit.  Didn’t mean to interrupt the li’l pow-wow here, but I wanted to let you know that I’ll have someone bring you something a li’l more maneuverable than what you’ve got on.  For the trip.”

“Ohhh…uhhh…thanks…”

“Bes’ be goin’ then.  Got a bit a packin’ to see to.  Oh, and whelp?  Sunlight’s not the only thing that doesn’t affect me here.”  Spike flashed a little fang, then was gone. 


“Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain but it takes character and self control to be understanding and forgiving.” – Dale Carnegie

“Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. Love still stands when all else has fallen.” – Anonymous

“We're never so vulnerable than when we trust someone - but paradoxically, if we cannot trust, neither can we find love or joy.” – Walter Anderson

******************

Chapter 7: Lying in Wait


Spike walked away from the slayer’s room and knew at that moment that he’d probably given up any chance of being around her.  There was no way that she’d let him near her precious friends, her family, knowing that the chip had been rendered useless the moment he’d ended up in middle earth.

Having revealed his unleashed status to them, the vampire had pretty much guaranteed himself a staking at her hand.

Well, she could try anyway.  His strength and abilities had seemed to triple during the daylight hours.  But at night…that’s when he’d earned his nickname.  Ironically, the same moniker he’d acquired so long ago. 

Spike had let slip his surname at one point – many, many years ago, after a particularly gruesome battle in which he and Strider had routed a band of orcs from some peaceful village – and once someone witnessed the carnage, he’d been christened. 

William the Bloody.

Although, no one ever dared say it to his face. 

It was always a respectful “Kriger,” even sometimes a “Mr. Kriger,” while he was in their presence.  But, he’d heard the whispered gossip, witnessed his name spread like wildfire, the awed look upon their faces as he rode into town after town.  Like they didn’t know if they should kiss his feet in gratitude, or run in fear for their lives.

The re-telling of his and Strider’s feats had often preceded their journey across middle earth – how he fought with an almost inhuman strength.  The only thing left of the vultures preying on the townsfolk, a bloody mass of severed limbs and heads as his sword had cleaved his enemies to pieces. 

If he hadn’t been fighting on their side, defending them, the vampire was sure that there would have been cause for him to be wary of entering the various settlements.  As it was, women and children were often trying to press gifts into his hands, anything that they thought he might like or could use to repay him for his services.  The men, eager to listen to his tales over a pint of ale – which he never did.  He didn’t like to talk, unless it was to his brother, or once home among the elves in Rivendell. 

He’d always left it to Strider to make his apologies as he more often than not, reined his stallion through town in a quick pass to get his bearings before taking up point, usually somewhere just outside of the village proper, sleeping out in the open to better hear the night sounds.  His brother would usually join him after about an hour of listening to the townsfolk and getting a quick lay of the land, gaining the necessary information needed to rid the various places of whatever had thought to harm those they would protect.

His lack of communication just seemed to perpetuate the nickname, his aloofness breeding everyone’s fascination with him, until it seemed that everyone knew that Kriger, the blood brother to fellow Ranger, Kriger, was William the Bloody.

Lost in thought, Spike’s feet carried him towards his “spot.”  The place he went to work out whatever may have been troubling him at any given time when he found himself within the walls of Rivendell.

When he’d first stepped outside Elrond’s home, the vampire had noticed the barely leashed excitement in the air, as if the city’s inhabitants knew what had recently transpired and seemed almost hopeful that the fellowship would succeed, that Sauron would finally be destroyed.  Spike murmured a greeting to a few elves that happened to be about, but he didn’t linger – and they seemed to sense his distance and didn’t try to engage him in conversation.

Before long he was walking among the well-worn trail that led him towards the tranquility of the waterfall.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, gazing into the rushing waters, the steady crashing it made against the rocks soothing to his sensitive ears.  But, the loud noise in no way drowned out her approach.

******************

True to his word, a young male elf – who looked in his teens but, she was certain, was probably decades, if not centuries, older – stopped by her room, shortly after Spike’s departure.  In his hands a small stack of nondescript clothing.  He didn’t say much more than a short greeting, something along the lines of, “Hello, Ms. Buffy, Kriger asked me to bring these by.”

Kriger, she took it, was Spike.

She thanked him, and he nodded and went about his way, as if instinctively sensing the cold atmosphere in the room displayed by her friends, and not wanting to linger.

“You can’t still mean to go.” 

Xander.  Leave it to him to not know when to quit.  But, when she turned to confront him, his wasn’t the only face set in a grim mask of determination.

She ignored them all for the moment, placing the borrowed clothes upon her bed, her unwillingness to discuss the coming trip heightening her friends’ restlessness.  Only Tara seemed to want to stay out of the impending argument, moving towards the window to look down upon the lush landscaping that comprised Rivendell.  When she finally turned towards them, gone was the sweet, pushover Buffy; in her place stood one hundred percent pissed off slayer.

“Of course I mean to go!”

“But, Buffy…he’s got his chip out.  Or it doesn’t seem to work here.”

“He does make a valid point, Buffy,” Giles added.

“Oh God!  Not you too!”  Buffy was ready to pull out her hair in frustration.  Even Dawn, her own sister, who for months had been bemoaning the fact that she’d not handled the situation on the tower well, looked like she was going to side with them.  Or, maybe it was the fact that she didn’t want her big sister to leave without her.

Anya, for her part, seemed rather bored with the whole subject, but was standing by Xander doing the supportive girlfriend thing.

“He’s a killer, Buffy.  And, now that you’re here, the first chance he gets he’ll—

“Shut up!  Just shut up, Xander,” she yelled at him. “Spike isn’t going to do anything to me.  Gah!  Do you honestly thing everyone here would be practically worshipping at his feet if he was out draining them dry on a nightly basis…or did you miss the homecoming he got when he arrived?”

Giles actually seemed shamefaced at her argument.  He had forgotten what had transpired when the blond-headed vampire had arrived in town. And, apparently, the elven lord held him in high regard, given Spike’s and his daughter’s exuberant reunion.

“You’re so quick to judge, but then refuse to budge when the evidence refutes your stance.  He. Died. For. Me.  He’s changed. Has been for a long time now, only I was too stupid and set in my ways to believe it.  But, I’ve seen it.  Both in Sunnydale and here.  It’s time for you to quit punishing him because of what happened to Jesse.”

Apparently, that wasn’t the right thing to say, because his mouth just seemed to open and close for a moment, no words being uttered, before he gave her a look of such hate, grabbing Anya’s hand and storming from the room. 

But, Buffy refused to dwell on him, her mind already on the coming mission.

“Buffy…” Dawn began.

“Not you too!”

“What?  Oh, no…” The girl shook her head in denial.  She wasn’t upset about Spike.  She’d known all along how much the vampire loved her sister.  Had always thought that even if he had gotten the chip out, he wouldn’t have reverted to his old ways.  Like Buffy said, he’d changed.  “I just…what am I gonna do…why do you hafta—”

Buffy walked over to her sister, pulling her down beside her on one of the short couches.

“I’ve got to do this, Dawnie.  If we hope to get home, we’re going to need Willow.  And, right now, she’s been infused with some sort of dark magicks.  If we destroy the ring, the hold over her should be broken…you do want to go home, right?”

Dawn nodded, not speaking.

“You’ll be safe here.”

“Buffy’s right, Dawn,” Tara added as she moved away from the window and joined them.  “Rivendell…it’s…peaceful here.  Full of good magick.  I’ll look out for you.  Buffy will help the Fellowship to destroy the ring and then we can go home.  All of us.”

The witch smiled, and Dawn couldn’t help but smile back.  Hope that Buffy could do this, that the fellowship could do this – destroy the ring and enable them to return home, a bright beacon in the witch’s eyes. 

“Now, come on.  Buffy’s got some stuff I’m sure she needs to do before they set off.  Let’s get out of her hair for awhile…maybe I can take you to see the horses?”

“As long as we’re not going to ride them.  My butt’s still sore from before,” Dawn told her, attempting to cover her insecurities behind a cheerful mask of excitement.  She turned to her sister to see her nodding her approval.  Dawn gave Buffy a quick, hard, hug, then shot off the couch to leave with Tara.

“Buffy, I…”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Giles,” she told him, resigned to not being able to change her watcher’s mind.  “It’s over.  The subject of Spike is closed.  Now, I’ve got some clothes to try on and some packing to do.”

“I…I wasn’t going to…that is…” he stammered, then grumbled, “Bloody hell.”

He sounded so much like a disgruntled Spike in that moment that she couldn’t help but laugh.  Giles soon joined her, their lighthearted chuckles paving over whatever awkwardness they felt.

“I’m proud of you,” he told her once he’d calmed.  At her look, he expounded.  “As far back as I can remember, the Council has held the belief that demons are…just that.  There is no change.  No shades of gray.  Only black and white.  Good versus evil.  It’s something we’ve drummed into our slayers.  I suppose it was arrogance on our part.  But then we were confronted with Angel.  A vampire with a soul.  And, I started to slowly trust him.  Believe a little more in those shades of gray.”

Buffy nodded.  She remembered the first time she’d seen his vampiric features.  She’d screamed, looking frantically about her room for a stake.  It was only later that she’d learned about the soul, and then little by little, fell in love with the broody vampire. 

Then he’d lost it.

They looked at each other, sharing in the other’s pain.  Both had felt betrayed by the vampire’s actions, not able to reconcile the “good” Angel with the “evil” Angelus.

It had just proven to Giles that, once a demon, always a demon.

And then Spike had come along.

For the first year after having the behavioral modification chip implanted in his brain, the vampire had played at being the big bad, even while offering the reluctant aid.  Then his feelings for the slayer had become apparent, and it had disgusted the watcher.  All he could think about was a repeat of before.  The slayer would fall for him and then he’d get his chip out – disaster following in his wake.  When Buffy had told him all that Spike had suffered at the hands of Glory and still not given up Dawn, he’d been stunned, but refused to believe that a vampire – or any demon for that matter – could change their nature.

His bones barely knitted together, Spike had stayed by the slayer’s side as they’d raced away from Sunnydale.  Determined to keep both Dawn and her safe.

And in the end, he had.

Giles had spent weeks going over the past two years in the wake of Glory’s destruction and the closing of the portal.  Writing down every scenario involving the blond-headed vampire he could remember.  As he reread his chronicles, he’d been amazed – and shamed – by having been too blinded by his prejudice to see his transformation.

And yet, here he’d been, ready to jump on the old bandwagon of “Spike is evil” once more.  Even after all appearances indicated that he’d continued his “white hat” ways here – completely unencumbered by the chip’s zap.  Or the sun’s deadly rays.  His watcher’s mind wondered what else he might have gained here in middle earth.

He laid it all out for her.  How his mistrust of Angel had cast a shadow over Spike’s evolution.  How he’d encouraged the vampire to make the most of his new “status” then practically spit in the vampire’s face whenever he tried to offer a hand.  How, even now, believing in the vampire’s changed character, a small part of him just refuses to let go.  To trust him.  It was something that he’d have to deal with on his own.

At the end of his one-sided conversation, Buffy nodded.  She’d been where he was.  But, she’d also witnessed first-hand his loyalty to her.  His love…

That he loved another didn’t matter.  He still wouldn’t hurt her.

She could trust him with her life.

******************

Even with the noise from the waterfall practically ringing in his ears, he heard her approach.  Smelled her too.  Part natural musk, part flowery scent – all woman.  He didn’t know why she tried to sneak up on him; she knew his abilities.  Knew that there was no way that she could expect to get close to him without him knowing. 

He smiled to himself and waited for her to join him. 

He didn’t mind sharing this place with her.  She calmed him almost as much as the waterfalls did.  Her presence alone could force back the worse bloodlust, but when she spoke, her lyrical voice invaded his senses until he was all but purring in contentment.

Then she was by his side, her palm pressed against his cool cheek.  And he couldn’t help himself as he leaned into her soft caress.

“What troubles you, golden warrior?” she spoke in elvish, concern evident in her voice.

Spike shook his head, not responding.  He couldn’t give voice to his despair, for to say it aloud would make it true.  Better to hold it in and pray, just pray that he was wrong.  And that the slayer wouldn’t come looking for him with a stake in her hand.

But she knew, damn her.  And as he thought it, he regretted his mental outburst.  She couldn’t help what she was.  It was one of the things he loved about her.  She could see into anyone, realize their pain and try to take it for her own.  Only, he wouldn’t let her.  The slayer was his, good or bad, and he’d not give up any part of her if he could help it.

Arwen nodded, accepting his refusal.  She settled herself beside him on a nearby rock, neither speaking.

“You’re worried,” he told her after a bit, shoving aside his own problems to deal with hers. 

She nodded.  At times like this, she wished she had her father’s gift of sight.

“Have I ever not brought him back to you?” he questioned.

“This time is different.  It’s like I can feel Sauron’s evil trying to worm its way inside.  Promise me you’ll be careful.  I couldn’t bear it if I were to lose either of you.”

“’S gonna take a lot more than some orcs to stop us.  We’ll see our task done, then we’ll be home.  Only this time for good.”

The two lapsed into silence, both thinking of the future and what it might bring.

After a time, Spike sent her off to be with Strider.  They wanted to be gone at first light, and if the members of the group were smart, they’d be in bed not long after the sun set.

He didn’t think he’d be sleeping at all.

“But I did love you then, only I didn't realize it because it was so strong, and I still do love you, even though I know I've probably blown my chance.” – Anonymous

****************

Chapter 8: If This Be a Dream, Don’t Let Me Wake


“It’s beautiful here.  Peaceful.”

Spike didn’t say anything.  Couldn’t say anything.  His voice was trapped in his throat.

He’d felt her as she drew near.  But, when she’d stepped beyond the clearing and into his line of sight…

Like Arwen, she was wearing a flowing gown.  Though no doubt borrowed, the design seemed made for her, its style somewhat reminiscent of his human days where the cut of one’s clothes hinted at the figure beneath.  The blue-green color seemed the exact shade of her eyes when she was happy.

Overwhelmed with her presence, he was unable to move.  Just basked in the glow that was the slayer.

Though this was the second – well, technically third – time he’d seen her in the light of day, the moment was no less powerful.  He figured it would be a while yet before he’d be used to seeing her like this.  The late afternoon sun breaking in random patterns through the trees and casting an ethereal glow about her head.  Hitting her hair and bringing out the lighter shades of blonde.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she began hesitantly when he just stared at her.  “I just…I should go…” she began, and turned to walk away.

He was by her side in an instant, his hand locked loosely around her wrist to hold her in place.

“No…stay,” he whispered softly.  There was no way in hell he’d give up her company before he had to.  He led her to the rock that Arwen had vacated earlier, gesturing for the slayer to sit.  He smiled slightly as she tried to figure out how to maneuver her skirts to make that happen.  A moment later, he sat on the rock adjacent to her.

Buffy glanced down as she fidgeted with her hands.  Her eyes unable to hold his penetrating gaze as he sat and looked over at her.  It was like that night – the look he gifted her with right before he’d bitten into her neck.  Love so deep it practically consumed him. Only…

She knew that it wasn’t.  That his heart now belonged to another.  Part of her was angry.  Angry at him for having such shallow feelings that it had only taken him a few months to get over her and fall in love with someone else.  Most of that was her jealousy talking.  Because after the sacrifice he’d made, his happiness was the one thing she didn’t begrudge him.

No matter how much it killed her.

It’s just that seeing that look now…only managed to twist the knife.  Especially when she’d been so sure, so confident, in his love for her.

She pushed through the tears that threatened to form at the thought and finally tore her eyes away from her hands to look at him, determined to let him be happy with the elven girl.  Now if she could only convince herself that she really meant it.

“I’m sorry about Xander,” she blurted out, surprising even herself at the subject change.  “He’s got issues.”

Spike blinked, his face a mask of confusion.  Did she just say he had issues?  Not exactly what he’d expected to hear.

“Uhhh…”

“It’s just this thing…his friend Jesse got vamped and he had to stake him.  Didn’t exactly endear him to your kind,” she rambled on.  “Turned into this whole thing…then there was Angel.”

Spike rolled his eyes.  Now they were back on familiar territory.  Always had to have the bloody poofter intrude.

“Only that ended,” she continued her story.  “But then you had to go and…well…you know…and he couldn’t see that you’d done it for me… and…”

“Slayer, do you honestly think I give two bits what the whelp thinks about me?”

“Ummm… no?” she answered.  She stood up and began to pace.  That their behavior mimicked the other’s never dawned on them.  For once it was the slayer with the restless energy while Spike looked on, unmoving.  “I’m just trying to show you where he’s coming from…why he can’t…they can’t…”

She stopped and stared at him.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t want their thanks.  Don’t need it.  Didn’t do it for them—”

“No…I…” She took a hesitant step forward.  “Thank you.  For what you did.  For me…and Dawnie.”

Spike finally stood and walked over to her, the delicate material of the tunic and pants fluttering slightly as he moved.  They were nearly toe-to-toe when he drew to a halt.  His hand lifted automatically to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Couldn’t very well let you jump now, could I?”

The gentle caress of his voice washed over her, eliciting a shiver.  Or, it could have been the brush of his fingertips against her cheek.  Either way, her eyes unconsciously closed, her head tilting back for the kiss he was about to bestow.

‘Just one.  Then I’ll let him go,’ she mentally told herself.

Spike stared at her upturned face and could no more prevent himself from kissing her than he could turn back time.  His hand moved from where it had tucked her hair behind her ear to the back of her neck, applying slight pressure to angle her closer.  His lips settled over hers, brushing softly against their surface.  She moaned and he felt it…deep inside.  Felt the answering call rumble in the back of his throat.  At the tentative touch of her hands upon his chest, he was lost.  Dragging her close and devouring her mouth, his tongue boldly taking possession.  Desperate to claim some small piece of her.

His mind didn’t register her tight grip on his shirt, how she clamored to get closer.

Surrendering herself to his kiss.


Just as it seemed to dawn on him, she tore herself away, putting a foot or so between them.

It felt like a mile.

“I’m sorry…I-I…got to go…”

“Buffy!”

“No…don’t…I promised myself…I-I gotta go.”

She turned and started to run away. Before the tears fell. While she berated herself for being too late.

Only Spike was faster.

Man, was he faster.

He’d caught her before she’d barely run ten steps.  His hands closing about her and stopping her flight out of the clearing.

“Buffy?” he began, clearly confused by her attitude.

“Please, Spike…let me go,” she whispered pitifully, her head bowed as she stood with her back to him.  It wasn’t fair.  How could he kiss her like that when his heart belonged to another?

“I can’t.”

The tears started then.  To be so close to what she wanted – could have had if she’d listened to her heart and not the biased opinions of those around her – only to have it ripped away…

Her body shook as he drew her back against his chest.

“You have to,” she told him through her tears.  “I can’t…I can’t be that girl. Don’t make me be that girl.  Go back to Arwen…”

Spike turned the slayer in his arms and looked down at her tear-streaked face.  “What does Arwen have to do with anything?” he asked, clearly confused.

Buffy couldn’t meet his eyes.  “I saw you…when you got here.”

“Yeah…so?”

It was the way he said “so” that made her finally lift her gaze.  His head was cocked to the side, and he was looking at her like he didn’t have the foggiest idea what she was talking about.  It went a long way towards stemming the flow of tears.

“I saw you…and her,” she accused.  “Together.”

“Well, yeah.  I’d not seen her for nearly twenty years—”

“What?  Wait!  Twenty years?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Just how long have you been here?”

“Damn near eighty years.  ‘Bout blew me over with a feather when I saw you sit down just as calm as you please at the Council meeting.  Thought you were a bleedin’ angel.  A figment of my imagination…Why?”

“That explains it!”

“Explains what?”

“Why you speak their language…how you seem to fit in…it’s like you live here or something.”

“I do live here.  Well, I call Rivendell my home.  I…we…try to get back as often as we can.  Haven’t been able to do that as much with the increasing orc uprisings.  But, now that the One ring has been found, we’ve a chance to end it all.  With the ring destroyed, so too will Sauron finally be destroyed.”

“Then you and Arwen can be together,” Buffy concluded.

“What’s this about me and Arwen?”

“You love her, don’t you?”

“Of course I do—” he began.

“See,” she accused.

“…she’s my bloody sister.”

“Sister?”

“Well, she will be once she marries Aragorn.”

“Marries Aragorn?” 

“Yes, Aragorn.  My brother,” he told her patiently.

“Brother?”

“Did a bloody parrot take up residence in your mouth of a sudden?  Yes, my brother.”

“And you love Arwen, but aren’t in love with her,” Buffy added as she rationalized out in her head everything he’d just told her.

“Didn’ I jus’ say that?  Look…can we go back and sit down?  I’ll try and clear things up for you if I can.”

Buffy smiled, placing her hand in his and letting him lead her back to the rocks.  She stopped abruptly, forcing Spike to stop as well.

“What is it, pet?” he asked as he glanced over his shoulder.

“Can we…that is…I never got to see Rivendell.  Can you show me?”

He smiled then, his features appearing younger, more carefree.

“Come on,” he urged, tugging her hand and forcing her to run behind him.

“Where are we going?” she cried out as she struggled to keep up.  Didn’t he realize how hard it was to run in a dress?

They raced along the track until they’d gotten back to the cobblestone paths that led to the various dwellings in the city.  He veered left and she followed.  Soon they stopped before a huge building with double doors – the stables.  As they stepped inside, a young elf looked up from his duties, smiling and extending a greeting to the vampire in elvish.  Spike said something back, waved and then moved off.

Buffy trailed behind him until he stopped before a stall near the end of the aisle.  She watched as he curled his lip and gave a shrill whistle.  A moment later, a huge horse stepped in through the door and walked over towards them.  He – Buffy could only assume it was a he given how big and fierce it looked – didn’t stop until his chest brushed against the door, his head slipping over the top of the gate to nuzzle Spike’s face.

“This is Sherelof,” he told Buffy, rubbing his stallion’s nose affectionately.  Spike motioned the slayer to his side then opened the gate allowing the horse to step out of his stall.  He quickly gained the stallion’s back and held out his hand to Buffy.

“Uhh…don’t you need like those lines…I mean reins?  Don’t you need reins?  And a saddle?” she asked.

He leaned over, his hand still outstretched.  “Do you trust me?”

Her eyes went from his hand to the horse’s head and back again, before she raised her eyes to him.  She didn’t answer, but raised her hand so that she could be lifted in front of him.

Holding her close against his chest, sideways across his lap, Spike applied slight pressure to Sherelof’s flanks.  The horse cantered out of the stable and veered right and away from the city, eager to have his head and stretch his legs.

Buffy let out a slight eep as the horse went from stationary to near gallop in the space of a few strides.  Her grip tightened around Spike’s back and she closed her eyes as the scenery passed her by.  Later, once she realized that she wasn’t going to fall, she opened her eyes and gasped at what she saw.

He’d taken to the paths leading up the mountains so that they could look down on the city of Rivendell.  By some unspoken command, Spike slowed his horse and they meandered along the path.  Occasionally, he’d gesture to a flower or two, nearly unseating them at one point as he leaned over to snag one and slip it behind her ear.

It was an idyllic time for Buffy, her ride around the city.  Held in the arms of her vampire, the one that had sacrificed himself for her.  That seemed to love her still.  For this short period of time, she allowed herself to relax.  To just be a girl, out on a date with her man.

She wasn’t sure how long they were gone.  But whatever it was, it was too short.  As the sun started to dip in the sky, Spike guided his horse back towards the city.  His arms unconsciously tightening about her waist as if he, too, dreaded to return.

Once he’d seen to Sherelof, they walked hand in hand out of the stables and back towards Elrond’s house.  Both needed to rest before they embarked upon their journey to Mordor in the morning.  Still, as the pair drew to a halt outside her door, neither wanted to say goodbye.  As if both were worried that the tentative breakthrough they’d had in their relationship would disappear.

Buffy turned around, not surprised to see Spike standing so close to her.  She took a step and slipped her arms around his back, laying her head against his shoulder.

“I don’t want to go inside,” she mumbled into his neck.

“I know, luv.  But, it’s no easy road to Mordor, and much of it will be spent walking.”

“I know, but…stay with me tonight?”  She lifted her head to look into his face.  “Could you just…hold me?  I’m afraid if I let you out of my sight, I’ll wake up and it’ll all be just a dream.  Make it not be a dream,” she pleaded.

“Buffy…”

His head lowered and captured her lips, trying to reassure her as best he could that he was here to stay.  That he’d never let her go.  His mouth left hers to trail down her neck until he’d reached the marks he’d given her.  Blunt teeth nipped at the scars, and he hated himself for wanting to give her another set of marks.  Ones that would never fade, as these no doubt would with time.

Forcing that thought away, he reached for the doorknob and opened the door, steering the slayer back into her room.

“Go get changed, luv.”

“You’ll be here when I return?”

He nodded, not trusting his voice.  There was no way he was leaving this room before tomorrow morning – he didn’t care who he’d have to fight to make it so.  His girl wanted to be held, and that’s what he was going to do.

When Buffy came back, he’d already removed his clothes and slipped beneath the sheets.  He wasn’t one for pajamas, and he damn sure wasn’t sleeping in his clothes.  Spike just prayed she didn’t notice as she extinguished the candles and slipped in bed beside him.

“When you smiled you had my undivided attention. When you laughed you had my urge to laugh with you. When you cried you had my urge to hold you. When you said you loved me, you had my heart forever.” - Anonymous

********************

Chapter 9: The Calm Before the Storm

“What are the chances of us succeeding?” she whispered into the darkness some time later.  With Spike holding her, unable to hide his body’s reaction to her nearness, and the looming threat of Sauran and its impact on their returning home safely…well, suffice to say, she wasn’t going to be sleeping anytime soon.

“Spike?”

Buffy turned in his arms to face him.  Watched as his jaw clenched as her movements forced his cock flush against her stomach – whether in pain or pleasure, she wasn’t quite sure.

Her hands encountered his bare skin and she couldn’t help running her fingers down his well-defined chest and abs.  Swordplay was obviously good for his physique; he’d gained a bit of weight and seemed to have built up a bit more muscle in his upper body. 

Not that she’d seen him naked or anything to be able to make a comparison, but she remember Willow’s spell gone wonky.  It had taken her weeks, months…oh, who was she kidding?  She’d never been able to banish the feel of him from her mind.  He’d just seemed to fit; his wiry, compact frame a perfect complement to her own petite form.

Now, as her hands continued their exploration, her mind registered the differences almost eighty years of training had done to him.

“Buffy…”  Just her name.  Somewhere between a sigh and a plea to never stop.  Because for him, this was as close to heaven as he’d ever get.

When her fingers encountered the hardened flesh pressed intimately against her stomach, her eyes widened that he hadn’t worn anything to bed.  Her hand closed around him, stroking him from base to tip and back again.  If anything, he seemed to swell even more; the growl he made produced an answering ache between her legs.

Steel overlaid in silk, Buffy thought as her hand continued to slowly pump up and down along the length of his shaft.  Her past sexual exploits hadn’t allowed for this kind of exploration. With Angel, the encounter had been rife with the bumblings and awkwardness associated with her “deflowering,” and the subsequent pain of his whole “losing the soul” thing.  Parker, for all that it had been a one night stand, had marginally expanded her sexual experience; but in hindsight, the pleasure he’d brought her had seemed like some sort of ego trip for him, another thing to brag to the “boys” about.  And Riley…well, with him, she’d regressed back to the missionary position; touchie feelies were kept to a minimum, and often she was left wonder what exactly the big deal was about sex. With Spike – who appeared in no hurry to go anywhere, or stop what she was doing to him – she seemed able to do whatever came natural to her.

“Pet,” he groaned as her thumb flicked out and captured the few drops of precum that had leaked from the slit, rubbing them in a circular pattern atop the head.

Buffy wanted to taste him, and she started to scoot down the length of the bed when she felt his hands close around her upper arms, halting her progress.

“Buffy?  What are you—”

“Shhh…”

A finger to his lips stifled his question, then she was moving again.  Sliding down until her eyes were level with his erection.  She watched intently as her hand played over his flesh, smiling when it twitched in her palm.  Another drop appeared; this time it was her tongue that lapped at the sticky substance.  She felt his muscles tense in anticipation and couldn’t prevent the small thrill of power she felt at being able to make him feel like this.

Body strung tight and waiting for her next move.

He didn’t have long to wait as she parted her lips and took him in her mouth.

***********

Heat.

Oh god, the heat. 

It seared his flesh and left him begging for more.  A guttural moan escaped his lips and his fingered buried themselves in her hair.  He forced himself not to move as he lay there on his side, though he wasn’t quite sure how he accomplished it – especially when he wanted nothing more than to thrust his cock into her more than willing mouth.

Her tentative touch was driving him crazy; her discernable inexperience more than made up by her rapacious enthusiasm.  That, and the fact that is was Buffy; his slayer’s mouth wrapped around him. His eyes squeezed tight as she figured out how to relax her throat muscles and take him deep in her mouth, almost coming in the instant she swallowed around him.

Spike tried to pull himself free, but the minx just followed.

“Buffy…luv…” he pleaded.

She showed no signs of letting up, was clearly content to let him come in her mouth.  But he didn’t want that.

At least not this first time.

He wrenched his cock from her mouth before his “little brain” overrode what sense he had left.  Hissing in pain as her blunt teeth grated along his over-sensitized flesh.  Spike felt her stiffen in shock at the abrupt maneuver, but he didn’t give her time to protest.

Her flimsy nightgown seemed to shred in his hands leaving her completely exposed to his gaze.  His nostrils flared as he caught sight of the twin rosy-hued nipples, hard and calling to his mouth, his hands, like a siren’s song he was powerless to resist.  Almost afraid to, as if she’d disappear and he’d wake suddenly and be thrust into the darkness of his own room, Spike lowered his head and sucked one dusky peak into his mouth.

She felt and tasted better than he could have ever hoped to imagine, and he forced his demon back, determined to savor this treat, this gift, as if it may be his last.  His tongue flicked over the morsel in his mouth, nipping and sucking as he coaxed it harder still.  He felt her arch up into him as she thrilled to his touch and he made a promise to himself that she’d never forget what it was like to be in his arms.

He’d show her with actions how much he loved her.

With a last loving caress of his tongue, he shifted his attention from one breast to the other.  Again he teased and taunted, never relaxing in his pleasurable onslaught.  He could sup all night on her breasts alone.  And set about doing just that, until her writhing and pleas for more became too much.

He moved down her body, committing it to memory with his lips and hands.

Settling between her parted legs, he inhaled deeply her response to his attentions.  He felt her tense as his nose nuzzled the damp curls shielding her sex.  Heard the breathy sigh as she whispered his name – a sound that he’d remember till the day he dusted.  And even then, it would still be a part of him.

Spike lapped at the moisture coating the wiry hairs, and this time it was he that groaned as the taste of her flooded his mouth.  He needed more…had to have more.  The flavor was intoxicating.   His tongue traced the outer rim of her pussy, prolonging the moment.

Teasing her…and him.

When he could stand it no longer, Spike used his hands to part her outer folds, and attacked her in earnest.  His tongue delving into her warm cavern as his thumb rubbed random patterns against her clit. 

Her response was instantaneous.  Powerful legs wrapped around his neck as her hips shot off the mattress. The fingers that seemed to shred the bed sheets were now clenching the hair on his head, holding him in place.  Her incoherent babblings spurred him on, begged him for more.

His fingers replaced his tongue, two digits sliding in and out of her pussy.  Spike lifted his head, his gaze zeroing in on her face, pleased to see the look of pure bliss transforming her features.  His inner poet offered up silent prose to her beauty, and for once, he had to agree with the ponce. 

As if sensing his regard, her eyes opened and locked with his.  Lust, and some other emotion he didn’t dare hope to believe, radiated from their hazel depths, and he nearly wept with the thought that she might, to some small degree, return his affections.  He watched as her eyelids fluttered, unable to hold his gaze as his fingers worked their magic.  Watched her frown slightly and mouth something too soft for even his preternatural hearing to pick up.

He stilled his hand and shifted to her side so that he could lean his head near her mouth.

“Inside me…” Buffy whispered her explanation in his ear in between gasps for breath.  “…first time…please…Spike…”  She was so close to coming, and the slightest provocation would no doubt set her off.  But she was determined to have him inside her before that happened.

Then he lifted his head and looked at her.  Love.  Lust.  Hope.  They rivaled each other for dominance in his gaze.  And damned if she didn’t feel the first tinglings of her climax.  He probably felt it too, because his hands were quickly removed and he was resettling himself between her legs, filling her inch by agonizing inch.

Buffy wrapped her limbs around him, holding him tight as her orgasm washed over her body.  Her release seemed to snap whatever control he had, because he was suddenly thrusting into her for all he was worth.  And it felt so good…drawing out her climax even as she felt another one building inside her.

Spike felt her inner walls spasm around his cock and lost it.  He fucked her relentlessly, something that would have disgusted him if not for the vague realization that she didn’t seem to mind in the least.  Her nails scored his back leaving scratches deep enough that he could smell the tang of his own blood on the air.  His face shifted unconsciously and his senses intensified.

The bounding pulse in her throat called to him, his focus narrowing to just that and the way she squeezed his cock as he rammed into her.  His demon had taken over, leaving every softer emotion he possessed lagging far behind.  Spike struck without thought, his fangs sinking into her throat as the temptation of her throbbing artery became to great.  Her ear-piercing scream was cut off abruptly by his hand over her mouth; her teeth biting into his palm as she flew over the edge again.

It was too much for Spike. The sex, the biting, her potent blood – all three combined to demand his release.  And he gave himself over without thought; wrenching his mouth from her neck as he reared back and spilled himself deep inside her.

********************

Little things slowly pierced his consciousness in the aftermath of their lovemaking as he lay there nuzzling her neck. 

Nuzzling her neck?

Then what he’d done to her slammed into his gut, and he would have scrambled away from her if she hadn’t been holding him so tightly.

‘Lovemaking?  Yeah, right!  More like a bloody assault,’ he thought to himself.  Literally.

Buffy felt his struggles and opened her eyes to see Spike propped above her as he wrestled to get away from her.  The look of abject horror on his face was like a kick to the gut.

“Spike?” she whimpered as her face fell, on the verge of tears.  “W-What’s…what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” he yelled.  “What’s wrong?  Buffy…I…”

Her grip on him slackened and he jumped from the bed to pace beside it, never seeing what the action did to the slayer.  Too caught up in his own self-disgust to see her practically curl in on herself.

“Gah!!  I practically rape you…bloody demon just uses you with no thought…t-to…”

Spike broke off his tirade at the sound of her crying.  He rushed to her side, sitting on the bed and pulling her into his arms.

“’M so sorry, luv.  So sorry,” he mumbled into her hair as he rocked her back and forth.  “Jus’ get a stake a dust me now…can’t stand the thought that I hurt…Oh, baby, ‘m so sorry.  Please, luv…”

He wasn’t sure what he was pleading for.  Forgiveness.  Understanding.  An end to her tears that seemed to shred his undead heart to pieces.

“I t-thought you d-didn’t want me…that I w-wasn’t…g-good enough,” she sobbed into his chest.

“Oh…luv, no….” Spike gripped her upper arms and put some space between them so she’d be forced to look up at him.  When she did…suffice it to say that he was ready to stake himself all over again at the misery that seemed to shadow her eyes.  “Buffy… I…Bloody hell, woman!  I wanted you so much I completely lost control!”

His gaze bore into her own, willing her to understand that it wasn’t her that he was upset with, but himself.

“Really?” she replied through her tears. Her voice was small, childlike, as if she weren’t quite able to believe his explanation. 

“Yes, really,” he ground out.  Hell, with her nude body nestled intimately into his groin, damned if he wasn’t close to losing it again.  He watched as her hand lifted to the bite mark on her neck and he winced. 

“Buffy…I…” His hand reached up to caress her face.  “I’m sorry about that.  About biting you.  I promise it won’t ever happen again.” 

“Even if I want you to,” she asked shyly.

In answer, Spike crushed her to his chest, practically hugging the life out of her.  “Love you, Buffy…so much…” he murmured into her neck, too afraid to release her. 

“I love you too, Spike.”

“…don’t know what I did to deserve—”

He stiffened as her whispered confession penetrated his consciousness.  He leaned away from her, trying to see the truth of her words in her eyes.  And there it was…

She loved him.

Spike cupped her face with his hands and lowered his head to kiss her.  This time when he lowered her to the bed, he did it right.  Well, not so much right – seeing as the slayer had no objections to the first time – as the way he wanted their first time to be.  Slow and tender, complete with all the sappy love words and whispered promises of forever.

Afterwards, they’d held each other close as they drifted off to sleep.  Their time spent together holding back the nightmares of Sauron’s imminent attack and the perils the pair would face as members of the fellowship.

********************

Spike woke in the pre-lit hours of morning and pressed a kiss to the slayer’s bare shoulder.

It was time.

“Buffy, luv.  It’s time to wake up.”

Buffy stretched herself awake, surprisingly rested with the little sleep they’d gotten the previous evening.  She rolled over, taking in his tense features, and nodded.

“Mornin’,” she greeted.

Spike could resist giving her a kiss, but forced himself to do just that.  Both had a lot to take care of before they began their journey.

“You’ve got everything you need here?” he asked her afterwards.

“Yes.  I…can I get one last bath before we go?”  The hopeful expression in her voice did not go unnoticed and the smirk came automatic to his lips.

“Sure thing, pet.  I’ve packin’ to do.  I’ll see you in a few hours.  You know where, right?”

“Front courtyard, by the stables?”

He nodded, tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear before rolling over to slip from the bed.  Spike quickly donned his clothes and hurried to the door, pausing momentarily to look back over his shoulder.

“Love you.” 

Then he was gone, closing the portal and striding off down the hallway before he could hear her returned declaration, determined to be nowhere near her when her friends inevitably showed up.  Not that he cared if the Scoobies found out.  Just…not like this.  When they told them, if they told them, would be at Buffy’s discretion.  And right before their journey wasn’t a time to hash out the group’s biases towards him and his recent relationship with the slayer.

They had other, more important things, to concentrate on.

********************

“You’ll look after Shelerof while ‘m gone,” Spike asked Elrond as the two walked side-by-side down the hallway that led to the courtyard.  Aragorn trailed behind the pair.

“Yes.”

“And if something happens…”

“I’ll take him with me,” Elrond finished.

“Right then.”

They lapsed into silence, and moments later were in the courtyard where the others had started to gather.  Spike’s eyes flicked over the slayer where she stood talking with Legolas, then his attention was drawn away as the last few members of their entourage – the human, Boromir, and the four hobbits – approached.  The sun had just started to crest the mountains when the elven lord offered up a prayer of godspeed.  When he was finished, Elrond and Gandalf conversed privately before the wizard clasped arms with the other before stepping away to lead them down the cobbled path and away from Rivendell.

“The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding, go out to meet it.” – Thucydides

********************

Chapter 10: Walk With Me, My Brothers In Arms

As they crested the last rise out of Rivendell, Spike cast one final look over the place he called home.  The peace of the city seemed to wrap itself around him and he could practically hear Arwen’s voice in his head wishing him a safe and prosperous journey.

He vowed right then that he would see it happen.  That their quest would be successful.

That Sauron would plague Middle Earth no more.

He turned away, resolve in his step as he hurriedly caught up with Aragorn.

“Has Gandalf decided on a path?” Spike’s voice was low as he conversed with his brother in elvish.

“We’ll follow the path along the western side of the Misty Mountains.  He means to cross through the Gap of Rohan,” was his reply.

Spike grunted in response.  It was the longer route, true…albeit safer.  He’d not doubt the wizard’s plan.  Besides, the mountain range would afford them some cover from the all-seeing eye of Sauron and allow the group to train along their journey.

********************

Several weeks later
An outlying arm of the Misty Mountains, just shy of the Caradhras (Mountains)

Buffy marveled at the camaraderie of the group from her position on one of the jutting rocks.  The last several weeks had been grueling, Gandalf pushing them ever onward towards their destination.  She didn’t think she’d walked so much in her life – in fact, she knew she hadn’t.  Still she’d managed to keep up with the others…barely.

Only her Slayer stamina keeping her going at times.

That, and the look the pipsqueak Gimli had cast her way the first week.  Like their quest to see the ring destroyed was no place for a mere woman.  Honestly, had they regressed to the seventeenth century or something?

Surprisingly, it had been Legolas that had taken the Slayer under his wing, the ancient elf delighting in showing her the finer points of mastering the classic bow and arrow that was his people’s weapon of choice.  It had been a while before she’d worked out the mechanics of the bow, but once she’d gotten that down, her aim had been true.  Repeatedly striking whatever target the blond elf had pointed at.

That’s when the dwarf had quit his ridiculing, affording her his grudging acceptance.

She had to admit, the group had put aside their differences far quicker than any of her friends would have done.

Now, as she looked around, she could almost think that she was on some type of extended camping trip, instead of slowly making her way towards the greatest evil she’d ever encountered.  Merry and Pippin, two of the hobbits, were in mock battle with Boromir while Aragorn looked on.  Gimli was talking with Gandalf.  Sam was roasting something for lunch over the open fire, Frodo, the ring-bearer at his side.  Legolas was walking the perimeter of the camp. 

“How’r you holdin’ up, pet?” Spike asked as he sat down beside her.

“I’m fine, Spike,” she grumbled.  “It’s gonna take a lot more than continuous walking to slow me down.”

“No need to get shirty, Slayer. ‘M just askin’ is all.”

“I’m not…” Buffy glanced over to see Spike’s hurt expression.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to snap at you.  It’s just…I finally got everyone to stop questioning my presence here. And there you go being all protective!guy.”

“Well pardon me for caring,” he grumbled and made to stand.

A slim hand about his wrist stayed his departure.

“Don’t go,” she begged.  “I hardly get to see you as it is.”

Spike was usually the first one up, scouting ahead of the group to ensure their safe passage, leaving Buffy to catch only brief glimpses of him throughout the day as he checked in with either Aragorn or Gandalf.  She understood why he had to do it, his enhanced senses making him the most likely person to see to their safety.  But, after the night they’d shared – their last night in Rivendell – his constant absence hurt.

“I know, luv.  But, I’m—”

“The best one to scout ahead,” she finished.  “Yes, I know.  It’s just…I miss you.”

“C’mere, kitten,” Spike urged, pulling the Slayer onto his lap.

“The others…” Buffy protested halfheartedly.

“Sod the others!  Besides, they’re playing.  ‘M allowed to cuddle with my girl for a bit.”

“Your girl?” she asked shyly.

“You are my girl, right?” Spike asked, suddenly uncertain.

“Your girl…” Buffy murmured.  “I kinda like the sound of that.”  She laid her head against his shoulder, so missed the awed expression on his face before Spike caught Aragon looking at him and quickly masked it behind a fierce scowl.  Time seemed to stand still as she sat there, his arms wrapped loosely around her.

That is, until the movements of Legolas as he leapt up onto a boulder drew her attention.

Buffy sat up, staring in the direction the elf was.  Her brows drew together as she noticed a black swarm that seemed to head in their direction.  A moment later, she found herself standing on her feet as Spike stood up abruptly.

“What is that?” Sam asked no one in particular.

“Nothing, it’s just a whiff of clouds,” the dwarf commented from across the way.

“That’s no cloud,” Spike commented.

“Crebain from Dunland!” Legolas shouted as he jumped down from his perch.

“Hide!” Aragorn shouted.

The group raced around, extinguishing all signs of their presence, grabbing their gear and making for cover under the various rock overhangs and bushes.

All too soon, the flock of birds was upon them. Black as midnight, they cast a pall over the area. Their caws grating on everyone’s ears as they flew in circles above them for several minutes before retreating the way they’d come.

Once they were gone, the group was slow to emerge from their hiding places.

“Spies of Saruman!” Gandalf announced. “The passage south is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras.”

Spike looked east towards the steep mountain range that was covered with snow.  He eyed the ragtag group dubiously, but held his tongue.  Personally, he was of a mind to take the dwarf up on the route through Moria; it would be far less precarious than the treacherous climb they had ahead of them.  But, he guessed the wizard knew something that he did not….

Buffy glanced over to where Spike was staring.

“He doesn’t mean to—”

“That he does, pet.  Best gather your things.  I’m going to scout ahead.”

“Spike!” she called out as he moved off.  He paused in his step, glancing at her over his shoulder.  “Be careful.”

“Always, Slayer.”  He smirked at her, the look so reminiscent to when he used to play at being bad, that she couldn’t help but laugh.  A moment later, he was trotting off, leaving Buffy to gather her things and follow with the others.

********************

To Buffy, it seemed liked they’d traveled for days to reach the edge of the snow-capped peaks.  There’d been a tense moment when she thought that Boromir and Aragorn were going to come to blows, and she’d really wished that Spike were around.  The ring seemed to cause a lot of conflict between the two men. 

Personally, she didn’t get it.

She could sense the evil that radiated from the small gold band and took pains to stay as far away from it as she could – she wasn’t quite sure how the little hobbit managed not to succumb to its power.  Or any of them, for that matter. 

When they made camp that night, she saw Spike speaking privately to Aragorn before making his way to her side.

“Cold?” he asked upon noticing her vigorously rubbing her hands up and down along her arms.

“Just a little bit.  I wasn’t expecting a trek through the snow when I packed.  But, Legolas had an extra heavy cloak.  See?”

Spike just barely managed to tamp down his jealousy upon seeing her garbed in the elf’s coat…….just barely.  She was his to look after, to care for, and he was half tempted to give her his own cloak, just so she’d be forced to give back Legolas’.  He compromised by undoing the fastener about his neck and replacing it with the one she was using.  The silver brooch had been another gift from Elrond, and he counted it among his prized possessions.

He took the one that she’d been using to refasten his own.

“Did…did Aragorn tell you what happened earlier?” she asked, drawing him to where she’d set up their pallets.

“Yes.  And, I’ll not be traveling so far ahead any more.  Besides, it’s not necessary now since the trail doesn’t leave much room for maneuvering.  Actually… it’s going to be a right bitch to cross.  Especially given the storm headed our way.”

“Then why don’t we go another way?  I don’t think Frodo and the others are going to be up to it.”

Spike shook his head in the negative.  “Gandalf knows what he’s doing…At least I hope he does.”

“If you say so,” Buffy replied.  “But, just for the record…I’m not looking forward to tomorrow.”

It was a restless slayer and vampire that curled into one another that night and attempted to sleep.

********************

Spike’s prediction on the weather proved correct, the small group waking to falling snow that continued to increase in force, until they were all but walking a fine line up the steep mountain path in the midst of a blizzard.

Legolas led the group, the wizard right behind him.  Next were the hobbits, Gimli and Buffy. Boromir, Aragorn, and Spike brought up the rear.

The elf stopped suddenly as the faint strains of chants drifted along the howling wind.

“Wake up cruel Redhorn! May your horn be bloodstained!”

“There’s a fell voice on the air,” he shouted to be heard.

“It’s Saruman!” Gandalf yelled back.

Suddenly, several boulders broke away from above their heads to crash down upon them.

“Hug the walls!” Spike shouted to everyone.

En masse, the members of the fellowship dove towards the mountain walls seeking cover.

“He’s trying to bring down the mountain,” Aragorn shouted to the wizard.  “Gandalf, we must turn back!”

“No!”

Gandalf stepped out on the ledge, determined to outwit the traitorous wizard with his own counter spell.

“Sleep, Caradhras, be still, lie still, hold your wrath!”

**********

Saruman stood atop the pinnacle of Orthanc, the impregnable tower inside Isengard.  Beside him stood his new apprentice, the young redheaded witch named Willow.  He smiled down at the girl, chuckling sinisterly at the black orbs that dominated her face, the dark veins that snaked up her neck and seemed to pulse with magick.

The evil wizard telepathed what he wanted the girl to chant, nodding in approval as she obeyed without question. 

“Wake up cruel Redhorn! May your bloodstained horn fall upon enemy heads!” Willow beseeched over and over, helpless but to obey her master.

‘So malleable, the young ones were,’ he thought as he turned away and shouted towards the mountain range north of Isengard, knowing his rival would somehow hear. “Moria… You fear to go into those mines. The Dwarves delved too greedily and too deep. You know what they awoke in the darkness of Khazad-dûm. Shadow and Flame.”

He laughed evilly as he sensed the group’s retreat.  Only death awaited them in the mines of Moria.

**********

Legolas just barely managed to pull Gandalf to safety before they were buried alive beneath a sheet of ice and snow as a bolt of lightning stuck a spot on the mountain above them.  The elf was the first to break through to the surface, shoving the snow away as he tried to reach the others.

“Aragorn…Kriger…” he called down the path.

“We’re ok!” Spike shouted back in elvish.

“We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!” Boromir yelled at the wizard to be heard over the howling wind.

“The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!” Aragorn told the man.

“If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it. Let us go through the mines of Moria,” Gimli reasoned.

Gandalf eyed the group, trying to hide his fear of what lay in wait for them beneath the mountains.  In the end, he let Frodo decide.

“We’ll go through the mines,” the hobbit announced.

********************

Several days were spent retracing their steps down the mountainside before heading south towards Moria and the underground city of the dwarves. 

It was a travel-weary bunch that finally reached the underground caverns one night, skirting a lake to reach its secret entrance.  Gandalf stopped suddenly and turned towards the cliff walls.

“Now…let’s see,” he murmured to himself.  “Ithildin…”  His hands reached out to clear some stray clumps of dirt from the surface and encountered a crescent-shaped symbol upon the wall.  “It mirrors only starlight…and moonlight.”

As if on command, the moon burst free from the cloud cover and shone down on the door.  The arched doorway became noticeable as the ornate decorations lining the rim began to glow with an incandescent light.

“It reads "The Doors of Durin - Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter,” the wizard told them, as he pointed out the ancient words with his staff.

“What’s it mean?” one of the hobbits, Merry, asked.

“Oh, it’s quite simple,” the wizard told him. “If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open.”  Gandalf turned towards the doors, commanding in a booming voice, “Gate of the Elves, open now for me!”

Nothing happened, so he tried again with a different passage.

“Doorway of the Dwarf-folk, listen to the word of my tongue.”

Again the door remained closed.

“Nothing’s happening,” Pippin commented.

Gandalf frowned down at the hobbit before stepping closer to the doors.  He pushed against them muttering, “I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves...Men...and Orcs.”

“What are you going to do, then?” the hobbit asked.

“Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took!” Gandalf growled. “And if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words.”

“It’s a riddle,” Frodo said suddenly.  “Speak ‘friend’ and enter.  What’s the elvish word for friend?”

“Mellon,” Spike replied.

The doors magically swung open.

Gandalf looked at the Ranger and frowned.  Spike just shrugged his shoulders and gestured for them to get moving.  His demon was telling him not to linger by the lake, and he wasn’t one to ignore its warning.

“Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves!” Gimli boasted as he led the way. “Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin.  And they call it a mine.  A mine!”   

Gandalf breathed over the stone resting inside his staff, and the cavern was suddenly thrust into light.

“This is no mine,’ Boromir told him.  “It’s a tomb!”

Scattered about the open room, dead and decaying bodies of numerous dwarfs littered the ground.  Legolas leaned down and ripped an arrow that protruded from one of the corpse’s chest, examining it intently.

“Goblins!”

“We make for the Gap of Rohan.  We should never have come here,” Boromir told them as they backed their way out of the cavern.

Sam’s shout drew everyone’s attention as Frodo suddenly screamed.

Spike was the first to react, growling fiercely as he tore out of the caves to where an octopus-like sea creature was dangling the hobbit in the air by one of its tentacles.  His features shifted as he launched himself at the arm that held the hobbit, his sword out and ready to hack it to bits.

“Spike!”

“Kriger!”

Buffy and Aragorn shouted at the same time as they raced after him.

“Get the hobbits back in the cave,” Legolas shouted to Boromir as he, too, raced outside.

One arm soon became six, and then twelve as the creature rose up out of the murky depths of the lake.  Its tentacles weaved this way and that as it tried to fend off the people attacking it.

Buffy ground to a halt just outside the door as she caught sight of Spike perched precariously on one spindly arm trying to rescue Frodo.  She watched as he swiveled around the creature’s tentacle to avoid another and was galvanized into action.  Pulling her sword from its sheath, she went to work on the other appendages, hacking with a ruthlessness that surprised both Aragorn and Legolas.

“Spike?” she shouted, never pausing in her dance.

“Yeah, pet?”

“Today would be nice.”  Her tone was almost conversational as her sword swung in a high arc, severing another limb.

“Whatever you say, luv.”

“Aragorn, get ready,” he told his brother in elvish, adding to the elf, “Legolas, on three, I want three successive shots to its head…. One…two…THREE!”

Spike swung his sword, severing the limb just above where it held Frodo.    The hobbit went tumbling towards the ground, screaming; Spike was right behind him, though his descent was more controlled.  Legolas had three arrows loaded and fired them towards the beast’s head as the signal was given.  Its tentacles seemed to freeze momentarily in pain, giving the group a head start as they raced back towards the cave’s entrance.

In a rage at being denied dinner, the beast charged the doors after them, but its size kept it from actually entering.  Instead, the walls of the entrance crumbled as the creature crashed into the doors, sealing the group inside.

“We now have but one choice,” Gandalf told them as he relit the stone resting in his staff. “We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than Orcs, in the deep places of the world. Quietly now. It’s a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed.”


 

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