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

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

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

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

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

Buffy...

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kriger.”

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

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

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

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

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

‘Someone’s smitten.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You knew?”

“Yes, Aragorn.”

“But why?”

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

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

“’F you say so, mate.”

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

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

Elrond nodded as if expecting no less.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only…

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

‘Ahhh… Buffy…God, how I miss you.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She rolled her eyes.

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

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

Willow glanced around the room at the assembled cast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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