When Worlds Collide: The Journey by enigma_k

Chapter #1 - Chapter 1: We Go Not Gently Into the Night

“If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew to serve your turn long after they are gone, and so hold on when there is nothing in you except the will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’” – Rudyard Kipling ******************** The scenery was majestic in its beauty. Wide open spaces were covered with grass, cushioning his feet as he ran; rocks of various sizes and shapes littered the countryside as he raced out of the western Emyn Muil mountain range. The vampire didn’t see it, his senses sharply tuned to the unnatural demons that beat a frenzied path across the land on legs as fast as he – keeping at least one day’s journey ahead of him. He didn’t hear the gasping breaths of the dwarf left far behind. His brother, Aragorn, and the elf, Legolas, struggling to keep up with his inhuman pace. He raced on, oblivious to their calls to slow down and wait for them. He couldn’t. He had to get to Buffy. *** “They’ve turn northwest…towards Isengard,” Legolas gasped, having finally caught up to Kriger and taken point. “Saruman,” two Rangers growled at the same time. Wasting no more time dwelling on the evil wizard, the three hurried off, across the eastern plains of the Rohan, the Eastemnet. The dwarf not too far back, urged them on with a promise to catch up after he’d caught his breath again. *** They’d been running for three days now without stop. No food. No sleep. Just a seemingly endless placement of one foot in front of the other. Day to night and back again, the cycle repeated itself, and it brought no pause in his relentless pursuit. Desperate now to narrow the gap between him and them. It couldn’t last though. Hell, the vampire was surprised he’d managed to go on this long and not collapse. That the others hadn’t either. Their will had proved stronger than their bodies, however. But, if they didn’t catch the Uruks soon, they never would… Spike pushed that thought firmly from his mind and continued to run. Through the rest of the day and long into the night. His demon thrilling to the chase as the light of the full moon rose again, reinvigorating his strength while also guiding him along the path. As the hours had worn on, he could feel himself gaining on the pack of demons – the more easily navigable flatlands less straining than the rugged terrain of the mountains left far behind. The trace scent of Slayer steadily grew more pungent, proof positive that the distance between the two was narrowing. And that she was still alive. It gave him the incentive he needed to push through his utter exhaustion, to continue to hound the Uruks’ every step. Gotta keep running. Gotta keep running. It was a mantra in his head. A steady rhythm pounding in his ears with each slap of each foot against the earth. As the night crept closer to day, he began to sense their hesitation. Their growing belligerence at their unholy pace. Finally! An opportunity for him to close the gap even further. Though the beasts that had taken the Slayer and two hobbits were gifted with seemingly unending stamina, Spike knew that they would be unable to run forever. He knew their weakness. It was the same weakness his own demon bore. A need to feed. He ignored his, however. The prize of his beloved back in his arms was worth a few more hours of hunger. If he didn’t stop, he’d be able to reach the pack just after daybreak. Spike called back over his shoulders, urging the others to increase their pace. That their quarry had slowed as their need for food and rest was slowly overcoming their desire to further the distance between them. ******************** Malevolent black eyes regarded the scene before her with sadistic glee. Following closely behind her master, Willow watched as Saruman inspected the creation of new Uruks, as well as the weaponry necessary to outfit an army of Uruk soldiers – swords, armor, helmets. Gargantuan trees tumbled into the pit from above, energy to stoke the flames necessary to make it all happen. It was organized chaos everywhere around her as demons were magically brought into this new world by foul means. “Come, my child. It’s time to turn our attention to Rohan.” “How, my master?” “We will set the Hillman from Dunland upon them. Drive the Rohirrim to one location and annihilate them.” “And their king? Will he not summon aid?” “Their…king…” He fixed his protégé with an evil gleam. “Ah, yes…Theoden… Such a weak mind…He will not stop us.” Willow caught his meaning and laughed delightedly. “With Rohan out of the way, we’ll continue on to Gondor attacking from the north while Sauron crushes them in the east.” Saruman led the redhead down the steps of the Tower of Orthanc towards the waiting warriors. “The Horsemen took your lands. They drove your people into the hills, scratching a living off rocks,” the wizard cried, gaining the group’s attention. “Murderers!” one man sneered, and those around him jeered the Rohirrim. “Take back the lands they stole from you. Burn every village,” Saruman decreed. The men closest to the wizard turned away, starting the procession out of Isengard and towards Rohan. The rest quickly fell into step behind the group’s unofficial leaders, fisting swords, spears, and various other weapons, their war cries ringing through the land. Their expressions dancing with maniacal delight, they raced off to settle the score with their longtime foe. ******************** Buffy lay unmoving where she was unceremoniously dumped on her back by the Uruk responsible for her. Her upper and lower limbs, bound for such long periods of time had long since gone numb, causing her Slayer healing to temporarily desert her. Which was why she was still at the mercy of the demons that had taken her and the two hobbits, rather than being free and wending their way back towards Spike and the others. Just the thought of the vampire was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She could only imagine his state of mind. The terror he must be feeling due to his inability to rescue her. Wondering if she were dead or alive. Her facial features drew together in a slight frown as feeling began to return to her arms and legs. The move aggravated the swollen lip and eye she sported – compliments of the demon assigned to her. Apparently he’d not liked having himself nearly soiled on that first day, and was forced to stop periodically to allow her to relieve herself. However, the group hadn’t bothered to slow for her nature’s calls, which forced him to double-time it back to the pack each time it was required of him to stop. He’d repaid his inconvenience with a fist or two to her face. ‘Bastard’s lucky I barely have any feeling in my arms and legs. I’d so be whomping on his ass right about now.’ “Buffy, what is it? Why have we stopped?” Merry asked nervously, his eyes wide with fright. “Shhh…” Buffy commanded, as the demons started bickering. “We’re not goin’ no further ‘til we’ve had a breather,” one of the Uruks complained. He was standing in a small group a short distance from their captives. Other demons wheezing heavily beside him heard his grumblings and managed to snarl their agreement while struggling to draw air into their lungs. The leader, Ugluk, sensing a possible mutiny, grumbled, “Get a fire going.” “They want to rest,” she whispered once the pack moved off, watching the demons assessingly as they neared the edge of the forest a short distance away. As axes hacked into tree trunks, a low keening moan echoed through the air. The Uruks were oblivious to the noise, but the hobbits heard. So did the Slayer. Pippin jumped. “What’s making that noise?” he wondered aloud, looking about frantically for the source of the eerie caterwauling. “You remember the Old Forest, on the borders of Buckland?” Merry whispered. “Folk used to say there was something in the water that made the trees grow tall... and come alive.” “Alive?” Pippin croaked. “Trees that could whisper. Talk to each other. Even move,” Merry added. Buffy wasn’t paying attention to their conversation, too intent on the demons. And their sudden fascination with hers and the two hobbits’ extremities. “Uh, guys?” At their questioning look, she told them to start crawling towards the forest. And possible safety. They’d nearly made a clean getaway when Buffy felt a restraining hand on her bound legs. She turned over to see a leering face of one of the Uruk. “Go on. Call for help,” the demon hissed. “No one’s gonna save you—” Buffy didn’t think to question the abrupt release of her leg, or the spear protruding from the Uruk that had loomed over her, for they were suddenly besieged by a group of riders that thudded into the clearing. “Go!” she hissed, having turned back to the hobbits to see their slack-jawed expressions. “Hurry! While they’re distracted.” Merry and Pippin scrambled to their feet, having managed to undo the other’s hands – their feet had not been bound like hers – and ran deeper into the forest. Their only thought, to get as far away from their captors as possible. Buffy, calling on every bit of Slayer strength she possessed, willed herself to rise and hobble after the pair. She did it, too. Grabbing a discarded spear, she used the tip to sever the bonds holding her legs immobile. The sudden rush of blood flow caused her to hiss in pain, but she pushed it from her mind and staggered into the forest. As she gingerly stepped around overgrown roots and fallen branches, Buffy worked at the bindings at her wrists, driving the spear between her two hands so the arrowhead could do its job. Behind her, she could hear one of the Uruk giving chase and shouted at the hobbits to make for the trees. Buffy wasn’t sure if she’d be able to climb the rather broad trunk that loomed in front of her, but gave it her best effort – it was amazing what a bit of adrenaline could do. She’d been halfway up the tree when she heard one of the hobbits call out. “Buffy, look out!” Her grip on the tree slackened as she was tugged forcefully from the relative safety of its upper branches; she could feel herself falling and braced for the jarring impact of the ground below. Having lived on the Hellmouth for as long as she had, Buffy figured herself to be pretty shock proof. But, when the tree she’d been climbing suddenly came to life and easily caught her before she hit the ground? She knew her mouth was hanging open in astonishment. The Slayer felt herself lifted and was then perched on one of the higher branches of the tree person thingy. The Uruk that had been trying to manhandle her had been crushed under its feet like a worrisome bug. Another handful of seconds saw both Pippin and Merry plucked from their branches and resettled somewhere next to the Slayer. “Little Orcs,” the tree rumbled. “It’s talking, Buffy. The tree is talking,” Pippin exclaimed. “Yeah, kinda got the memo there.” “Tree? I am no tree,” the walking contradiction announced. “I’m an Ent.” “An Ent,” Buffy mouthed, and the two hobbits just shrugged their shoulders back at her. “A treeherder! A shepherd of the forest,” Merry suddenly realized. “Treebeard, some call me…” the Ent went on. “Hello, Treebeard. Whose side are you on?” the Slayer greeted. “Side?” Treebeard questioned in a slow, monotone voice. “I am on nobody’s side, because nobody is on my side, little Orc. Nobody cares for these woods anymore.” “I’m not an Orc. I’m human. And they’re hobbits. We’re pretty harmless, actually.” “Human? Hobbits? Sounds like Orc mischief to me. They come with fire. They come with axes. Gnawing, biting, breaking, hacking, burning! Destroyers and usurpers, curse them!” Buffy could feel the thing’s agitation grow, but didn’t know what to do or say to defuse its ire. “It’s like Buffy said. We’re hobbits. Halflings. Shirefolk. Surely you know—” “Maybe you are, and maybe you’re not. The White Wizard will know.” “White Wizard?” the Slayer asked. “Saruman,” Merry squeaked. ******************** The sun crested the horizon and with it came hope for the vampire. He knew them to be within an hour of the pack of Uruks. ‘Only another hour,’ Spike thought. And god help the lot if one hair on his Slayer’s head was touched. Not that they all weren’t going to die, but at least he’d be quick about it. All bets were off if Buffy was hurt. He’d learned a lot in the ways of torture at Angelus’ side. Things that no amount of time could diminish. It would be rather easy for him to revert to his old ways and exact revenge against one of his own. The pounding of hooves drawing near shook him from his vindictive thoughts and he let out a shrill whistle, signaling to his brother and the others to take cover. Spike hid behind an oversized rock just seconds before a group of soldiers galloped past. Aragorn recognized the riders and walked out into the open. “Riders of Rohan!” he shouted, drawing their attention. “What news from the ‘Mark’?” Though Spike gazed questioningly at his brother’s bold posturing, he – along with Legolas and Gimli – joined his side. The Horsemen wheeled about and formed a tight circle around the four. Just when something told Spike that they’d been penned in and were, in effect, defenseless, the mounted riders drew spears and aimed them their way. Trapping them with little room to maneuver. “What business does a dwarf, an elf, and two Rangers have in the Riddermark?” their leader demanded abruptly, his heavy scowl evident beneath his helmet. “Speak quickly!” “Give me your name, Horse Master, and I’ll give you mine,” Gimli replied, leaning casually on his axe. Eomer glared down at the tiny warrior. “I would cut off your head, dwarf, if it stood but a little higher to the ground.” Spike growled; Legolas had an arrow out and nocked before anyone could react. “You would die before your stroke fell,” Legolas snarled. Spike put a restraining hand on the elf’s arm, asking him in elvish to lower his bow; Legolas did so reluctantly, and only when Aragorn stepped forward and made introductions. “I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. My brother, Kriger of Rivendell,” he added, gesturing to the vampire. “This is Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm. We are friends of Rohan and of Theoden your king.” Eomer dismounted and removed his helmet. “William the Bloody,” he murmured quietly, causing a ripple of awareness to run through the group of riders. “I’ve heard tell of a man that rides a stallion by one of Shadowfax’s mares. And that no other, save the Elven King of Rivendell, can get near him.” Spike quirked a brow but didn’t answer. Surprisingly, his reputation with his steed went a long way towards diffusing the rising tension between the two groups. The Rohirrim were horse people, and for him to have tamed one of the legendary Shadowfax’s get proved his worthiness to them. Eomer stepped forward and clasped hands with the Ranger. It was a signal to the others to draw away their spears. “Sorry.” Spike nodded his acceptance of the man’s apology, his tense muscles settling now that a fight was no longer imminent. “Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe,” Eomer told them by way of explanation. “Not even his own kin. Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that we are banished. The white wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip past our nets.” “We are no spies,” Spike told him. “We track a pack of Uruk-Hai westward across the plain. They’ve taken three of our friends captive.” “The Uruk are destroyed,” Eomer told the Ranger abruptly. “We slaughtered them during the night.” “There were two hobbits…and a girl…dressed much like Legolas here. Did you see them?” Aragorn demanded. “I’m sorry. No. We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them.” “Dead…?” the elf whispered. Spike was struggling not to let the news devastate him, when he wanted nothing more than to curl in on himself and allow his grief to overtake him. Burying it under his rising anger. “Hasufel, Arod,” the Horseman called out. He snagged the reins of the two horses and held them out to Aragorn. “May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters. Farewell.” He remounted his own horse and circled away from the four. “Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope,” he called out. “It has forsaken these lands.” To his faithful he cried, “We ride north!” Aragorn walked over to his brother and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Do not give up hope just yet. The fates aren’t as cruel as to take your beloved so shortly after finding her.” “You forget who I am, Aragorn,” Spike told the human wearily. “I was forsaken long ago.” Aragorn gazed at his brother with solemn eyes before swinging up into the saddle; he reached down and offered his hand to the vampire. Once the four were mounted on the two steeds, they raced towards the smoke still billowing from the charred remains of the Uruk-Hai. Praying all the while that Buffy and the two hobbits weren’t among the dead.

Chapter #2 - Chapter 2: Heroes and Demons

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned. Edna St. Vincent Millay ******************** Spike was off the back of the horse and racing towards the pile of burning bodies before Aragorn had even drawn their mount to a halt. The scent of charred, burning flesh assaulted his nostrils, the stench so great it nearly overwhelmed his sensitive nose. He raced in a circle around the pile, desperately trying to distinguish the Slayer’s scent from that of the other demons. Praying that she wasn’t buried somewhere in the stack of bodies. Intent on the mass of demon remains, he neither saw nor cared what the others were doing. Hysteria was welling within him the longer his gaze remained locked on severed arms and legs piled haphazardly one atop the other. Inside his demon was howling in outrage, the petite blonde having been viewed as his mate. He wanted to search out the Rohirrim that had done this – taken his girl from him – cut out their hearts as surely as his own unbeating muscle had been torn from his chest. Even knowing, that logically, the soldiers had been fighting at night and had probably not seen either the Slayer or the hobbits scrambling about. Hell, even under ideal conditions, the heat of battle would make it difficult to stay their hand. Bloodlust was a terrible thing, consuming the mind to the exclusion of all else. That the small band of soldiers were doing it in retribution – nay, defiance – of their overlord, just compounded the problem. Falling to his knees, the vampire threw back his head and let loose with a mournful wail. The wind carried his grief, echoing the tortured sound over and over until it finally faded in strength. His shoulders shook quietly, his head now bowed, unable to look at the charred heap. The adrenaline and sheer determination he’d hoarded since the Slayer and the others had been taken left him in a rush, and he fell wearily back on his haunches. ‘’m so sorry, luv.’ He stayed like that for what seemed like hours, oblivious to the continued scouting conducted by both his brother and the elf – Gimli quiet at their heels, unwilling to remain with the distraught Ranger. “Kriger, come here,” Legolas called out. “Aragorn has found something.” It took awhile for the words to penetrate the fog, and when they finally did, he unashamedly lifted his tear-streaked face to take in the understanding gaze of the elf. “She’s not in there,” he told the vampire quietly. “There are tracks…three sets of them… fleeing into Fangorn Forest.” “She’s…?” “We must hurry, Kriger.” He didn’t mention the voices he could hear, blowing on the wind. Angry voices. Whispering their rage. With the hope of the blonde girl being alive now rekindled, the elf knew there wasn’t a place his friend would not go to look for her. ******************** The four had fanned out after venturing deeper into the forest, Spike taking the lead the moment the Slayer’s scent hit his nostrils. He would have run ahead, but the overgrowth made it all but impossible. Instead, he settled for a brisk walking, sometimes jogging when a path was visible. All around angry whispers set his fangs on edge; Spike knew something was out there, but could not distinguish the source of the enraged mutterings. A short distance away, Legolas and Aragorn stood motionless. The elf was looking to his left, eyeing the hidden shadows warily. “What is it? What do you see?” the Ranger whispered in elvish. “The White Wizard approaches…” Legolas responded in kind, his low voice barely distinguishable to the other. Aragorn let out a soft whistle, alerting his brother to the impending danger. His hand slowly drew his blade soundlessly from its sheath while the elf simultaneously nocked an arrow in his bow. The dwarf, seeing the others’ moves, tightened his grip upon his axe, ready to back them up if the need arose. “Do not let him speak,” Aragorn told the others quietly. “He will put a spell on us. We must be quick.” The Ranger suddenly rushed forward, his sword bent on cleaving the evil sorcerer in two. His brother had heard his warning call and launched himself at the white figure at the same time, only from a different angle, while Legolas let loose his arrow. The bright light was blinding in its intensity, and the four were unable to see anything but that as their attack was easily deflected by the wizard. In mid launch, Spike was flung against a tree, pinned there by an invisible force. The arrow easily deflected by the wave of the sorcerer’s staff. Aragorn’s sword grew to a flaming red, and he cried out at the pain from the heat, dropping it to the ground when it became too much. “You are tracking the footsteps of two hobbits and a girl,” a gravely voice intoned. “Where are they?” Spike growled from his braced position against the tree trunk. “They passed this way some time ago. They met someone they did not expect…” The white figure paused for a moment, his eyes scanning those of each remaining member of the Fellowship. “Does that comfort you?” “Who are you?” Aragorn demanded. “Show yourself!” Gandalf released the vampire from his hold and allowed him to fall to his feet as he stepped forward and out of the shadows. “It cannot be…” Aragorn whispered, sinking to his knees. “You fell.” The wizard spoke of his time in Moria. About his battle with the Balrog. How, upon finally defeating the fiery beast, he’d drifted for a time among the stars before being brought back to life. “I’ve been sent back, until my task is done,” he finally told them. “Gandalf?” Spike whispered, drawing alongside his brother. “Gandalf? Yes. That was what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey. That was my name.” “Er…” the vampire began, not understanding their wizard friend’s amnesia. “I am Gandalf the White. I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide. Come.” The four retrieved their weapons and belongings and followed Gandalf out of the forest. “One stage of your journey is over, another begins. War has come to Rohan. We must run to Edoras with all speed,” he told them. “But what about Buffy? And the wee lads?” Spike asked, not liking the idea of her being out there alone without protection. “Our friend, the Ent, will see to the three. Keep them safe—” “But…” Spike stopped at the edge of the forest, ready to leave them there and track his Slayer. “Kriger, your place is by Aragorn’s side. Your being here has a purpose that is only now being realized. Buffy knew the risks involved at joining the Fellowship and she has her own reason for being.” Gandalf stepped up to the vampire, laying a hand on his shoulder. Spike wanted to deny it. It had been hard enough to let Frodo break from the group with nothing more than another hobbit to guard his back. Now his friend wanted him to let go the girl. He didn’t think he could. His head even began to shake in the negative, eyes wide with panic as he fought against what had been foretold long before he was thrust upon Middle Earth. “Faith, my brother. Time will out…” Aragorn walked away to retrieve their two mounts. Gandalf looked at the lost Ranger, who stood there waging a silent battle with himself. He finally turned away, letting out a shrill whistle that echoed across the plains. “That is one of the Mearas, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell,” Legolas murmured in awe of the white stallion galloping towards them. “Shadowfax,” the wizard confirmed. “He is the lord of all horses…and has been my friend through many dangers.” The stallion drew to a ground-jarring halt, kicking up dirt on the feet of those who stood before him. He snorted, tossing his head about, then stood proudly before Gandalf. The wizard murmured appreciatively, running an affectionate hand along the horse’s nose. “Kriger,” Gandalf called out. “Come say hello to Shelerof’s sire.” ******************** “Edoras, and the Golden Hall of Meduseld,” Gandalf announcing, drawing his horse to a halt outside the fortress nestled upon the low-lying hills. Legolas and Aragorn did the same. In the distance lay the snow-capped White Mountains, the natural border between Rohan and Gondor. They sat there for a moment, staring up at the barren-looking stronghold the Theoden King was currently residing within. It was quiet; the sounds that normally marked the hustle and bustle of a thriving community, absent. Disgusted, the wizard kicked his mount, urging them forward. Inside the fortress, they slowly led their mounts up the hill towards the King’s hall. Men, women, and children stood around, garbed in black, their faces somber and showing a lack of good cheer upon the arrival of allies. “You’ll find more cheer in a graveyard,” Gimli commented. “Place reeks of death,” Spike replied. They relinquished their horses to the stable master and climbed the steps leading to Theoden’s hall. Spike bit back a smirk as the wizened old man gave Shadowfax a wide birth, allowing the stallion to seek his own stall. As the five went to open the doors and gain entry into the hall, they opened abruptly, and a man, the king’s first in command, halted their progress. “I cannot allow you before my Theoden king so armed, Gandalf Greyhame. By order of… Grima Wormtongue.” Hama just barely refrained from sneering the man’s name. Spike snorted and began removing his sword, bow, and dagger – all easily visible on his person – before he moved on to the next round. After another half dozen items were passed over, the vampire stopped. The remainder he’d keep hidden, knowing that the king’s man was probably unaware of their existence. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli followed in a like fashion, divesting themselves of their weaponry, until four men were burdened under the weight of steel and wood. Gandalf was set to walk in when he was stopped by the man. “Your staff…” Hama gestured to the tall wooden pole. “Hmm… Oh! You would not part an old man from his walking stick?” The guard nodded reluctantly and waved the group inside. “The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Theoden King.” The wizard’s voice boomed throughout the room causing conversations to cease and eyes to turn toward the newcomers warily. From his advisor’s seat next to the king, Grima leaned over and spoke quietly in the elderly king’s ear. “He is not welcome.” “Why should I welcome you, Gandalf the Grey.” The king’s voice was rough from disuse, and from the wizard’s possession of his mind. “A just question, my liege,” Grima confirmed, his voice low. With all eyes now on him and confident in the power he possessed, Grima stood and in a booming voice declared, “Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell I name you. Ill news is an ill guest.” “Be silent!” Gandalf’s voice was heavy with disgust as Saruman’s spy dared approach him. “Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm.” Grima backed away, frightened, only now seeing the staff held in the wizard’s hand. He looked around frantically at the guards, shouting, “His staff. I told you to take his staff.” A few of the soldiers that stood sentry about the room rushed forward; Spike, Aragorn, and Legolas easily disarmed them, allowing Gandalf to move closer to the Theoden King. Gimli stopped the evil sorcerer’s spy from leaving the hall. “Theoden! Son of Thengel! Too long have you sat in the shadows.” The wizard walked further into the room until he stood at the bottom step to the raised platform where the Theoden King sat. “Hearken to me. I release you…” Gandalf closed his eyes, raising his hand to draw out the poison that was Saruman. “…from this spell.” The possessed Theoden began to laugh, sinister-like, as the power of the evil wizard controlled him. “You have no power here… Gandalf the Grey,” the man intoned. Without speaking, Gandalf threw off his cloak, revealing his white garb. Power flooded through his body, the force of which drove the Theoden King against the back of his chair. “I will draw you, Saruman, like poison is drawn from a wound.” The wizard brought forth his staff, driving the man back into the chair again. Saruman hissed, trying not to succumb to the other’s magic. “If I go, Theoden dies.” Spike sensed the girl before she tried to cross his and Aragorn’s path, desperate to reach the Theoden King. He easily snagged the girl’s arm, giving her a quiet command to wait. Together, the two watched as the two white wizards did battle to free the man. “You did not kill me,” Gandalf yelled. “You will not kill him.” He slowly climbed the steps until he stood just before the King, lowering his staff close to the man’s head. “Rohan is mine!” Saruman hissed. “Be gone!” The King lunged for Gandalf, and the wizard struck him upon the head with his staff – driving out the evil sorcerer. *** Willow watched with some worry as her master went skidding across the black floor. She rushed to his side, kneeling down to help him to his feet. “Master, what is it?” she asked. “Gandalf…” he croaked, then lay silent. *** Gandalf stood heaving after the battle of wills with Saruman. Spike, seeing that the wizard had won, urged the girl forward to her King. Eowyn caught her uncle before he could fall from his perch, helping to resettle him back in his seat. She – like the others that stood gaping about the hall – watched as the cloudiness left the man’s eyes; the wrinkles disappeared, and his long, aged white hair returned to his former glory, a shorter, blonder hue. “I know your face,” the Theoden king whispered. “Eowyn…. Eowyn.” The girl smiled up at her King, pleased at his return, tears of gratitude flooding her eyes. Theoden looked up in confusion to see the wizard standing there. “Gandalf?” “Breathe the free air again, my friend.” “Dark have been my dreams of late.” He glanced around his hall, then down at his own hands. He clenched and unclenched his sword hand, seemingly refamiliarizing himself with his own body. “Your fingers would remember their own strength better if they grasped your sword,” the wizard told him. By some unspoken command, the King’s man, Hama, stepped forward, bearing his liege’s sword. Theoden looked at the steel being presented him; his hand reached out shakily, then firmly grasped its hilt. He drew it from its scabbard, holding it high for all to see. ******************** “Helm’s Deep!” Spike grumbled. “They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight. Who will defend them if not their king? Bah!” “He is only doing what he thinks is best for his people,” Aragorn murmured in elvish. “Helm’s Deep has saved them in the past.” “Kriger is right. There is no way out of that ravine. Theoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he is leading them to safety. What they will get is a massacre. Theoden has a strong will, but I fear for him. I fear for the survival of Rohan and its people. He will need you before the end, Aragorn. The defenses have to hold.” “The defenses will hold,” Spike vowed. Gandalf smiled at the Ranger, then gained Shadowfax’s back. “Three hundred lives of men I've walked this earth and now I have no time. With luck my search will not be in vain. Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east.” “Go!” Aragorn told him. The wizard kicked his mount and cantered out of the stables and away from Edoras. ******************** Willow curled her lip at Saruman’s spy. That her master even gave credence to what the man spoke grated her nerves. Why would the Theoden King allow the man to live upon discovering his treachery? No, she knew his being here was a trap, and would bide her time waiting to out the fool. “Theoden will not stay at Edoras,” Grima was saying. “It's vulnerable. He knows this. He will expect an attack on the city. They will flee to Helm's Deep. The great fortress of Rohan. It is a dangerous road to take through the mountains. They will be slow. They will have women and children with them.” Saruman smiled, pleased with the information. After his besting at the hands of Gandalf, he was eager to redeem himself. Fear of Sauron made him hasty in his judgment. He strode through the tower, his young protégé and the other in step behind him. Down in the caverns below Orthanc, he found Sharku – the commander of his troops. “Send out your Warg Riders. Have them meet Theoden’s followers before they reach Helm’s Deep.” “It will be as you say…” ******************** “She knew why you did it,” Spike told his brother as they walked along the path towards Helm Deep. Aragorn had that distant look in his eyes, indicative of thoughts of the elven girl. “Personally, I think you’re stupid.” “Elrond—” “Was speaking as a father, not as the Elven King. He worries for her. His experience with Isildur has colored his judgment. He feels he cannot afford to hope.” Aragorn sighed. “It matters naught. She flees with her people to the Undying Land.” “If you say so…” Spike rode off, leaving his brother to ponder his words. Legolas had taken point earlier, but he had not Spike’s senses, and right now, his demon was screaming a warning. Just then, the elf disappeared from his perch and out of sight, having grabbed his bow from its resting place upon his back. Spike kicked his horse into a gallop, wishing it was Sherelof he was riding, rather than the slower stock horse of the Theoden King. He crested the rise to see Legolas slit the demon’s throat. “A scout,” he growled and took off for higher ground. Spike whistled a warning to Aragorn then galloped ahead, drawing his mount to a halt next to the elf. From where both stood, it was easy to spot the Warg Riders as they crested a distant hill. Spike jumped from his horse; it was easier to shoot long range when standing on your own feet. “Aim for the beasts,” he told the elf. Beside him, Legolas nodded and let loose his arrow. The two managed to bring down about a half dozen of the Wargs before Theoden and the others came thundering over the rise. Legolas raced to Gimli and easily mounted the horse the dwarf struggled to ride as it galloped past. Spike didn’t bother looking for his own, knowing it had sped off upon seeing the beasts charging down upon them. Instead, he used his vampiric speed to keep pace with the men charging to meet the enemy. The two forces came together with a loud crash. War cries and snarls rent the air. Spears and arrows flew through the sky, taking down four-legged beasts at will. Spike kept his eye on the pack, making sure none got through and made after the women and children running hell-bent for Helm’s Deep. He felt a Warg bearing down on him and turned just in time to swing up behind the Orc before he could be run over. He easily dispatched the demon steering the beast, though on second thought figured it wasn’t such a bright idea. Without the guiding hand of the Orc, the Warg raced straight ahead and towards the cliff that loomed in the distance. He rolled his eyes at the thing’s stupidity and lack of self-preservation and made to jump from its back. Only he couldn’t. His arm was stuck in the leather strapped to the Warg’s back, and he ended up being dragged along the ground until the beast ran off the edge. Spike finally managed to free himself from the Warg as they dangled in the air from their forward momentum, before gravity took over and plummeted them to the watery depths below. He didn’t hear the keening wail of the beast in its headlong descent. No, his thoughts were consumed with Buffy. And another fall… The one he’d taken for her.

Chapter #3 - Chapter 3: Done to Death by Slanderous Tongue

Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain - and most fools do. Dale Carnegie ******************** As the currents of the raging river dragged him underwater for an indeterminable length of time, Spike could only think about the cold. And the dark. The dark didn’t bother him so much as the cold, though. No, it was the cold that made him remember. Remember what he was. Yes, he was a vampire and didn’t actually feel the temperature of what was probably frigid water propelling him further away from the others. It was more the lack of heat – and sunlight – he felt upon his face. Heat he’d long since gotten used to from the years spent on Middle Earth. Spike had tried to swim his way back to shore at first, but the weight of his weapons kept him firmly entrenched beneath the surface, making it nigh but impossible to see where he was going – even with his preternatural sight. He’d given up, deciding to ride out the tempest until it calmed into something more manageable for him to navigate, his arms and legs too sore from their futile struggle and the battle earlier. Leaving his body to dip and flip at will as the current smacked him about. At the mercy of the river, he allowed his mind to wander. And it was no small surprise that a vision of the Slayer popped into his head. ******************** Tara was sitting near the head of the table on Elrond’s left eating her noon meal when she suddenly swayed in her chair; she would have fallen to the floor in a heap, if not for the Elven King’s quick reflexes. Elrond gently lowered the unconscious girl onto his lap as he sunk to his knees, concern for the witch making his brows draw together. “Tara? Are you all right?” Giles asked taking her cool hand in his much larger, warmer one after having shoved back his chair to kneel quickly at her side. Dawn, Xander, and Anya clamored around him anxiously; though of the three, Dawn’s face showed the most worry. In the absence of her sister, Buffy, Tara had temporarily filled the familial role. The blonde witch moaned slightly, and Giles’ voice grew louder as he tried to pull her back to the here and now. “Tara?” he called, continually patting her hand in an attempt to pull the girl from her trance. “Tara?” The watcher looked up at Elrond. “I don’t understand…she appeared fine just a few moments ago.” “She has seen what I’ve seen,” Arwen announced from the doorway, her face unnaturally pale, her deep blue eyes haunted. Elrond lifted his head and gave his daughter a sharp look. At her pale expression, his own became earnest. Kriger. “He has fallen,” she confirmed. “Fallen? Who’s fallen?” Xander asked, perplexed. Elrond barely paid the boy a glance as he rose with the unconscious witch in his arms. After having spent time in the boy’s company, the Elven King had seen much of his character, or lack thereof, and understood Kriger’s dislike for all but a few of his love’s friends. Dawn flittered around Elrond while he strode swiftly down the hall, trying to get a peek at Tara. Her friend’s eyes were still closed, and the expression on the elf’s face bearing the witch to her bedroom filled the young girl with dread. Support came from an unlikely corner. Though they’d talked often over the past weeks, months – Dawn had lost track – she and Giles hadn’t really bonded quite like he and her sister had. But, Dawn had to admit it was nice to get the stodgy older man to see what she’d been able to with Spike. That there was no length the vampire wouldn’t go to in his love of her sister. When the dust had settled after Spike’s selfless act, she’d been able to see as much and understand his actions, and guilt for her behavior, for her jumping to conclusions, had been her penance in the months since that day on the tower. That and the effect the vampire’s sacrifice had on her sister. “It’ll be alright, Dawn,” Giles told her, placing an arm awkwardly around the girl’s shoulder as they trailed behind Elrond and Arwen. They were almost to the room when Tara’s eyes flew wide, staring unseeingly straight ahead, a shocked gasp torn from her throat. “Spike,” she moaned. Elrond walked into the room, unmindful of the girl’s outburst, and carefully laid the witch down on the bed, then stepped back to allow his daughter to sit down beside her. “She senses what I do,” Arwen told her father in Elvish. “I fear—” Elrond laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. Sounds from outside the doorway brought his head around, cutting off what he’d been about to say. “Whoa! Wait! All this concern is for Deadboy Jr.?” Xander asked. He ground to a halt, staring incredulously at the people in front of him. “Xander!” Giles hissed. He ushered Dawn into the room with the others, afterward swiveling around to pin the boy with a look. “No, Giles. I’m tired of people treating him like some sort of hero. He’s a demon. He’s evil.” “And yet he still managed to jump off that tower to spare Buffy’s life. Spare all our lives,” Giles ground out. “Since when are you on the ‘Spike is alright’ train, G-man? You’re the one that keeps telling us that demons can’t feel. That they don’t have souls.” Xander crossed his arms over his chest and glared up at the watcher. Giles took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing wearily in the face of the boy’s argument. When they opened, his stare bore the look of his alter ego, the unflinching, hard-as-nails sneer of Ripper. He crowded the boy, driving him back against the far hall wall; he completely ignored the shocked expression of the former vengeance demon. “Listen, Xander, because I’m only going to say this once. I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth about Spike, unless it’s to thank him for his sacrifice or to extol upon his unwavering dedication to Buffy…” Xander opened his mouth to object. Both to his words and the man’s highhandedness. “I’m talking now, and you’re going to listen, or so help me, you can find your own way home,” Giles went on. Though Xander closed his mouth, his expression was mutinous. Giles’ eyes narrowed, but when the boy remained quiet, he continued. “Buffy was right. Spike is not Darla. They may be of the same line, but they’re nothing alike. She’s the one that killed your friend, Jesse, not him. So if you want to be mad at someone, be mad at her. Since getting that chip in his head, Spike has been changing. Fighting against his natural tendencies. His grudging assistance to aid our cause has given way to a willingness to assist Buffy with her calling. And, had I not had my head buried in the sand, I would have seen it sooner. But, I’ve seen the error of my ways now, thanks in part to Dawn and also to our host.” Giles leaned in close to Xander. “If you listen to nothing else I say, remember this…Spike is well regarded here at Rivendell, and I think Elrond has been very tolerant of your dislike of the vampire. But, you’re a guest in his home, and I’ll not hear one more disparaging remark from you. Do you understand me?” Xander stared up at Giles, his jaw clenched tight. He wanted to open his mouth and blast the man for his assumptions, for his utter gall in telling him what to do, but there was just something about the watcher in that moment that gave him pause. His own eyes narrowed and he debated for a minute, and then another. Finally, he turned and walked off, uncaring whether or not Anya followed after him. Giles stared after the retreating figure until he was out of sight. He’d really hated to do that, but the boy had a chip on his shoulder a mile wide and it was only a matter of time before his snide remarks about Spike were going to cause a problem. Part of him felt bad for Xander because he knew that much of the boy’s mentality was due to his own biased influence. But, he’d learned to accept that the blond vampire was different; it was time for Xander to do the same. And, if he couldn’t, to at least keep his opinions to himself. Seeing Anya just standing there, unsure of what to do, he invited her inside Tara’s room. “He just needs to cool off. I’m sure he’ll be back soon, Anya.” Anya shrugged her shoulders. After dealing with Xander’s snide remarks and snippy comments over the last few months, she was glad to have him go off alone to pout – or whatever it was that he was going to do. Frankly, she was tired of listening to him go on and on about Spike and how evil he was, and how come nobody else could see it. It made her wonder where, exactly, she stood with him. Whether if, deep down, he felt the same way about her. She was once a demon after all, even though she’d been stripped of her powers and rendered human. Maybe the break would do them some good. Give her some time to decide if Xander was what she truly wanted. Or if it was time to give their relationship the death it possibly deserved. The matter definitely bore some thought. “Let’s go see how Tara’s doing,” she told Giles, ignoring completely the other’s comment. ******************** “Hello, luv,” Spike murmured. Though his eyes were still closed, it was easy to discern the slight form that settled on his lap. The soft brush of lips against his own. He smiled into the chaste kiss and would have opened his eyes to look upon his love but a gentle glide of fingertips trailed over his eyelids. He sighed and obeyed her unspoken command, allowing himself to enjoy the simple pleasure of her touch. Warm fingers worked nimbly at his tunic until the fastenings gave way, and Spike couldn’t prevent the appreciative growl when her nails scored his chest and stomach. His back arched off the grass, his arms banded instinctively around her middle. Spike gasped when they came into contact with bare flesh and he couldn’t help but open his eyes, deep blue staring fiercely at the vision before him. “I must be dreaming,” he whispered in awe. “Then it is a good dream.” Her lilting voice washed over his senses and the vampire couldn’t help but surrender to the magic of the moment. His eyes closed once more and he lay back against the grass. The sound of the waterfall somewhere in the distance lulled him into a sense of peace as he felt the Slayer’s lips nip at his neck before moving lower. Her tongue teased first one nipple and then the other, and Spike’s growl was back in full force. Her lips continued their tortuous trail downward and he felt her fumble with the fastenings at his waist. Then she was lowering herself onto his cock. A seamless glide of moist, hot flesh that gave way to his penetration, sheathing him in molten heat— Spike woke abruptly, the heat from the sun drying his wet face. He groaned, more from the fact of being pulled from his fantasies, than because of any undue pain he felt at his unwanted swim. Lying there on his back, his feet still submerged in the water, he assessed his injuries. A few cracked ribs, various cuts, a deep gouge in his leg, and the mother of all headaches – nothing he couldn’t handle. He forced himself to sit up and rethought the bit about the headache. Blinding pain ripped through his temples, pulling a reluctant moan from his lips. Spike ignored it, however, pushing his way to his feet, where he swayed momentarily. It took him a few steps to stabilize his equilibrium and get his bearings, then he set out for Helm’s Deep. Praying he’d get there before Saruman’s forces could. ******************** “Farmers, farriers, stable boys. These are no soldiers,” Aragorn grumbled. His recent altercation with the Theoden King had left a bitter taste to his mouth. So, too, had the disappearance of Kriger. He’d raced to the ledge, after finishing off the half-dead Orc, trying to find some sign of his brother. All that greeted him was the swift-moving current, headed away from them. “Most have seen too many winters,” Gimli commented, his tone subdued. “Or too few,” Legolas added. “Look at them,” he muttered in disgust, eyeing the bare-faced boys and wizened old men that would make up Théoden’s contingent. “They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes.” “And they should be... Three hundred against ten thousand,” Legolas told him in elvish. “They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras,” Aragorn argued, though his words held little conviction. “We are warriors. They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die!” the elf exclaimed. “Then I shall die as one of them!” Aragorn turned and stormed off. Legolas made to go after him, but a grip on his upper arm forestalled him. “Let him go, lad. Let him be. He is worried about his brother and it makes him speak in anger.” The remainder of the day was spent seeing to the defenses of the Theoden King’s fortress. Swords were distributed and sharpened, arrows were prepared, bows tightened. All around men, young and old, prepared for the arrival – of what had been determined by a scout – of more than ten thousand Orcs sent out from Isengard. As the sun began to dip low in the sky, Aragorn returned to his quarters to ready for battle. The chain mail came first, followed by his leather jerkin. He turned towards the bed to reach for his sword and found it held in the outstretched hand of Legolas. “Forgive me, Aragorn,” the elf apologized, holding out the weapon as a peace offering. “There is nothing to forgive. It is I who must apologize. I should not have spoken so harshly.” Legolas inclined his head at his friend. Sounds of the dwarf entering the room drew their attention away from each other. Both barely managed to suppress their smiles as Gimli dropped the chain mail and it crashed to the floor, nearly two extra yards pooling at his feet. “If there was time, I’d get this adjusted.” Aragorn and Legolas let out a bark of laughter. The sudden trumpet of a horn quieted their mirth. Legolas’ eyes widened as he recognized the sound. “That is no Orc horn!” Together, he and Aragorn raced for the gates. “Open the gate,” Aragorn yelled up to the soldiers standing guard at the postern. They hesitated until the Theoden King stepped up next to Aragorn and Legolas and nodded his head in assent. Outside, footsteps were growing louder as a contingent of soldiers drew closer. The gate finally was flung wide, and Aragorn could do nothing more than gape in astonishment as his brother marched in next to Haldir, the two leading the columns of elf warriors. Haldir and Kriger broke off from the main group, stopping before the Theoden King, Aragorn, and Legolas. If Aragorn wasn’t so relieved at seeing his brother, he would have cheerfully gutted him for his smug expression. “I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell,” Haldir told the King. “An alliance once existed between Elves and Men. Long ago we fought and died together. We come to honor that allegiance.” “Well met, Haldir,” Aragorn told the blond elf, embracing him warmly. “You are most welcome.” “Haldir,” Legolas greeted. “Legolas,” the elf replied, inclining his head, before returning his attention to the Theoden King. “We are proud to fight alongside Men once more.”

Chapter #4 - Chapter 4: Birth of Hope

Hope is a state of mind, not of the world. Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously heading for success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good. - Vaclav Havel ******************** “The Ents have not troubled with the wars of men and wizards for a very long time. But now, something is about to happen that has not happened for an age.” “What’s that?” Buffy asked, sure that since she was new to Middle Earth, she was the only one not in the know. “’Tis a gathering,” Treebeard continued in a gravely voice. “A gathering?” “Look, Buffy!” Merry pointed to a group of Ents. The Slayer stared at the motley group of tree people and wondered what in the world Gandalf had been thinking, believing that they’d be able to take on Isengard. Yeah, Saruman had dispatched nearly all of his home-grown forces, leaving the mammoth tower all but deserted. But still… “…Now we must decide if the Ents will go to war.” Decide? Surely they knew that war had already come to Fangorn Forrest. At least according to the wizard it had. Buffy felt herself being lowered to the ground, along with her two companions, Merry and Pippin. “You will wait here,” Treebeard told them. “Yeah, ok.” Buffy barely suppressed an eye roll. Not like she knew exactly where she was anyway. Being weaponless guaranteed her sticking close to her guide. That didn’t mean she couldn’t stretch her legs, especially since after having been tied to the back of some Orc for three days her limbs were still seemingly tied in knots. She walked around the outskirts of the clearing, her mind not on the conference between the Ents, but on Spike. It had taken a lot of convincing on Gandalf’s part not to wait for the vampire to catch up, but to forge ahead with the two hobbits and the Ent. Only his reminder of her commitment to the Fellowship had managed to win her capitulation. That her seeing to a weakened Isengard would help ensure Frodo’s completion of his task. Still didn’t mean she liked it. Or agreed with the wizard. What if something were to happen to him? Buffy shook the negative thoughts from her mind before they could grab hold and take root. She knew better than to even think something like that…that on the Hellmouth, nine times out of ten, ideas became reality. And the worse the idea, the more likely the reality. She just prayed it had gone unnoticed by those that watched over Middle Earth. ***** Buffy sat, leaning against a tree trunk when Treebeard separated himself from the others and walked over to them. “I have told your names to the Entmoot and… we’ve agreed…” The Slayer perked up a bit. “…you are not Orcs.” “Well, thank god for small favors,” Buffy grumbled under her breath. “We told you that already,” Merry added, equally frustrated that the last few hours conversation had revealed something so completely useless in nature. At this rate, Middle Earth would be decimated before the Ents decided to offer their support. “What about Saruman?” Buffy asked, rising to her feet. “Yes! Have you come to a decision about him?” Merry walked over to stand beside Buffy. “Now, don’t be hasty, Master Meriadoc.” “Hasty! Our friends are out there. They need our help! They cannot fight this war on their own.” His eyes were overly bright, frustration having reduced him to near tears. “War… yes… it affects us all... But you must understand, young hobbit... it takes a long time… to say anything in old Entish. And we never say anything unless it is worth... taking a long time to say.” His voice lent credence to that statement, drawing out the words as if speaking in Man’s tongue was foreign to him. He walked away, leaving both Slayer and hobbit gaping after the tree man in astonishment. Buffy flopped back into her spot, leaning her head back against the tree’s trunk, frustration with the entire situation nearly radiating from her body. Several hours later, Treebeard returned and his news left the Slayer dumbfounded. They weren’t going to do anything? “Weather things?!” she demanded. “Don’t you understand?” “This is not our war.” “Yeah, well… tell that to Sauron. He doesn’t seem to care who he tramples on in his bid to take over Middle Earth. And I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t just a war!” “You are brave, Little One. But, your part in this tale is over. Go back to your home.” Buffy stared up at the Ent and gaped. “Home? I have no home here. And, even if I did, it’s only a matter of time before it, too, is destroyed. Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said?” “Maybe Treebeard is right,” Pippin cut in. He turned to look at his friend. “We don't belong here, Merry. It's too big for us. What can we do in the end? We've got the Shire. Maybe we should go home.” “The fires of Isengard will spread, Pippin,” Merry told him wearily. “And the woods of Tuckborough and Buckland will burn. All that was once green and good in this world will be gone. There won't be a Shire...” Buffy shared a look with the blond hobbit. At least someone else besides her understood. ******************** “I thought you dead, Kriger,” Aragorn told him, clasping him about the shoulder, secretly taking the majority of the other’s weight onto himself as he led his brother away from the small gathering near the main gate of Helm’s Deep. Though the vampire would never show it to anyone save his brother, Aragorn could see for himself that Kriger was weak. He needed blood. Quickly. Aragorn was nearly to his chamber when he sensed the presence of another. “He is stubborn, is he not,” Haldir commented in elvish. He slid in on the opposite side of the Ranger and wrapped Kriger’s arm about his shoulder so that the vampire barely had to support his own weight. The hall was deserted as Aragorn guided them towards his temporary quarters; every man, young and old, seeing to the defense of the Theoden King’s keep. “Thought he was going to fall off the bridge once or twice. Either that, or die right where he stood.” Aragorn smirked at Kriger’s disgruntled expression, but when his brother offered no retaliatory remark, the smile left his face. “Let’s get him on the bed,” the Ranger told the elf. Haldir nodded, and together they got Kriger settled on his back upon the mattress and quickly divested of weapons and armor. Aragorn peeled his tunic away and gasped at the cuts and bruises marring his flesh. It still didn’t explain his weakness, however. Nimble fingers flew over his lower extremities assessing for further damage. When he got to his left leg, his lips turned downward in a frown. The material was slit from damn near his waist…all the way to his knee. Aragorn peeled the material back and almost lost his lunch, what little he’d eaten. The vampire’s leg was slashed nearly to the bone. The dark, wet cloth had clung to his leg and masked the blood that was leaking heavily from the wound – which was no doubt compounded by the vampire’s stroll about Rohan. “Get me needle and thread…and blood…lots of it…hurry…” he whispered to the elf. His hand retrieved the dagger belted about his waist, and when Aragorn would have cut his wrist and offer it Kriger, the Ranger found it grasped in an unyielding grip. “No…” The voice was weak, but no less commanding. “You need blood,” he told the vampire matter-of-factly. “Haldir is getting it. Can’t…can’t afford for you to be off your game. Too… many are coming.” Aragorn nodded at his brother’s logic, though he didn’t like it. “Go… stick that in the fire and lay it against the wound. Don’t have time for you to play nursemaid. Saruman’s army will be here soon.” Even as he said it, Spike could hear the faint battle horns sounding in the distance. ***** Spike couldn’t control his demon features from appearing, or the inhuman roar of pain, when Aragorn laid the fire red blade against his thigh. The smell of charred flesh seemed to overwhelm the room, but Aragorn forced himself to draw his dagger down the length of his brother’s leg, cauterizing the wound, sealing it quicker than thread and needle would have done. He was amazed at the vampire’s tolerance for pain, how Kriger laid there, leg unmoving beneath his brutal treatment. “’Tis done,” he announced, lifting the blade away from Kriger’s flesh and sticking it into a jug of water to cool. Haldir returned then with two mugs filled with blood. “Here, drink this.” Spike sat up and took one mug gratefully, downing its contents in a few long swallows, his other hand already outstretched for the second. That, too, when it was handed to him, was drunk quickly. A pile of clothes was dumped in his lap, and Spike stood and peeled off his torn pants and quickly donned the spare set. Three sets of hands worked quickly to garb him in mail and weaponry. “Come,” Spike told the others. “They draw near and your men will need guidance.” He limped towards the door, ignoring the stabbing pain in his leg, both Haldir and Aragorn falling into step behind him. By the time the vampire had reached the end of the hall and stepped out into the night sky, neither man could see a trace of his limp. ******************** Spike paced back and forth along the battlements while Aragorn stood quietly beside Legolas and Gimli. It was eerily quiet, only the sound of the approaching army could be heard, drums beating out the cadence to their steady march on Helm’s Deep. He finally paused beside Haldir, who stood some distance from his brother and the others. The elf at his side shifted slightly to allow him to stand beside their leader. “Thank you.” “You would have done the same for me, Kriger.” “Not just for that, but for coming.” Haldir looked over at the vampire, the only person, outside Aragorn, that had earned the elves’ trust. “Couldn’t let you seek all the glory. I’d never hear the end of it.” Though Spike smiled at the other’s joke, his eyes were serious, silently conveying his gratitude that the elvish people had sought fit to honor the alliance with Men. “You just guard your back so that I can brag when all is said and done.” Spike laid a hand on the elf’s shoulder; he moved off after a moment, continuing his journey toward the end of the battlements. He turned around and started back, eyes constantly scanning the men, and the army growing steadily closer and closer. Lightning danced across the sky, the sound of thunder following closely in its wake. The clouds seemed to open up of a sudden and drop buckets of rain on the waiting soldiers and the advancing Orcs. Spike watched the torches flicker under the deluge, some extinguished entirely. Didn’t matter really, he could still see them, hear them. Their pounding march reduced to squishes on the sodden ground. Not that it slowed their pace one whit. No, they kept coming, until the first line stood less than a hundred yards from the outer walls of Helm’s Deep. An inhuman roar was a signal for them to stop, and they did, coming to a clumsy halt. The two groups stared each other down, humans and elves from high above, a seemingly superior position to the Orcs’ own. But, the sheer number of their enemy was daunting. Spike knew they were in for a rough night. The Orcs began growling, pounding their spears upon the ground. He could sense the restlessness among many of the humans; the elves were far more disciplined. His head snapped to the left at the sound of an arrow being let loose. His eyes closed momentarily as the tip slammed into one of the front line, killing the Orc instantly, knowing that there’d be no turning back. Sure enough, their leader let loose with a battle cry and they advanced, their formation broken as the demons raced towards the wall. Their goal: the annihilation of all that lay within the protective borders of Helm’s Deep. ******************** Aragorn gave the command to let loose their arrows, and Spike zeroed in on his first victim and fired. His hand moved in a blur, similar to the elves around him, firing fast and furious on the advancing Orcs. Trying to take out as many as he could before they began raising their ladders to breach the outer walls of the Theoden King’s stronghold. After a time, he was caught up in the battle, barely managing to keep one eye on Aragorn and the other two – Legolas and Gimli. He could only trust in their skill, their will to outdo their enemy, as he continued to battle against the sheer overwhelming numbers of the Orc army. Bow and arrow were eventually given up as the enemy surged over the top of the wall, making the weapon useless at close range. Elf and man alike armed themselves with sword, doing their best to keep the Orcs at bay. Suddenly, a section of the outer wall exploded not far from where Spike was standing. The blast threw him several feet away, dazed for a minute. He shook it off and clamored to his feet – he couldn’t stop now. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a group of Orcs charging the main gate, and managed to call out a warning. A group of elves fired on the heavily armored demons, trying to stop their forward progress. The sound of retreat to the inner bailey was given and Spike turned to command the elves standing guard to return to the keep. He glanced over the wall and saw Aragorn and the others making their way safely back to the keep. “Haldir… come on!” Spike shouted in elvish. His eyes widened in shock when the elf was struck from behind, and he battled his way through Orc and elf alike to reach his side. Holding the mortally wounded Haldir tight against his chest, for one second Spike debated turning him… before he shoved the thought firmly from his mind. “You fought well, my brother… go now… rest with your brothers and sisters. Be at peace…” When the elf’s life force slipped away, Spike reluctantly tore himself away to follow the other elves back to the keep. He glanced over the side of the battlements and saw his fool brother and the dwarf taking on the contingent of Orcs that had been beating steadily on the main gate into Helm’s Deep. Then, further up the line, Legolas called out to Aragorn, throwing him a rope. Spike rushed to the elf’s side and helped raise the two to safety. “Remind me to kick your ass for that fool stunt once we’re finished here,” Spike told his brother, half hugging Aragorn as he urged him and the others back towards the safety of the main keep. ******************** “Stop!” Pippin yelled suddenly. Buffy looked askance at the hobbit; Merry did the same. “We’re going the wrong way. We need to go south.” “South?” Treebeard questioned. “But that will take you past Isengard…” The Ent stopped, frozen in shock at the hobbit’s suggestion. “Yes! Exactly! If we go south we can slip past Saruman unnoticed. The closer we are to danger, the further we are from harm. It's the last thing he'll expect.” Pippin nodded convincingly, looking pointedly at Buffy and Merry. “He’s right,” Buffy added, suddenly catching on to the hobbit’s plan. If they could get the Ent to see the destruction being done to his forest, it might anger him enough to get involved. “I use that strategy all the time. Saruman probably thinks he’s too powerful, and that we wouldn’t dare try going near his stronghold.” “Well, that doesn't make sense to me, but then, you are very small. Perhaps you are right. South it is then,” he told them in that slow voice of his. “I’ve always liked going south. Reminds me of going downhill…” “Are you mad?” Merry hissed. “No… for once, I think Pippin’s got the right of it. Good thinking,” she told the dark-haired hobbit. “Thanks. I just pray this works.” “So do I.” ******************** “A little family of field mice that climb up sometimes and they tickle me awfully. Always trying to get somewhere where they—” Treebeard drew to a halt, staring at the destruction wrought by Saruman. “Many of these trees were my friends... Creatures I had known from nut and acorn.” “I’m sorry, Treebeard.” “They had voices of their own…Saruman! A wizard should know better!” He let out a bellow of rage. “There is no curse in Elvish, Entish or the tongues of Men for this treachery. My business is with Isengard tonight. With rock and stone.” “Well, alright!” Buffy cheered, glad to be putting her skills to good use…finally. The sound of thundering footsteps could soon be heard, and the Slayer scanned the edge of the forest and smiled as various types of Ents stepped into the clearing. “Come, my friends. The Ents are going to war. It is likely that we go to our doom… Last march of the Ents.” ******************** “We’re royally buggered if he’s not there, you realize that,” Spike told Aragorn. Both were mounted, like the other Rohirrim, waiting for the doors to give under the Orcs assault. “Yeah… but, at least we’ll give the women a chance to get away.” The Horn of Helm Hammerhand rang throughout the keep, signaling their battle charge. The men rode out, just as the doors gave way, killing any and all Orcs that happened across their path. Down across the bridge they rode, and as they cleared the outer perimeter of Helm’s Deep, Aragorn looked to the east… And saw Gandalf, mounted on the back of Shadowfax. Aragorn’s smile seemed brilliant in the dark of war; he was never so pleased to see someone as the Rohirrim charging down the hillside. ***** Mounted on the back of Shadowfax, Gandalf stood at the head of the small group of riders staring out over the countryside. “Sauron’s wrath will be terrible, his retribution swift. The battle for Helm’s Deep is over. The battle for Middle-earth is about to begin. All our hopes now lie with two little hobbits, somewhere in the wilderness.” ******************** Buffy stared around at the watery ruin of Isengard with something akin to satisfaction. Saruman had been defeated; his army-making disciples dead, his means for creating them destroyed. Now all that needed to be done was to rescue the friend that had been left behind and free her from the evil wizard’s clutches. But, they had time yet. Saruman had nowhere to run, and Buffy was beyond tired. She’d just rest for a bit, allowing the Ents to see to their safety while they regained their strength. ‘Yes, just rest for a minute…’ she silently told herself, making a pallet near the edge of the forest beneath one of the unharmed trees. ‘…and maybe when I wake, Spike will be here.’ End of Book Two