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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elrond said nothing to the wizard’s pronouncement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

“Strider! Help him,” Sam cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sam, do you know the Athelas plant?”

“Athelas?”

“Kingsfoil…”

“Kingsfoil. Aye. That’s a weed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The road is dangerous…”

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

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

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

“Strider. Take Sherelof. Guard her back.”

“But…”

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

“Ride hard. Don’t look back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It had been almost a week.

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

His shadow. His confidant.

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

…and the fact that his Buffy was here.

At Rivendell.

With a small group of her friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dejectedly, she turned from the scene and walked away.

Spike had clearly moved on.

And, it surprised the slayer how much it hurt.