Summary: This is a post-Damage story. Andrew tells Buffy about Spike. It is infused with a lot of dreams and sexual fantasies.
Disclaimer: I do not own the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel (The Series). All of the characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, et al.
Feedback: mlpreble@comcast.net

Part one: The World is Changed

E ama prestan

“The world is changed . . .”

Ama an mu’in

“I feel it in the water . . .”

Ama an hu’ii

“I feel it in the earth . . .”

Ham’asta ai du’in

“I smell it in the air . . .

“Much that once was . . . is lost.”

An army, stretching into the distance, faces carved from hate. Inhuman. In numbers like the stars.

Small villages made up of thatched houses burn in a raging firestorm.

Woman and children scream.

Blood soaks into the earth.

A gold ring laying in an open hand. Red hieroglyphs along the outer edge of the ring slowly fading. The plain gold ring glitters.

The fingers of the hand slowly close around it.

A horizon, lifeless and desolate. A sea of stagnant swamp turning to jagged terrain of razor sharp rock. A mountain, rising in the distance, sheathed in smoke, dust, and ash. Everything is empty, as if the very air is a poisonous fume. The world is blurred with a shimmering skein of heat.

A tower. Black. It stands over everything.

The air above the distant horizon behind the tower is stained red like blood.

At the top of the tower is a giant unblinking eye, wreathed in sheets of flame.

Buffy gasped, drawing in a quick, terrified breath as the last bits of the dream washed over her. Her eyes snapped open.

She lay in a small clearing in a forest of ancient trees, shafts of sunlight slanting down through the branches. She and Spike were entangled in each-other’s arms. She lay there for a moment, content, a faint smile crafted her expression. She reached up hesitantly with a small hand and softly brushed at some of his curling hair with her fingertips.

Buffy looked around and her smile faded. She carefully extracted herself from Spike’s arms and stood up. She looked around. The forest was bright, green, healthy. She heard the noises of wildlife in the distance . . . nothing else.

“What the hell!” Buffy turned in circles in the middle of the grass, confusion washing across her face.

She stopped turning.

About thirty or forty feet from Spike the form of a girl lay motionless in the thigh high grass. Slender form. Long straight brown hair.

Buffy ran over and kneeled beside the girl. “Dawn!” Buffy grabbed her shoulder and shook her slightly. “Dawn!” Buffy checked the girl over quickly. There were many bruises, but there didn’t seem to be any major trauma that she could see. Buffy exhaled a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god!”

Buffy closed her eyes and said a silent prayer.

* * * * * * *

Buffy was sitting on a rock a short while later, holding her scythe across her lap. The crimson and chrome weapon shined bright in the sun. Nervous and uneasy, she was trying to keep an eye on the trees when she heard a faint sound. She turned around and saw that Spike seemed to be waking up. She watched him crinkle his brow and look around curiously, “Where are we?”

Sitting on her rock, Buffy raised an eyebrow, “That seems to be the question of the day.”

“How’d we bloody get here?”

Buffy met the vampire’s eye and shrugged.

Spike got to his feet and slowly turn around. He looked down at himself, saw the play of the light across his pale skin, “And . . . why am I not on fire?”

Buffy smiled faintly, “All good questions.”

Spike’s eyes widened when he saw the body in the grass. “Dawn!”

Spike had already taken a few steps before Buffy stepped in the way and stopped him. She smiled at him kindly. “She’s okay. She’s breathing. I think she’s just still sleeping.”

Spike closed his eyes and took a deep, unnecessary breath. He couldn’t help the tremors of fear that still wracked his frame. Buffy’s small hand comfortingly rubbed his shoulder. He smiled at her awkwardly.

Spike’s nostrils flared just the tiniest bit, “The air . . . it smells strange.”

He looked off into the trees. “Different.” He looked back at Buffy. “What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know,” answered Buffy tiredly. “Why we’re here. Where this is. I just don’t know. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Spike inhaled softly, “We’d just gone down through the seal. We were down in the Hellmouth fighting the army of the First. Kicking some major ass if I must say,” Spike said smiling. He looked at Buffy a little sharper suddenly, “I felt something. Something going through me. It stung. I felt like I was . . .”

Buffy nodded. “You killed all the vampires. I remember that.” Buffy looked at their surroundings curiously. “I just don’t get why we woke up here.”

* * * * * * *

Buffy swung the scythe in a wide arc, sending vampires tumbling into the abyss.

The red-headed slayer Vi slammed the butt of her one of her knifes across a vampire’s gut so it curled up upon itself, then she stabbed down through its back and into its spine with the other.

Dawn slammed her tomahawk down on top of one vampire’s skull, her other hand with another tomahawk, slicing across the flesh of its throat. A waterfall of blood burst out and ran down the vampire’s chest. The last blow slammed down on the back of its neck. The vamp crumbled into dust.

Dawn and Vi shared a brief grin before wading back into combat.

Spike stumbled, “Buffy!”

Some kind of energy crackled around Spike and exploded upward through the top of the cavern, blasting open everything in its way in a cloud of shattered stone. Sunlight slammed back down, pinning him stiffly in place.

Buffy looked up just as the light exploded outward through the amulet from Spike’s chest in a stream that blew across the entire cavern. The streamers of white light rolled over hordes of prehistoric vampires like a tsunami, incinerating each of them it touched in all of an instant.

“Spike!” Buffy’s eyes widened. Absolute horror fell across her face.

The energy began to tear the cavern apart. Pieces of the ceiling tumbled down from above like bombs. The battle suddenly turned into a slaughter as the Slayers turned on the few vampires that remained with a vengeance.

The earth quaked violently beneath their feet.

Faith’s eyes widened, “Everybody out! Now!”

Faith stood there and watched as the Slayers fell back and scrambled up the stairs. A vampire tried running up the stairs and Faith slaughtered it. Faith looked up from the falling ashes and down into the cavern. “Buffy! Dawn! Come on!”

Faith finally retreated up the stairs.

Buffy and Spike intertwined their fingers, looking deep into each-other’s eyes. A flicker of flame burst from their intertwined hands.

Dawn looked over at Buffy and Spike as she started to move toward the stairs. “Let’s go!” she yelled at the pair, stopping short as one of the few remaining vampires stepped into her path.

With a dauntless face the girl brought a tomahawk around in a swift chop. The vamp blocked it with the flat of a sword and then swung back at her hard. Dawn was brave, but she was no Slayer. She brought her other tomahawk up to block. The strength of the blow jarred her shoulder in its socket in a sharp, blinding pain. Dawn stumbled slightly backwards, falling into the beam of light. There was a sudden blinding flash. Every last remaining vampire in the cavern, including the one that had faced her, fell to the earth in a rain of dust.

Buffy, Dawn and Spike were nowhere to be seen.

* * * * * * *

Dawn groaned, raised a hand to her forehead. “Ow!” She shook her head disorientedly. The world was moving in circles around her head. She blinked at the images of Spike and Buffy before they came into focus. “What hit me? Did you kill it?”

Buffy sighed, “I don’t know, Dawnie.”

Dawn sat up carefully. She looked around her and a perplexed expression suddenly crossed her face, “Where are we?”

“We don’t know.”

“Are we dead?”

Buffy smiled, “No.”

“I guess you’d know wouldn’t you. Any good news?”

“You’ve still got me and Spike, and, oh . . .” Buffy turned and reached behind herself. A moment later she held up a pair of tomahawks. “I found your pretty little axes.”

Dawn grinned. Reached out a greedy hand, “Cool! Gimme.” Dawn’s eyes suddenly darted over Buffy’s shoulder. Her eyes got real big and the perplexed expression returned, “Um, Spike . . . why aren’t you on fire?”

* * * * * * *

Buffy, Spike, and Dawn wandered through the forest. Sunlight broke through the canopy of trees here and there, luminous slanted shafts glowing in the dimness. The air was rich and heavy with the smell of mulch and a faint hint of some exotic spice.

Buffy looked at her sister and smiled faintly, “So you’re saying we’re wherever we are ‘cause you’re a klutz!?”

Dawn’s eyes widened with the accusation. “Hey!”

Spike looked around slightly wide-eyed. A faint and rare smile crafted his face, “It doesn’t seem like that bad a place considering.”

“So far,” Buffy qualified pessimistically as she hopped over a log that was in her way.

“Face it,” Spike said with the barest hint of bitterness. “It could have been worse. We could have ended up in Los Angeles.”

Buffy gave him a hurt look that he didn’t seem to notice and lowered her eyes, ashamed. She was unnaturally quiet for a while afterwards as an oblivious Spike and Dawn exchanged good-natured banter.

* * * * * * *
Awhile later they came across a dirt road. It meandered through the forest to the left and right of them.

Spike grinned, “Well, at least we know we’re not alone.”

“I wish that was comforting,” Buffy said.

“Oh, come on,” replied Dawn. “Anyone who made a nice road like this for us can’t be all bad.”

Buffy looked at her sister and raised an eyebrow.

“Okay,” Dawn backpedaled, raising her hands in mock surrender. “I’ll admit that was strained logic but still . . . I mean, what else are we gonna do. We can’t exactly wander around in the woods for the rest of our lives.”

Spike chuckled, “The girl does have a point.”

“Anyway,” added Dawn. “I’m sick of pricker bushes pricking me in the ass. Way I see it, a road, with its noticeable lack of pricker bushes and anything prick related, is much better. With the exception of Spike, of course.”

Spike frowned at the girl defensively as he finally sorted through what she just said, “Hey! I think you just insulted me, Bitlet.”

Dawn grinned, “Possibly.”

Buffy smiled. “So which way, Sacajawea? I leave the choice up to you.”

“So you can blame me later on if I make the wrong choice, huh?!”

Buffy’s smile turned into a grin, “Of course.”

Dawn sighed theatrically and gave Spike a You see what I have to put up with look. Spike gave her a commiserating half smile and a shrug. Dawn sighed again and pointed down the road, “That way.”

Walking down the road ahead of Buffy and Spike, Dawn suddenly turned to face them. For the moment she was walking backwards. “By the way, it’s also possible I was being rude and referring to unmentionable parts of you that my sister used to play with.” Dawn grinned at the two of them impishly, and giggled at their sudden scandalized expressions.

She had chosen to go right.

* * * * * * *

“Buffy,” Spike asked softly. “You feel that?”

“Yeah,” said Buffy. “I feel it.”

Dawn hugged herself, “I suddenly feel cold.”

“Dawn,” Buffy looked over her shoulder, commanding, “get behind me and stay there.”

Buffy gripped her scythe tightly in her small hands.

Spike unsheathed his sword as they came around a bend in the road.

There was a black horse in the middle of the road. Its eyes were wild and terrifying. Saliva dripped from its mouth. What Buffy assumed was the rider was near the side of the road. The rider, creature, whatever it was, (evil, something in her head screamed at the top of its lungs) was standing over a group of four small children scattered along the side of the road.

“Merry . . . help!”

Buffy saw it bending over . It was reaching for one of the children. It’s hands, where they extended out of the robes, were clad in articulated gauntlets, individually crafted flakes of metal overlapping its fingers and wrists like scales. It scrambled forward, clawing greedily at the child who was inching backwards, trying to get away.

“Frodo!” screamed one of the children fearfully.

Buffy watched as one of the children ran to the aid of his friend and was batted away remorselessly with a casual motion of one of the creature’s arms. The small body flew backwards and landed awkwardly in the middle of the road.

“Pippin!”

Buffy began jogging forward. “Dawn, stay here!”

The creature seemed to sense the approaching threat. It turned away from the child to face her, drawing its sword from a scabbard. Buffy had the barest glimpse of the child looking at her with desperately hopeful eyes.

The creature raised its eyes to her from beneath the hood of its cloak. Buffy couldn’t see any hint of a face from within the shadows of the cloak, but she could feel it’s gaze on her. She suddenly felt cold. She felt as if every horrible memory she ever had was coming back to her all at once, seizing her in an irrepressible wave despair and terror. Her mother dead upon the couch. Tara’s corpse upon the floor. Wide, lifeless eyes full of accusation. Xander’s eye flowing from its socket with a pop and a rush of arterial blood. The certainty that she would be forced to kill Angel . . . Dawn . . . a grief stricken Willow, in her pledge to safeguard the world. She knew, in that moment, that she would never be happy again. It would never end. The weight of responsibility just piled up upon her in an untenable burden. The quest would take her life. She couldn’t help but be crushed beneath the weight of it.

Trembling visibly, Buffy raised the scythe in front of her body like a sword.

She watched as the black rider raised its sword.

They stood facing each-other.

The small girl and the large robed figure that towered over her with a sword.

It struck at her mercilessly. The weapons crashed together. Buffy barely held against its tremendous strength. Her hands tingled with a hint of numbness.

The black rider moved with an economy of movement that terrified her Buffy. The Slayer found herself on the defensive, being pushed back further and further as the creature relentlessly advanced on her. She blocked the lightning fast sword swipes with the scythe hoping for an opening but only finding its sword relentlessly striking in at her. The creature moved with a fluid grace Buffy only dreamed of. Buffy turned to block a sword strike with the blade of the scythe, continued the turn into a spinning heel kick that never connected.

The creature’s own flying jump kick, nearly hidden beneath the long flowing black robes, launched her back through the air into a tree. Buffy dropped the scythe and fell at the foot of the tree. She lay there motionless.

Spike’s eyes yellowed suddenly. His brow turned ridged. The vampire let out a primal scream.

His sword in his hand, the enraged vampire stepped up to the Black Rider and took a hard swing with the entire weight of his emotions behind it. The rider parried effortlessly. Spike stuck, again and again. The rider fended him off easily, like they were nothing but the clumsy blows of a small child.

Spike stepped back a few steps to take stock of the situation. The children were off to his right. Dawn was safe for the moment a distance up the road to his left. There was a tree almost directly behind him.

Spike took another step away from the rider, back against the tree, jumped and stepped off the tree back in his opponent’s direction. His flying kick caught the black rider just beneath its arm as it was bringing its sword around in a swing at him. The kick knocked the creature off balance for a moment, disrupting the sweep of the sword and saving Spike’s life. Spike brought his own sword around at it but the creature was already turning and raising its own sword to block, its loose robes flowing gracefully around it like water.

The creature dropped low, the motion disguised for a brief moment in the looseness of its robes. It knocked his legs out from under him with a low sweeping kick. Spike landed hard upon the ground. He dropped his sword and the rider kicked it away.

Spike’s demon face melted away and he sadly looked up at the cloaked creature standing over him. Felt the coldness of its attention. He was defeated. Spike knew then, more surely than he’d ever known, that he’d never be any good. He remembered the feeling of a skull crushing beneath the heal of his boot. The sound of the crunch. The taste of blood pouring into his mouth in a warm salty flow, full of fear and innocence and of the entire purpose that forever eluded him on the brink of comprehension. Thousands of faces that had cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. Thousands more drawn by grief.

Spike saw the rider raising it’s sword for the blow that would send his dust scattering with the wind. Spike’s eyes caught a flash of sunlight off the chrome blade of the scythe as it arced down into the black rider’s spine. It screamed, a loud piercing noise that tore painfully at everyone’s ears.

Something exploded outward. Spike had the fleeting image of a man, his face turned ugly with hatred and cruelty. Eyes heartless, merciless and cold. The faint, fleeting image, like a wisp of white smoke, seemed to disappear into the trees as if with the wind. The robes collapsed into a black heap of cloth on the road.

Behind where the black rider had once been stood Buffy. She was wide eyed, trembling. Terror played about in her eyes. She held the scythe limply in one hand at her side. It slipped from her fingers and fell to the earth.

Spike stood up. He walked cautiously around the pile of black cloth and wrapped his arms around her. Buffy buried her face in his shirt and clung to him desperately, for the moment without any reservation.

None of them noticed the abandoned horse disappear around the next bend of the road.

One of the children went to the other that still lay where he had cowered from the rider on the side of the road. “Frodo, are you hurt?”

The other looked up at him blankly before finally shaking his head. His fingers clutched desperately at the breast of his tunic. He visibly swallowed and looked directly in his friend’s eyes. “I’m fine, Sam. I’m alright.”

Still enclosed in Spike’s protective embrace as she watched the interaction at the side of the road Buffy blinked. Not children, Buffy realized suddenly. They seemed as old as she was. Just . . . smaller.

Buffy felt a gentle hand touch her shoulder. She looked and saw a visibly frightened Dawn standing beside her and looking at her with wide eyes. “You okay?”
Buffy nodded at her sister’s question slowly, never bothering to extract herself from Spike’s arms. It only showed Dawn how shaken her sister really was.
Frodo looked off to the side, “Merry? Pippin?”

“What was that thing?” asked a still terrified Pippin.

“That black rider was looking for something,” said Merry. “Or someone.” He turned an inquiring glance on one of the other small people, “Frodo?”

Frodo looked between each of the other three hobbits and the man and the two women who had for the moment rescued them. He spoke seriously, “We have to leave the Shire. Sam and I must get to Bree,”

Buffy and Spike shared a look. Spike nodded to her silently. Buffy looked down at Frodo seriously, “We’re coming with you.”

“Right,” agreed Pippin. “We’re all coming with you.”

“Bucklebury ferry,” Merry suggested quickly. “This way. Quickly!”

* * * * * * *

Night had fallen.

The four hobbits, the man, and the two girls moved silently between the trees in the forest, each of them like wraiths moving between the shadows of the dark.
Frodo stopped beside a large tree, leaned around it and peered into the near distance.

“Anything?” asked Merry softly.

Frodo shook his head, “Nothing.”

Dawn asked , “What are we doing?” as she came up behind Frodo and crouched there. She held one of her tomahawks in her hand as she leaned against the tree.

“Nibblet,” Spike said, coming up beside the girl and looking at her seriously. “I suggest you be quiet for now.”

Dawn looked at Spike with wide terrified eyes. Her fingers tightened on the handle of her tomahawk. She finally nodded.

A loud, piercing sound cried out it the near distance, tearing open the silence like a weapon.

Buffy’s dark eyes widened with fear, “Oh my god . . . there’s more of them!”

Spike reached out to Buffy and silently intertwined his fingers with hers. Buffy looked at him and then down at their hands. Their eyes met and she gave him a small, hesitant smile in the dark.

Merry motioned the procession ahead silently.

They moved quietly, near single file through the dark for long minutes.

A black rider on a horse leapt out in front of them from behind the tree. The hobbits stopped dead in their tracks. Frodo and Pippin screamed. Buffy’s heart jumped in her chest. Spike soundlessly brought out his sword and sliced mercilessly across the horse’s forelegs, spilling the horse and rider to the ground.

“This way,” said Merry, running off quickly, giving the horse and wide berth. Everyone ran off after him quickly, not pausing to spare the spilled rider and the injured horse even a glance.

Buffy, Spike and Dawn almost effortlessly vaulted over a short ranch fence they came upon when they passed the trees. Sam, Merry and Pippin climbed over after them. The open expanse of the Brandywine River was before them. They saw the ferry tied up at dock about a hundred feet off to the left. They ran flat out and reached it in moments.
“Clear the ropes,” cried Merry.

Buffy and Dawn quickly struggled to untie the mooring lies that held the tiny raft to the dock.

“Bloody buggerin’ fuck,” Spike cursed as he struggled with one of the lines and had trouble with the knot.

A small figure rounded a corner at the top of a small rise in the near distance. He was running down the middle of the road toward the ferry.
Pippin cried out, “Frodo!”

“Run, Frodo!” screamed Sam and Merry.

A black rider on a horse was right behind him, a living shadow in the moonlight, bearing down. The loose robes the rider wore fluttered in the wind, altered in their flow faintly with the motion of the horse.

Spike hacked and cut the final rope that tied the ferry to the dock with his sword.

Hand over hand, Merry tugged on the rope that spanned the river and the ferry eased away from the end of the dock.

“Jump, Frodo!”

Frodo covered the distance at a sprint, down the length of the dock, placed a final step and took a flying leap . . .

The hobbit nearly fell short of the ferry. He landed on the edge and certainly would have fallen in had Spike and Dawn not grabbed him and pulled him the rest of the way onto the ferry.

The black rider’s horse had stopped just short of the end of the dock. Silently, the horse and rider turned and galloped back up the incline, long black robes flowing loose behind. A few moments later both horse and rider had disappeared.

“How far to the nearest place they could cross?” asked Buffy from where she lay beside a tired Frodo in the middle of the raft.

“Brandywine bridge,” answered Merry as he struggled with the ropes that would guide and carry the ferry across the river. “Twenty miles.”

Part 2: “Strange Companions”

The sun was slowly setting in the west. Colors in palettes of pink, orange and violet lingered in an ethereal mosaic over the horizon.

Sam and Pippin hunched over the small pile of kindling, trying to get a spark. Merry and Frodo were getting a few small pans out of a packsack and having a friendly argument about how to prepare the food. Dawn stood a short distance away, watching, her head cocked slightly, a faint smile on her face.

Buffy came up beside Dawn quietly. She spoke with a soft voice so that only her sister could hear, “They’re not pets or toys, Dawn. Stop staring.”

“I know, but they’re just so cute!”

Walking away with a faint smile, Buffy sighed and shook her head.

A little while later Spike came back into camp, holding up a pair of dead rabbits by the hind legs. Merry and Frodo walked up and took the creatures away from him. Walking away from they started up their argument again as if they had never stopped.

Spike smiled at Dawn as he walked by and tossed her one of her tomahawks, “Thanks, Bit.”

Dawn caught it easily and frowned when she saw the blood and bits of fur all over the blade. “Eww. You could have at least cleaned it off, you know.”

Spike threw gave her an irritating smirk, and a careless shrug.

As he turned away he heard the girl mutter something under her breath about annoying, sarcastic vampires and sharp pointy things. He couldn’t help a slight smile.
Pippin frowned at the pile of kindling on the ground in front of him. “We’re never going to be able to get this fire started.”

Sam gave the other hobbit withering glare, “Well you’re the fool of a Took that knocked Frodo off the ferry when we got near shore this morning and got the matchsticks wet.”

Pippin’s face nearly turned into a pout, “I already said that I was sorry.”

Spike stepped up, dug in the pocket of his jeans, kneeled down beside the fire and lit the kindling with his lighter. Both Pippen and Sam looked at the vampire wide-eyed for a moment before remembering to thank him.

* * * * * * *

Dawn bit into the last piece meat from her dinner. Daintily sucked the juices from the tips of each of her fingers. The four hobbits sat around the campfire looking contented with the memory of the meal.

The sound of a loud burp broke the momentary stillness. Buffy turned and saw Pippin holding his hand over his mouth. Pippin smiled sheepishly, “Sorry.”

Spike finally exhaled a breath and threw a hard look at Frodo across the fire. “It’s been nearly a day. I think it’s time enough that you laid your cards on the table.”
“Yeah,” Buffy agreed. “Why the hell are those things that are after you?”

They both watched as Frodo and Sam exchanged a meaningful look.

“They saved our lives, Mr. Frodo” said Sam reasonably after moment or two. “We wouldn’t have made it without them. I think we can trust them well enough.”

Merry looked at Sam and Frodo and narrowed his eyes. The question was on his face. Merry and Pippin turned their eyes on Sam and Frodo expectantly.

Frodo gave it a serious thought and gave Sam a faint nod. He looked back at Spike and Buffy across the campfire.

Frodo took an expectant breath. Raised his small hands and released the first few buttons of his shirt and reached around to the back of his head to remove the chain around his neck

“I think they were looking for this,” Frodo said. At the end of his extended arm, dangling from a necklace from his fist hung a shiny gold ring. It glinted in the flickering glow of the firelight.

Buffy’s dark eyes widened slightly at the sight of the ring. She felt an energy in the air, smothering, as if she suddenly couldn’t breathe. Emotions inside her so confused and directionless she couldn’t find it in herself to move, intermingled. Strength. Meekness. Possessiveness. Fear. Greed. Elation. Jealousy. Purpose. Adrift. Powerful.

The image of the flat palm of a hand, fingers closing over a shiny gold ring.

Spike looked away and closed his eyes. Away from the ring. Away from Buffy. An invisible shiver worked through him. Down beside him in the dark where the firelight didn’t quite reach, the vampire’s fingers tightened slightly.

Buffy felt a keen sense of loss when Frodo slipped the chain back over his head and began to button back up his shirt. As if joy had been taken from her life. She let out a breath.

“It began with the forging of the great rings,” Frodo told them. He spoke in the pattern of an accomplished storyteller, using much the same words with which the story had been first told to him. “Three were given to the elves, immortal, wisest, and fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf Lords, great miners and craftsmen of the Mountain Halls. And nine . . . nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else, desired power. Within these rings was bound the strength and will to govern each race.

“But they were, all of them, deceived . . . because another ring was made.

“In the land or Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged, in secret, a Master ring. And into this ring he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life. One ring to rule them all . . .”

* * * * * * *

“. . . but the spirit of Sauron endured,” Frodo continued with a quietly important voice.

Buffy, Spike and Dawn were all leaning forward from where they sat, engrossed in the history Frodo was spinning around the waning campfire.

Sam, Merry and Pippen were quiet, lumpy shapes off to one side, where they slept at the furthest fringe of the dimming firelight.

“Gandalf says that Sauron’s life is bound to the ring. That Sauron has somehow returned. His orcs are multiplied. His fortress of Barad-dur is rebuilt in the land of Mordor. I’m told that Sauron needs only this ring to cover all the lands in a second darkness. He is seeking it. All his thought is bent on it. The ring . . . yearns to return to the hand of its master. They are one . . . the ring and the Dark Lord. He must never find it. But Gandalf says he learned that Sauron’s servants have captured Gollum, from whom Bilbo took the ring. They know that Uncle Bilbo had the ring. They know that I have it.”

“And you say you’re going to meet this wizard?!” Buffy asked. “This, Gandalf?!”

Dawn tossed a naively hopeful look in her sister’s direction, “Do you think he’d be able to help us figure out how to get home?”

Buffy took that other girl’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. With a slightly pessimistic look, “I don’t know, Dawnie.”

“Yes,” Frodo said in answer to Buffy’s question. “We plan to meet up with Gandalf at the Inn of the Prancing Pony in Bree.”

Buffy gifted the hobbit with a faint smile before she finally stood up. Her legs nearly betrayed her she had been sitting for so long.

* * * * * * *

The wee hours of the night.

The campfire was a collection of faint glowing orange cinders.

Spike stared thoughtlessly out into the darkness. The bright starlight overhead. Listened to the monotone noises of the insects and the sounds of the wildlife in the distance of the forest. Listening for something . . . off.

Spike finally stood up. He paced the camp. Saw the details shaped in the deep colors of the shadow.

He stopped beside Dawn’s lanky form, her dark hair faintly shiny in the starlight. Buffy was curled up beside her sister in a similar fashion. The positions of their bodies accommodating each-other as if they wished to share warmth. Spooning.

Spike shed himself of his leather duster and carefully laid it over the two girls. His hand, his slightly spread fingers, reached out slowly as if to brush softly through Buffy’s silky blond hair before he finally pulled it back.

Spike found a place a short distance from Buffy and Dawn and laid down to rest. He shifted around a bit, struggling to be comfortable. A little while later he was asleep.

* * * * * * *

Spike awoke just before dawn was about to creep its way across the horizon.

Buffy was asleep next to him, nearly entangled with him. Spike absently reached his arm around her and gathered her closer. Buried his face slightly in her bright blond hair, inhaling the smell of her. The girl sighed softly in her sleep.

The vampire closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

* * * * * * *

So many men they littered the horizon.

An army of demons falling beneath a rain of arrows flying out in a cloud from those that face them. The dead demons fell. The faceless horde of demons rolled over their dead like a tide.

A battle joined. Swords raised and slicing across flesh. Shields. Chaos across the open plain of a barren landscape.

Men swung their heavy swords. They eventually grew weary, their motions slower, but they fought on regardless. Bodies broke. Blood poured onto the ground. Demons growled, their faces drawn up with fury. They killed with swords and spears. And sometimes they fell onto the fallen men and tried to eat them. The men fought on bravely.
Others who fought the demons seemed to carry an ethereal glow within themselves somehow, just at the edge of view. Perfect flawless skin beneath the grit. Slightly pointed ears were barely visible around their helmets. They fought with uncommon skill.

The army slaughtered the demons.

Standing in the center of the successful slaughter, the king held his sword high up in the air and let out a battle cry.

Victory seemed near.

A dark knight appeared, towering over the men at nearly twice their height. The knight was covered from head to toe in armor the color of soot. Sharp points went up from the top of his helmet. A massive war hammer was slung over his shoulder. A large golden ring shined on his finger where it gripped the handle.

Men stared up at the dark knight with fear in their eyes, none seeming to have the courage to approach. The club came around at the end of the knight’s powerful arm. Dozens of men went flying back through the air as if they were nothing more than toys. Again the knight swung, swinging the heavy club as if it were nothing more than a hollow reed. Where the war club hit bones crunched, lives were shattered, and bodies went tumbling backwards over the remains of the army.

The King’s body slammed down into the earth. The King’s sword fell on the ground a few feet away. A man fell to his knees alongside and clung to the King’s body, tears just beginning to appear on his face.

“Isildur,” the King whispered, his hand softly reaching out to touch the man’s face lovingly in the final moment before life left him. The King’s body went limp in Isildur’s hands.

The sound of the dark knight’s feet falling heavy on the earth.

Isildur turned. Looked up. The huge form of the dark knight stood over him, like a cloud blotting out the sun.

Quickly, Isildur rolled over to one side and reached for the King’s sword. The dark knight’s heavy armored foot stepped down on the blade, splintering it into many smaller sharp pieces.

Isildur grabbed the hilt of the shattered sword. Only about six inches of broken blade, a length shorter than the handle, was all that remained.
He swung.

The dark knight flinched back from the blow. A few of the dark knight’s thick fingers fell to the dead earth, including the golden ring.
The dark knight’s armor cracked. There were glints of light beneath.

Some kind of energy exploded outwards across the barren earth from the slain dark knight in an expanding ripple. As the ripple hit, loose dirt was thrown into the air as it was caught by the wind of it passing. The entire army of demons suddenly fell to the earth in a cloud of dust, weapons and armor falling to the dirt.

The dark knight’s massive helmet hit the ground, and lay there, slightly crooked. The sharp points pointed up. The eyes, empty and staring, like the hollowed out remnants of a skull.

Buffy gasped as she awoke. The morning light was bright and she could hear the cheerful sound of birds in the distance. She closed her eyes and tried to relax against the feeling of Spike’s arms around her.

“You okay, luv,” Spike asked softly.

Buffy swallowed. “Just a dream,” she told him. She repeated softly, “Just a dream.”

* * * * * * *

The seven companions hiked through the forest.

Buffy walked alongside Spike.

Buffy spoke, “Do you get the feeling there’s something more to this?”

Spike glanced at her briefly, “Whatta ya mean, luv?”

Buffy was quiet for a few moments. She walked quietly and watched Dawn, a distance ahead of them, joking around with Pippin. There was a carefree smile on Dawn’s face. Pippin seemed to be laughing.

Buffy was thoughtful. “What would have happened if we weren’t there to save Frodo? If we hadn’t happened along at that particular moment. Sauron would have the ring right now, and everything that is good and clean in this world would be gone. I just . . . This can’t all be just an accident. Dawn falling into the light. You suddenly being able to walk around in the sun. Us . . . appearing where we did when we did. Shouldn’t it mean something?”

“Does it have to mean something? Do you think it’s fate? We were bloody fated to be here.”

“I don’t know,” Buffy responded slowly. “I do know that we should be panicked. Thrown somewhere so far from home, with no clue how to get back. Part of me feels . . . comfortable . . . here. Like I belong. Like for whatever reason this is the place I’m supposed to be.”

High up, small birds flew between the branches and the trees, chirping sweetly, oblivious to the people walking through the forest below. Sunlight filtered through the canopy lit the forest with a beauteous splendor.

Spike glanced down at the beautiful blond walking beside him, “Yeah. Maybe this is exactly where we should be.”

Spike playfully leaned into her and bumped her shoulder with his.

Buffy looked up at him and a slowly a smile dawned across her face. She leaned into him and bumped him right back.

* * * * * * *

The sun was low, leaving everything the forest in a quiet dimness.

Frodo and Sam, their packs off to one side, were unrolling their bedrolls beneath a tree. Buffy and Dawn collapsed tiredly at the base of the tree beside them.
“I can’t lift my legs,” Dawn groused.

Pippin and Merry both walked past Spike each carrying a small armload of wood.

Spike shook his head at them. “No bloody fire tonight. It isn’t safe.”

* * * * * * *

The afternoon sky had grown dim.

Dark storm clouds drifted across the sun.

Buffy turned her face up to the sky. She reached up and brushed away a drop of water that had landed on her face.

The hobbits raised the hoods of their cloaks.

It began to rain.

Spike unslung his sword and took off his duster. He came up behind Dawn and laid the heavy black leather coat over her shoulders. Dawn looked up and met his eyes with silent gratitude. Spike laid a soft kiss on her forehead.

A minute later, as it began to rain harder, Dawn saw her sister Buffy pouting at her.

The two girls huddled close together beneath the leather coat as they walked.

* * * * * * *

Rain poured down from the sky onto the travelers in an absolute downpour. The hobbits huddled beneath the raised hoods of their cloaks against the rain. Dawn, soaked to the bone, hugged Spike’s duster to herself in a hope to keep warm.

Spike’s closed fist pounded on the thick gate.

A small window in the gate opened and an old man peered out through it.

“What do you want?” the old man asked rudely.

“We’re headed to the Prancing Pony,” said Spike tersely, with a brittleness nearly matching the old man’s tone.

The peephole window closed. Spike and Buffy stepped back slightly when they heard the sound of heavy latches being released. The old man pulled open the gate and stepped out. He was wearing a gray cloak up over his head to keep off the rain. He held his hand high, shining a lantern out into the dark on the seven cold, wet travelers.
“Hobbits,” the surprised man’s eyes widened slightly beneath the hood of his cloak. “Four hobbits. And out of the Shire by your talk. Traveling together with a man and two young women. Peculiar. Very peculiar. What business brings you to Bree?”

Spike’s expression thinned and he clenched his teeth. Buffy’s fingers tightened on his arm, a silent plea for him for once to be agreeable and not snap back. The rain clumped Buffy’s hair and water poured down her face in rivulets.

“We wish to stay at the inn,” responded Frodo. “Our business is our own.”

“Alright, alright, young sir,” beckoning all of them inside the village gates. “I meant no offense. It’s my job to ask questions after nightfall. There’s talk of strange folk abroad. Can’t be too careful.”

The seven mismatched travelers entered the village of Bree.

Spike and Buffy looked back as the man closed the village gates behind them.

Part 3: “Black Riders and Beer”

The seven travelers entered the village of Bree.

The village gates were shut behind them.

The rain poured down, relentless, and feet searched for purchase in the thick mud.

The four hobbits looked around wide-eyed at this world of giants they suddenly found themselves in. Men, and horses, and wagons. The hobbits tried their best not to get trampled. More than once one of them had to scramble quickly as men nearly walked over them, hardly even noticing the smaller people were there.

Buffy and Dawn were nearly as wide-eyed. This was so far from home.

Spike stopped them as they had nearly reached the inn.

“Frodo,” said Spike quietly, as he kneeled down in front of the small hobbit. “When we go in here there’s a few things I’d like you to keep in mind. I want you to remember that there are people looking for you. People wanting to take what you have and sod the world along with it. From what the gatekeeper said, and what I’ve understood listening to you and your pals these past few days, four hobbits on the road isn’t bloody common. Given the shitty combination of those two facts chances are there a few people here who already know what you’re up to, and they’ll be precisely the kind of people we wouldn’t want to know. By all rights we shouldn’t be here. We should have skirted by this town, keeping as deep in the forest as we could go, and just kept going. But given that this pub is where Gandalf said he’d meet you that isn’t exactly an option.”

Frodo looked up at the vampire with wide eyes from beneath the hood of his cloak. His damp hair was nearly flattened against his brow and rainwater poured down over is face. One of Frodo’s hands absently fisted at the front of the cloak high up on his chest.

Still kneeling, Spike shifted himself slightly. “So before we go on there’s a few things I’m going to have to insist on. One, forget your name. Sauron is looking is looking for Frodo Baggins. That may not bloody matter. We’re probably screwed either way, but we’re not gonna take any chances.”

“Gandalf told me to travel under the name Underhill,” Frodo told the vampire nervously.

“Okay then,” Spike said a little less harshly. “Your name is Mister Underhill, and it’s never been anything else.” Spike let his glare pass over Sam, Merry and Pippin as well. “That goes for all of you. Be quiet. Be invisible. Say nothing that you don’t have to. And if you do happen to open your mouth and say something . . . you don’t know any Frodo Baggins. You’ve never fuckin’ heard of ‘im. Every single word that comes out of your mouths is a risk to our lives. Remember that. This isn’t a place we wanna be.”

Buffy was standing just behind Spike. She was damp and hugging herself. She smiled encouragingly at the obviously frightened hobbits as rain ran down her face and dripped from her hair. “Spike’s right. Just be careful and you’ll be fine.”

* * * * * * *

As they entered the Prancing Pony, Frodo pulled back the hood of his cloak. The room was lit by firelight, torches hanging here and there along the walls. Men, laughing over tankards of ale. Dark threatening faces cast in shadows. A man brushed by Frodo on his way to the door, hardly even noticing he was there, masking Frodo feel even smaller.
Buffy sighed and squeezed the rainwater out of her hair. “Oh, God, is it good to be in out of the rain!”

Dawn was beside her, shaking the rainwater from Spike’s coat. “I think there’s goldfish swimming around in my shoes.”

Pippin chuckled to himself and shook his head. Spike gave the two girls an odd look.

Feeling small, Frodo walked up to the counter. The counter was taller than he was. “Excuse me?”

A fat innkeeper at leaned over the counter so he could see Frodo. “Good evening, little masters! If you’re looking for accommodation we’ve got some nice, cozy, hobbit-sized rooms available.” The innkeeper noticed Buffy, Dawn and Spike were standing among the hobbits. “I believe we also have some rooms available that would suit your friends, Mr. uh . . .”

“Underhill,” Frodo said almost a little too quickly. “My name’s Underhill.”

The innkeeper smiled. “Underhill.”

“We’re friends of Gandalf the Gray. Can you tell him we’ve arrived?”

“Gandalf?” A perplexed looked crossed the innkeeper’s face. “Gandalf? Ohhh, yes! I remember, elderly chap, gray beard, big pointy hat.” The innkeeper hesitated and then frowned. “I haven’t seen him in six months.”

Shock passed across Frodo’s face that was mirrored on the faces of Sam, Merry and Pippin as well.

Dawn leaned a little bit closer to Spike. In a soft voice, “What are we going to do now?”

Spike shook his head. Quietly, “I don’t know, Bitlet. I just don’t know.”

* * * * * * *

Merry and Pippin sat with Dawn at a table in one corner of the torch-lit pub. They were laughing. Small glasses full of amber liquid sat in front of each of them.

A short distance away, Buffy and Spike sat at another table with Frodo and Sam.

Dawn was smiling, but as she looked across the table at Merry and Pippin a hint of worry crept across her face. “What do we do if your wizard friend doesn’t show up?”

Merry frowned at the question. “If Gandalf said he was going to be here he’ll be here.”

* * * * * * *

Buffy frowned, “I just don’t think Dawn should be drinking.”

“Buffy,” Spike was shaking his head, “this isn’t exactly the kinda place where you could expect to find anything else . . . and I wouldn’t trust it with Dawn if they had. A few drinks ain’t gonna hurt her, as long as we don’t let her go overboard.”

Buffy sighed. “I know.” She ran her fingers back through her damp hair and looked down into the glass in her small hands. “I just worry about her is all. I know I shouldn’t.” She looked at the other table, cocking her head slightly. Firelight reflected off dark, shiny eyes and a faint smile. “She’s remarkable. But she’s still my little sister,” she said, just a little sadly. “Still the little girl who cried in my arms after my mom died. Still the girl who stole all the clothes, so Barbie and Ken had to go to their wedding naked. And she’s still the same girl that I’d find sleeping in your crypt sometimes, ‘cause it was the one place in the world she felt safe.

She lowered her eyes briefly, “Even if she’ll never be that again . . .”

* * * * * * *

Merry sat back down at the table. He was holding a huge stein of beer, which he sat down on the table and looked at reverently.

Pippin’s eyes widened, “What’s that?”

“This, my friend, is a pint.”

Amazed, “It comes in pints?” Pippin nearly jumped up from his seat, “I’m getting one.”

“You had a whole half already,” Sam called as Pippin ran past the other table.

As Pippin ran off Merry and Dawn shared a silent look and suddenly Dawn was consumed by a fit of uncontrolled giggling. Merry started to look concerned when nearly thirty seconds later she was still going. “I’m . . . sorry . . . I . . .” Dawn was trying to talk around her giggling. “I think . . . I think I had too much.” She was giggling so bad she bent over and nearly fell off her chair. Her forehead hit the table with a loud thud. “Ow!”

Dawn finally sat up. “No more beer for Summers,” gesturing with one hand. “I’m cutting myself off.” She giggled at herself briefly. “Oh my God,” said Dawn, still laughing and wiping at the tears running down her cheeks, “I make Buffy look like a heavyweight.”

* * * * * * *

Sam looked down into his mug. He looked back up briefly and nudged Frodo beneath the table and gestured quietly at the far corner of the room. There was a figure in the dark there, nearly hidden in the corner where the torchlight didn’t quite reach. The man was wearing a dark cloak. He was smoking a pipe, and his face was nearly invisible beneath the hood. He took a draw off the pipe, the cinders brightening almost enough to reveal the shape of his face.

Sam, “That fellow’s done nothing but stare at us since we arrived.”

Spike sighed. “There isn’t much that can be done about it. All we can do is watch ourselves and be careful.”

Buffy turned and looked as well, her drying blonde hair shifting freely as she turned her head.

Frodo stopped the innkeeper as he was walking by. “Excuse me,” he said. “That man in the corner . . . who is he?”

The innkeeper swallowed. “He’s one of them rangers. Dangerous folk they are . . . wandering the wilds. What his right name is I’ve never heard, but ‘round here . . . the people call ‘im Strider.”

“Strider,” Frodo repeated to himself.

Buffy grinned and nudged the man sitting beside her. “Isn’t much better than Spike, is it?!”

Spike smiled at her briefly. “Shut up.”

Frodo was absently playing with the ring beneath the table, touching it, rolling it between his fingers. The air suddenly began to feel heavy around him.

Baggins. Baggins. Baggins. Baggins. A soft voice whispered the name over and over in his mind.

Spike stopped and looked at Frodo sharply. “Put that away! I don’t want to see that bloody thing out in public again.”

Frodo’s fist tightened around the ring.

Spike turned away, bring one hand up against his forehead, elbow on the table. His thumb was rubbing at his brow as if in the hope of warding off a headache. The room suddenly seemed way too loud. Deep breaths came in and out of him.

“Baggins,” Spike suddenly looked up sharply as his sharp ears caught a name spoken aloud over at the bar. Pippin stood there over beside the bar among a group of men who were looking down at the small hobbit expectantly. Spike grit his teeth.

“I’ve heard the name, of course,” Pippin told the men as he reached up and lifted his stein from the bar. “I don’t know any Baggins personally. There’s some that live up in Hobbiton . . . but I’ve never met them. The Sackville-Baggins are another story, and I wish I could be so fortunate . . .”

Frodo’s eyes were on the bar as well. He started to get up. Spike gripped the hobbit by the shoulder. “Pippin did as well as he bloody could. Better than I would have expected. No use drawing attention to yourself now. It’s already bad enough.”

“And a good evening to you, sirs.” Pippin finally said as he left the bar and made his way back toward his table. He stopped beside Spike and Buffy. A quiet voice, so as not to be overheard, “Some of the men were asking after Frodo at the bar.”

Spike nodded. “I heard. I think it’s time enough we went back to our rooms and figure out what we’re gonna do from there.”

“Whatever it is we better think of it quick,” Buffy said as she got up, her scythe held in one hand at her side. “Spike was right, what he said outside. This isn’t a place we want to be.”

When Spike looked at the corner of the room a few moments later he saw that the man Frodo and Sam had been watching earlier was gone.

* * * * * * *

Frodo pushed the door open as he walked into the room and threw his cloak aside. The room was dim with flickering torchlight. A noise escaped him as someone stepped out from behind the door and grabbed him from behind.

“You were careful,” a harsh voice said in his ear. The man released him and pushed him further into the room. “But you still draw far too much attention, Mr. Underhill!”
Frodo quickly found his feet and looked up at the man. Strider stood between Frodo and the door.

“What do you want?”

“A little more caution from you. That is no trinket you carry.”

“I carry nothing!”

“Indeed,” Strider raised an eyebrow. “That is not what some of the men down in the tavern are saying. Travelers have been coming in and out of this town the past few days, looking for hobbits strange enough to be out on the road. There are people looking for you.”

Frodo stared up at the man. “Who are you?”

“Are you frightened?”

Frodo answered breathlessly, “Yes.”

“Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you.”

Suddenly Strider was grabbed from behind and thrown against the wall. One of Spike’s arms was pressed against his throat.

Buffy was looking at the man over Spike’s shoulder, her scythe held carelessly in her hands. “Let him go, Spike,” she said quietly.

Pressing Strider back against the wall, Spike’s eyes began to turn an amber color. Strider’s eyes widened the moment before Spike tossed him to the floor. Strider looked up at Frodo. “You let this fell creature close to the ring. Are you mad?”

Frodo looked up at the vampire quietly before looking back at the man as he was getting to his feet. “Spike is bound to me. He and Buffy saved us from a Black Rider that fell upon me and my kinsmen as we left the Shire. It is only because of him that the ring is still in my hands. They killed it and saved our lives.”

Strider shook his head. “No man can kill a Nazgûl. It’s not possible.”

Frodo frowned briefly. “Perhaps not. Maybe Buffy didn’t kill it. I felt something go past me as it died. I don’t know what it was. It was cold. Bitter.” Frodo swallowed. His eyes were distant. “Like the memory a nightmare when you first wake up. And maybe like a bad dream it will eventually rise up in a different form. I don’t know much about such things. Perhaps it’s possible. But make no mistake, she did strike it down.”

Strider looked at Spike and Buffy. Spike looking silently hostile. Buffy was a small girl standing quietly beside him, still carelessly holding her scythe. Back near the door to the room Dawn was there, back against the wall, trying to stay out of the way, with Sam, Merry and Pippin beside her. His eyes finally came back to Frodo. “You have strong companions, little hobbit, and a stout heart, but even that may not save you. You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They’re coming.”

* * * * * * *

Buffy slept. Her head was resting in Spike’s lap as he sat awake. The vampire softly brushed his fingers through her silky blonde hair.

They were in the stables. Off to the side Dawn slept like the dead on a bed of hay near Merry and Pippin. Sam and Frodo were off to the other side, sleeping quietly. The ring hung from a chain around Frodo’s neck again, and it was gripped possessively in one of Frodo’s small hands as he slept. Spike watched the sleeping hobbit silently, his eyes always coming back to him.

When Spike finally looked over at Strider he saw Strider silently watching him.

* * * * * * *

The world was white. White so bright it was blinding if you looked at it too long and it was everywhere. It was like an ethereal white mist.

A noise in the emptiness. Buffy turned, but she didn’t see anything.

Something came at her out of the mist. A white figure in the shape of a man, moving so quickly it was nearly on top of her before she had time to react. The figure was carrying a long, pale, slender sword.

It slashed at her.

Buffy moved, letting the sword slice through empty air.

She was empty handed. She didn’t have a weapon to fend with.

Another sword swipe. Buffy snapped back and let it miss.

The figure tried to backslap her with its empty hand on the follow-through.

Buffy simply reached up and caught the wrist as the arm struck out at her. The flesh suddenly turned immaterial beneath her fingers and suddenly she had an empty hand.
Whatever it was it was gone.

Buffy turned, and suddenly the figure appeared out of open air, catching her with a flying kick and knocking her down.
She looked up at the figure standing over her.

The sword struck out quickly and the tip pierced Buffy’s breast, stabbing deep into her heart. A gasp passed Buffy’s lips.
The sword went away.

Buffy looked up and saw the indistinct white haired figure standing over her silently in the bright white light as she lay there bleeding.

* * * * * * *

A sound in the dark.

A horse snorting.

The old gatekeeper came out of the gatehouse slowly, carrying a lamp before him in the dark, and approached the gates.

The gates suddenly shattered and fell, crushing the man beneath them. Four black horses and four dark riders entered the village of Bree.

* * * * * * *

The innkeeper was hiding silently behind the door as the four dark figures swept silently into the Prancing Pony. They were like wraiths, vague figures in the dark.

The wraiths went up the stairs and silently swept into one of the rooms.

* * * * * * *

Sam shifted slightly in his sleep, but did not awake.

* * * * * * *

Four beds.

Four forms nestled beneath the blankets.

The wraiths stood over each of the beds. Each raised their sword.

Nary a whisper was heard.

Each stabbed down.

* * * * * * *

The four hobbits’ eyes all snapped open.

Buffy was suddenly awake. She sat up and looked around the stable.

They could all hear the sound of the Black Riders screaming in the near distance. An uncomfortably, familiar noise. Buffy shivered coldly. Spike part his arm around her and she nestled close.

Dawn crawled a little closer to Buffy and Spike. She had one of her tomahawks gripped tight in her fingers.

Strider was sitting silently near a window at one side of the stable, looking at what he could see outside.

Frodo opened his mouth.

“What are they?” Dawn asked the question first.

“They were once men,” Strider told her quietly. “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 Nazgûl, 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.”

Part Four:

Chapter Four: “How We Define Us”

Spike and Buffy awoke in each-other’s arms.

Still in his arms, Buffy turned around so she could look at him. Spike’s platinum hair seemed bright in the early morning sunlight angling into the stable. Their faces were only inches apart. Their eyes met, looking deep into each-other. Buffy smiled at him softly.

Inhaled briefly as she lowered her mouth to his. She could smell him in the air around. A familiar smell, smoke and leather and something else that was so clearly him intermixed with the smells of the stable.

Their first kiss in over a year started softly. Their lips simply came together with gentle pressure. Growing familiar with each other again. Tasting.

The kiss only deepened. Arms coming around each-other, drawing each-other close. Mouths open. Tongues teasing and beginning to explore.

“If you guys are gonna do that can I not have to watch?!”

“Go away, Dawn.”

“I’m just saying . . .”

“Dawn!”

Dawn raised her hands and turned away. “Okay! Jeez.”

Giggling and still wrapped in his arms, Buffy buried her face in the vampire’s shoulder. They simply laid there for a little while in each-other’s arms.

* * * * * * *

“Where are you taking us?”

“Into the wild,” Strider answered simply. They were already deep in the forest. The entire company’s eyes watched as the dark haired Ranger moved up the forested slope with an ease bred of familiarity.

Sam frowned at the scruffy looking man. Quietly, he asked, “How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?”

“We don’t,” Spike answered.

Frodo was quietly thoughtful, “I think a servant of the Enemy would look fairer and feel fouler.”

Spike suddenly laughed and shook his head. “Now there’s a healthy qualification.”

Merry wrinkled his nose, “He's foul enough!”

Buffy sighed. “I agree. Letting Strider be a guide for us isn’t the greatest plan. It’s a lack of options.”

Frodo exhaled a breath. “We have no choice but to trust him.

Sam, in a quiet voice, “But where is he leading us?”

Strider could obviously hear them. “To Rivendell, Master Gamgee.” Strider’s voice came from further up the slope. “To the House of Elrond.”

Sam smiled and looked at Frodo. “Did you hear that? Rivendell! We’re going to see the Elves!”

Dawn was suddenly smiling, “Elves?!”

* * * * * * *

Dawn looked on a little perplexed as Merry and Pippin stopped and suddenly unslung their packs. Pippin purposely began to remove food and cookware.

Strider paused and looked back at them. “Gentlemen, we do not stop ‘til nightfall.”

Pippin frowned. “What about breakfast?”

“We’ve already had it.”

“We've had one, yes,” Pippin pointed out. “What about second breakfast?”

Strider walked away, past a bush at the top of a small hillock and out of sight..

Merry shouldered his pack again. “Don't think he knows about second breakfast, Pip.”

Pippin was alarmed. “What about elevenses?” he asked quickly. “Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about them doesn’t he?”

“I wouldn't count on it.”

From over the bushes where Strider had disappeared came an apple. Merry caught it as it almost dropped into his hands. Merry handed the apple to Pippin and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder as he followed Strider. Another apple followed, this one hitting Pippin in the head.

Dawn snickered.

Pippin threw an accusing look at the young girl. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.”

Dawn gifted the hobbit with a slight smile. “Enjoying isn’t exactly the word. Even my blisters have blisters. Trust me, if I’d have known I was going to end up here I would have worn more comfortable shoes . . . boots even. And you might have actually considered wearing shoes . . .”

Pippin looked down at his two bare feet and the small tufts of soft brown hair on top of them. His toes wiggled. He then looked back up at her. “Hobbits don’t wear shoes.”
Dawn chuckled. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Merry called back at them impatiently. “Dawn! Pippin!”

“Alright,” Dawn shifted her pack on her shoulders slightly. “Jeez . . . Who died and made you Drill Sargent?”

* * * * * * *

The happy voices of the hobbits rose into the air as they hiked. Most of the songs they sang were about food, or the comfort of the quiet life. They sang about gardening, or the lazy languor of an afternoon spent laying in the sun. Anything really. They seemed happy in spite of everything, a fact which brought about smiles from Buffy and Dawn. The two sisters even caught a faint smile from Spike once or twice.

The four voices of the hobbits rose to a pleasant clamor.

Oh, you can search far and wide,

you can drink the whole town dry,

but you'll never find a beer so brown

as the one we drink in our home town!

You can keep your fancy ales,

you can drink them by the flagon,

but the only brew

for the brave and true,

comes from the Green Dragon!

The song finished with the sound of each of them laughing.

“Miss Buffy,” asked Frodo, “could you favor us with a song?”

Buffy shook her head. “I know you hobbits are big with the singing, and good on you, but some of us prefer not to torture people with the sound of our own voice.”

Dawn cut in, “Buffy lives under the delusion that she can’t sing.”

“Neither can Sam,” Merry pointed out. “But we let him join in anyway.”

Sam threw the other hobbit a look. “Hey!”

“Okay, okay,” Buffy surrendered. “Just as long as you stop torturing poor Sam. If you’re gonna pick on someone pick on someone like Dawn who deserves it.”

Dawn shot the other girl a look of her own. “Hey!”

Buffy gave her sister a friendly grin and shifted her pack on her slim shoulders slightly. She was quiet for a few long moments, keeping her eyes on the ground in front of her as she walked.

“Come on,” said Dawn impatiently. “Out with it.”

“I’m thinking.”

Dawn gave Buffy a remarkably innocent seeming look. “Well your thinking remarkably resembles wimping out.”

“Annoying brat.”

“Prude.”

The two sisters looked at each-other and shared a friendly grin.

“Okay, okay,” Buffy shook her hands as if trying to work off the tension. “I’ve slain skanky hell gods and stuck both my thumbs in a demon’s eyes. I can do this . . . I can do it . . . I think I can do it.”

Buffy took and expectant breath and opened her mouth. She smiled at Dawn’s reaction to her choice of song.

Morning smiles

like the face of a newborn child

innocent unknowing

Dawn wore a faint smile at the soft voice coming out of her sister, though that smile was tempered by the emotion that Buffy gave to the words. It was a beautiful melancholy that she sang. Loneliness. The sad realization that she’d always be alone.

Winter's end

promises of a long lost friend

speaks to me of comfort

Spike gave the small Slayer brief, halting glances, as if he were embarrassed to be caught looking. She was beautiful. Her blonde hair in the bright sunlight. The sparing moments that she simply let go and bare her emotions to all the world. She glowed, if a person could be said to do such a thing. A warmth that anyone would be lucky to be blessed with for even the briefest moment.

but I fear

I have nothing to give

I have so much to lose

here in this lonely place

tangled up in our embrace

there's nothing I'd like

better than to fall

but I fear I have nothing to give

Buffy glanced over at Spike hesitantly. Their eyes met. His blue eyes were so bright in the sunlight. They seemed to look straight through to the heart of her. She looked away, at the landscape in front of her. Her eyes half-lidded as she poured herself into the song. A tear left her eye and traced down the softness of her cheek.

Wind in time

rapes the flower trembling on the vine

nothing yields to shelter it

from above

they say temptation will destroy our love

the never ending hunger

The hobbits each watched her wide-eyed. The small girl who had saved them from creatures more horrible than they had ever imagined as they left the Shire. They saw her sadness. They saw her hopelessness. And they saw her love for everything and everyone that surrounded her.

but I fear

I have nothing to give

I have so much to lose

here in this lonely place

tangled up in our embrace

there's nothing I'd like

better than to fall

There was steel in this small girl. An element as strange and rare as mithril tangled up inside her character. Esoteric. Erudite. The man called Strider didn’t quite understand. She was as much a mystery as the creature she traveled with. He didn’t understand, but he was going to find out.

but I fear

I have nothing to give

I have so much to lose

I have nothing to give

We have so much to lose . . .

The Slayer’s voice drifted off slowly, a soft cadence that was carried away by the gentle breeze. She reached up and carelessly brushed at something on her cheek. Some emotions were just too raw.

* * * * * * *

The moon hung high overhead, a bright circle against a sea of stars in the clear nighttime sky.

Buffy and Spike lay beneath it, comfortably entangled with each-other in their sleep. The forms of Dawn and the four hobbits lay chaotically around them. Strider, on the other hand, his shape half in shadow, was sitting by a small fire and singing softly beneath his breath.

Tinúviel elvanui,

Elleth alfirin ethelhael

O hon ring finnil fuinui

A renc gelebrin thiliol.

Tinúviel the elven-fair,

Immortal maiden elven-wise,

About him cast her night-dark hair,

And arms like silver glimmering.

Frodo was awake. He lifted himself up and stared at the Ranger. “Who is she? This woman you sing of?

“ ‘Tis the lay of Lúthien,” Strider told him in a voice that spoke of sadness. “The Elf-maiden who dared to give her love to Beren, a mortal.”

Dawn turned over and looked at him. “Ya know, that’s really not a nice thing to call a girl. A little demeaning.” Dawn’s straight dark hair had a faint sheen in the moonlight. Her inquisitive eyes had a twinkle of starlight. “What happened to her?”

Strider lowered his eyes. “She died,” he responded quietly. “Get some sleep, the both of you. We have a lot further to go come morning.”

* * * * * * *

“. . . and there was this one time that Bilbo used the ring when the Sackville-Baggins came calling. Now there are a couple of nutters. Unpleasant people to be sure. Bilbo just slipped the ring on and suddenly he wasn’t there at all. Gone. I wish you could have seen the looks on their faces. They’d been so certain he was in the pantry. I’m pretty sure it was no accident that that basket of salt was dumped on both their heads as they left. No accident at all. I mean if there were ever two people who deserved to be set upon by an invisible tormentor they were it . . .”

Fingering the blade of one of Dawn’s tomahawks, Spike watched Buffy’s face brighten as she smiled. “I can imagine.”

Frodo held up his hand. The ring dangled from it by the delicate necklace, glittering in the morning light. “Such a tiny little thing.”

Buffy looked at the ring and tilted her head slightly.

Blood splattered as the blade of the tomahawk suddenly buried itself in deep in her slender neck. Buffy looked up at Spike with wide, confused eyes. His pale hand was gripping the handle of the tomahawk. She raised a slender hand and touched her neck. Her eyes beginning to comprehend the fact of his betrayal. She tried to stand but her feet wouldn’t quite listen. They were unsteady beneath her and she fell to her knees, choking on her own blood. She put both her hands in the dirt in front of her and spit up blood all over herself.

Frodo looked up at the vampire with wide eyes. Spike kicked him, his boot connecting beneath the hobbit’s chin and sending him sprawling in the dirt.

Someone came at Spike from behind. Spike turned as Strider raised his sword. Spike caught the man’s hands, and with a sharp twist he broke both his wrists. Strider screamed, right before Spike buried his face in the man’s throat and bit down. The body fell and he left it where it lay.

Spike wiped at his mouth and the demon melted away.

Turned and looked at the fresh carnage that surrounded him. He felt he should be concerned but he didn’t care. It was like coming home.

He smiled.

He walked over by Frodo. The hobbit lay where he had fell. He then crouched down and picked up something from the ground.

Spike looked down at the small golden ring glimmering in the sunlight in the palm of his hand.

* * * * * * *

Spike awoke.

It was still dark.

Buffy was curled up beside him trustingly. His face was nearly buried in her hair. He could smell her. Feel her all over. In his nose. In his gut. She surrounded him.

Spike untangled himself and stood up. He saw one of Dawn’s tomahawks sitting on top of a pack off to one side. He picked it up and looked at it. Narrow blade one side. Sharpened point on the other. A precision weapon, if you knew how to use it.

He held Dawn’s tomahawk in his hand and looked down at where Buffy laid there sleeping in front of him. Her blonde hair lay softly about her shoulders. Peaceful. Beautiful.
Spike turned, dropping the tomahawk, and ran out of camp into the dark.

* * * * * * *

The doe raised its head. It was a fine specimen. Two sharp, perfect antlers atop its head. Lithe muscle beneath soft fur and skin. Its eyes passed over the space between the nearby trees.

The was a shadow between the trees that hadn’t been there a few moments before.

The doe started to move.

It took the first few prancing jumps toward safety and then suddenly it was too late. The predator was upon it. The doe tumbled. The shadow tumbled with it. The predator sank its mouth into the does neck and bit down hard.

Spike finally lifted his mouth away from the carcass and wiped away the blood that smeared his chin.

* * * * * * *

The company awoke that morning to the carcass of a doe waiting for them and Spike sitting silently off to one side. He was quiet for most of the day, answering questions in as few words as possible and not saying anything more.

Buffy confronted him about his mood around midday when they stopped for lunch. Spike never told her what was wrong. When she persisted in finding out he simply buried his face in her shoulder and began to cry. Buffy held him and just let him cry.

* * * * * * *

Strider stopped and looked at a small hill in the near distance. The sides of the highest peak seemed steep, almost like a butte right here in the middle of the forest. Atop it were the ancient ruins of a stone building. Just fragments really. A few small portions of walls that were still standing. Not nearly enough to even clearly imagine what had once stood there.

“This was the great watchtower of Amon Sûl,” Strider told them. “The hill is often also called Weathertop. We shall rest here tonight.”

* * * * * * *

The companions unshouldered their packs on a wide flat overhang near the summit. Dawn sighs and stretches, rolling her sore shoulders. The weight of the pack was gone for the moment, but she could still feel the burden.

She stood on the edge, looking out at the landscape in the distance. Weathertop rose above everything. The forest stretched as far as she could see. The sun was setting in the west, back in the direction they had come. The horizon was turning slowly from blue to violet. The few clouds in that direction were colored by the sky with strange highlights.

Strider opens a cloth bundle that contained four short swords as the hobbits gather round.

“These are for you,” said Strider as he gave one to each of the hobbits. “Keep them close. I’m going to have a look around. Don’t go far from camp.”

* * * * * * *

Buffy and Spike came around the corner into the deeper shadows. Buffy was giggling, even as Spike pressed her back against the wall.

She smirked at him.

They came together in a frantic kiss. Hands tugging excitedly at their clothes

He pressed her back against the wall as his hands became familiar with her body again. Every curve. Every inch of soft, excitable skin. Hands up inside her shift and tugging just roughly enough at her nipples.

One of his hands slipped down the length of her body and inside her pants.

Buffy arched against him as his fingers pressed against the cleft between her legs. Rubbed against her. She took and expectant breath and then his fingers were inside her, moving inside her, curled to touch that one place that could make her scream. Her hips moved as he moved. Her heart raced. She felt breathless. Trembling against him. Her hands were on his shoulders. Her knees felt weak.

Spike’s face was viciously buried in the slope of her neck.

She opened her mouth to give voice to a breathless scream.

* * * * * * *
Dawn and Frodo laid sleeping a short distance apart in the dark. Both of them were exhausted. Dawn’s head rested on her pack, using it as a pillow. Her dark hair laid softly about her face. Her face beautiful and delicate like porcelain in the moonlight.

Faint voices as Frodo stirred.

Merry, “My tomato’s burst.”

It took Frodo a few moments to realize what he was seeing. Sam, Merry and Pippin sat together around a small campfire. The welcoming smell of cooking food filled the air.
Pippin asked, “Can I have some bacon?”

“Okay,” said Merry. “Want some tomatoes, Sam?”

Frodo, alarmed, “What are you doing?”

Merry answered happily, “Tomatoes. Sausages. Nice crispy bacon.”

“We saved some for you and the others,” Sam added kindly.

“Put it out you fools!” Frodo yelled, quickly running over and stomping on the fire with his bare feet. “Put it out!”

* * * * * * *

A distant view of Weathertop. A huge looming shape in the dark rising up above the forest. A faint orange flicker of firelight high up, clearly visible for miles around.

* * * * * * *
Pippin was disgusted, “Oh, that’s nice! Ash on my tomatoes!”

Dawn had awoke. She sat up and looked at them blearily, “What are you . . . Did you start a fire?” Anger and frustration flickered behind the girl’s face and her expression hardened. “What the hell were you doing? Do you think . . .”

Dawn’s head snapped around suddenly as the cry of a Nazgûl pierced the night, cutting off her words and cutting her to the bone. She looked over the edge of the ledge and saw at least four black shapes approaching out of the forest below.

“Oh shit!” Dawn threw a sharp look at Frodo. “Where’s Buffy and Spike?”

“I don’t know.”

She raised her voice. “Where are they?”

“I don’t know!”

“Fuck,” Dawn spat the epithet beneath her breath. “Fuck!”

The hobbits unsheathed their small swords.

“Get back,” Dawn yelled at the hobbits, retreating backwards up some weathered stone stairs into the darkness. “Get back.”

Dawn and the four hobbits scramble further up Weathertop.

* * * * * * *

Darkness surrounded them. Dawn and the hobbits found themselves in an open area, in the middle of a ring of broken pillars and shattered stone.

They could go no further. They stood there, their eyes searching the dark.

Shapes appeared out of the darkness. Moving shadows. The black robes were like shadows themselves. The air turned heavy as the four, no, five shapes came out of the dark, like nightmares turned to flesh and set on you in the dark.

The hobbits stood in a circle with their swords.

Dawn stood alone in front of them, posing with her tomahawks. She was trembling with fear, but she didn’t move. She stood there and faced them.

She wouldn’t run in the face of fear. She wouldn’t cower and hide in the naive hope that it would go away.

She was a Summers.

Dawn stopped trembling and raised her tomahawks, twirling them in her hands.

The five Nazgûl faced her. They each reached within their cloaks and pulled out long, thin swords.

Ruthlessly, a sword suddenly arced down at Dawn. The sound of clanging steel as Dawn blocked with one of her tomahawks, at the same moment as another Nazgûl came at her from the side.

“Back you devils!” Sam yelled, running to her defense, his small sword gripped in one hand. Sam and the second Nazgûl clash swords, but he is quickly tossed aside.

Dawn and the first Nazgûl fight. She attacks it with a flurry of slices from both of her tomahawks. She actually manages to back it up for a few brief moments, the simple fury of her attack driving the creature before her. A black shape in the dark. But each of her attacks are fended off with frightening efficiency. The Nazgûl’s sword moved back and forth, redirecting the sweep of her blows to open air to either side of it.

And then the Nazgûl’s sword flashed out at her side.

Dawn sidestepped swiftly, hissing sharply as the tip of the sword just managed to catch her arm just below her shoulder, splitting her shirt and scoring a shallow slice across her fair skin.

Dawn’s eyes hardened like two flecks of steel. Stubbornly, Dawn bought up her tomahawks and went at the creature again.

A frightened voice suddenly came out of the dark. “Dawn!”

Buffy and Spike appeared out of the darkness.

* * * * * * *

Frodo’s sword fell to the ground with a clang. Merry and Pippin try to defend Frodo but the Nazgûl simply push them aside. Frodo stumbled, fell backward. He inched backwards across the stone but eventually found himself with his back pressed against a wall.

No way out.

Desperate, Frodo reached for the ring. The hobbit slipped it on his finger and disappeared from view.

The world around Frodo changed into a white ethereal mist.

In place of the looming Nazgûl stood a man. The man was like a white shape carved out of the mist that surrounded him. A wraith. The man had long hair and a long white beard. There was a long, pale sword in his hand and a pale crown sat atop his head.

The wraith reached out toward Frodo, a hand as if in kindness, and one of Frodo’s hands, with the ring glittering on one finger, reaches out toward the wraith. With effort, Frodo wrenched his hand back.

Fury twisted the wraith’s face.

Frodo screamed as the wraith’s sword stabbed down through his shoulder, pinning the hobbit to the ground.

Suddenly, Strider leapt over Frodo, a dark shape in the mist. He had a sword in one hand and a flaming torch in the other. Swinging the torch in front of him to drive the wraith away. Stepping back, the wraith pulled its sword out of Frodo and dropped it.

Grunting with effort, Frodo pulled the ring from his finger.

* * * * * * *

Strider set the wraith’s dark robes on fire. It ran away squealing.

He looked up in time to see Buffy and Spike fighting another. Standing by the edge of the ancient ruin. Buffy grabbed Spike’s hands, swinging around him, adding Spike’s strength to hers as both her feet left the ground. Spike was the pivot of Buffy’s kick that sent the wraith tumbling over the edge. When Buffy landed, Spike held her to him briefly, sharing a smile, before they were back into the fight.

Dawn was fighting another.

A Nazgûl lashed out at Strider with its sword. Strider ducked beneath it, pushing the torch out before him and burning into its loose robes. It was standing between himself and the one Dawn was fighting. He pushed the flailing creature back into Dawn’s. Now they both burned. Dawn sliced viciously into it with one of her tomahawks before it ran away.

Dawn and Strider shared a vicious look.

The last wraith looked briefly between Buffy and Spike, standing on one side of it, and Dawn and Strider on the other. Strider threw his torch. The Nazgul’s robes went up like a roman candle.

It ran over the edge and disappeared.

* * * * * * *

Sam held a bleeding Frodo in his arms.

“Spike, Strider,” Sam pled. “Help him.” There were tears in his eyes. “Please.”

Strider crouched down and picked up the broken sword that lay by Frodo and looked down at it in his hand.

“He’s been stabbed by a Morgul blade.” The blade of the broken sword suddenly dissolved right down to the hilt, the dust appeared to be caught by the wind and carried away. Strider dropped the hilt that remained as if it made him feel dirty just touching it. “This is beyond my skill to heal.”

Dawn looked at Frodo sadly. The wound on her arm was still seeping blood but she seemed careless of it.

Spike looked down on Frodo. The small hobbit, laying there, wounded and consumed by blinding pain. Helpless. The ring hanging on a chain from his neck and glimmering in the moonlight.

TBC...