“Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven.” – Tryon Edwards

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spike looked at the elf inquiringly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gandalf had hoped…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The three men nodded. They could do no more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Outside, in the hall, her shoulders slumped.

He hadn’t shown.

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

‘My vampire,’ Buffy thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did not know?” Strider whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ohhh…uhhh…thanks…”

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