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When Worlds Collide: The Return by enigma_k
 
Chapter 2: Valley of Unrest
 
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“The path to success is to take massive, determined action.” – Anthony Robbins

“Nothing noble is done without risk.” – Andre Gide

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” – Marcel Proust


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

Spike’s eyes shot open, and he lay in bed unmoving, trying to figure out what it was that had woken him. The deep, even breathing and slow, steady heart rate of the slayer washed over him, and he expelled a breath that nothing with her seemed amiss.

He stretched his senses. Something, or someone, was out there.

Watching them.

He could feel it.

Placing a kiss on the slayer’s bare shoulder, Spike climbed out of bed. He grabbed his discarded pants and slipped them on, then stoked the embers in the dying fire before adding another log. The chill that seemed to race along the stone floor didn’t bother him much, but he was sure that Buffy would appreciate the gesture.

A faint cry sounded from another room and Spike cocked his head, listening. He heard someone shout one of the Halflings’ names and was out of the room in a shot, his bare feet racing along the hallway.

Bursting into the bedroom Gandalf shared with the two hobbits, Spike took in the scene at a glance. Pippin was writhing on the ground, the black orb flaming in his hands, and unable to break its hold. He made to cross the room and disrupt the thing; he could feel the evil permeating the place, knowing in an instant that it was Sauron, and that the warlord was trying to gain information.

On the other side of the room another door flew open reveling Aragorn and Legolas – just about the time the wizard roused himself from his pallet.

Spike didn’t have time to shout out a warning to his brother, to tell him not to touch the orb. It sapped him of his strength right before his eyes, the glass-like ball slipping free from his grasp to roll across the floor towards him as Aragorn collapsed into Legolas’ arms.

“Quickly!” Gandalf shouted. “Cover it! Don’t let it see!”

Spike grabbed the nearest blanket and threw it over the black globe, heaving a sigh as the evil enveloping the room dissipated almost immediately. Then he was beside his brother in an instant, checking on his injuries, pleased to see that while Aragorn was in considerable pain, he bore no lasting trauma from his brush with Sauron’s evil aura, and was already struggling to rise to his feet with the help of Legolas.

Gandalf brushed by the vampire, cursing the stupidity of the hobbit who’d yet to move from where he lay. Seeing the dazed expression on Pippin’s face took away some of the rage the wizard felt; he knelt down, chanting softly under his breath until the Halfling’s eyes began to lose their far away expression.

“Look at me,” the wizard commanded of the hobbit.

It took a minute, but finally Pippin glanced up, though he was unable to meet the wizard’s condemning stare.

“Gandalf? Forgive me,” he whispered, his eyes filling with tears.

“Look at me,” Gandalf commanded again, his voice slightly harsher. “What did you see?”

“Uh… a… tree.” Pippin shook his head as if to clear it. “There was a white tree…in a courtyard of stone. It was dead. The city…was… burning.”

“Minas Tiras. Is that what you saw?”

“I… I saw… him. I could hear him in my head.”

“What did you tell him?” Gandalf barked. “Speak!”

“He… he asked me my name. I didn’t answer. He… he hurt me.”

“What did you tell him about Frodo… and the ring?”

“I…” Pippin focused on the wizard, his eyes revealing his confusion.

“Come,” Gandalf told him, offering his hand to the hobbit. “We must speak with the Theoden King at once.”

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

The small group left the bedchamber, their faces grim as they headed towards the great hall. Spike passed his temporary quarters and he stopped when the door opened and Buffy stood there, clad in only a thin bedsheet, her body bathed in the soft glow coming from the fireplace.

“Spike? What is it?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

“One of the Halflings messed with the eye of Sauron,” he told her quietly, drawing her back inside the room and closing the door. “We go to speak with the Theoden King now.”

“Should I get dressed?”

“No, luv. Get some rest. I’m sure we’ll be leaving soon enough.” Spike drew her close and pressed a kiss to her hair. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Ok…”

Spike trailed his fingers down the slayer’s face and then left, his pace hurried as he tried to catch up with the others.

“…He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring,” Gandalf was saying as Spike stepped inside the king’s hall. He walked forward and stood next to Aragorn.

“We’ve been strangely fortunate,” the wizard continued. “Pippin saw in the palantir a glimpse of the enemy’s plan. Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith. His defeat at Helm’s Deep showed our enemy one thing. He knows the heir of Elendil has come forth. Men are not as weak as he supposed. There is courage still…strength enough, perhaps to challenge him. Sauron fears this. He will not risk the peoples of Middle Earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a king return to the throne of Men.” He pierced the Theoden King with a look. “If the beacons of Rohan are lit, Rohan must be ready for war.”

Theoden was not pleased to hear this. His tone was mocking as he asked the wizard, “Tell me, why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours? What do we owe Gondor?”

Aragorn frowned.

“I will go,” he announced.

“As will I,” Spike added.

“No!” Gandalf told the two.

“They must be warned,” Aragorn argued.

“They will be,” the wizard told him. He walked over and stood next to the two Rangers, speaking softly, for their ears alone. “You must come to Minas Tirith by another road. Follow the river. Look to the black ships.” Then he turned back to the group at large, his voice resuming its normal inflection. “Understand this… Things are now in motion that cannot be undone. I ride for Minas Tirith. And I won’t be going alone.”

Gandalf left at first light with Pippin in tow, riding Shadowfax as if the hounds of Hell were nipping at his feet.

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

Buffy made to get out of bed, but Spike’s grip tightened about her waist. She rolled over and brushed her lips across his.

“Go back to sleep,” she whispered. “I’m just going to go check on Willow.”

His eyes opened, and Buffy smiled at his disgruntled expression.

“Hurry back, luv,” he finally told her, giving her nose a quick peck.

She mumbled her agreement, noting how he was already drifting back to sleep. The meeting with the Theoden King had lasted late into the night, and Buffy had ended up falling asleep waiting for Spike to return. He was clearly exhausted, but she suspected he would have roused himself enough to come with her if she’d but asked.

Her gown was where she’d left it last night, and Buffy hurriedly slipped it on, pausing in front of the mirror to see that her hair wasn’t a complete mess before leaving the room. The bedroom Willow had been given wasn’t far from Spike’s and she was there in a matter of moments. When she arrived, the door was open and her friend was sitting up in bed, eating a bowl of stew.

“Buffy!” Willow cried upon spying her friend in the doorway, nearly upsetting the bowl on her lap in the process.

“Hey, Willow,” the slayer greeted as she walked into the room, a delighted smile on her face. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. And hungry.” She held up her near-empty bowl for Buffy’s inspection. “I’m on seconds.”

“Well, eat up. The food here’s pretty good. And from what I understand, we may not be here long.”

“Oh…?”

Buffy sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I guess you’ve missed out on a lot of things while you were all ‘grrr’ with the evil witchiness.”

The slayer told her everything that had happened since they’d arrived in Middle Earth. How they’d left Isengard – and Tara – behind and traveled with Boromir to Rivendell, where they’d eventually met up with Spike. She explained about the Fellowship that had been formed to destroy the ring and prevent Sauron’s return, and that she’d had to leave the others under the protection of the Elven King. Finally, Buffy told Willow of their latest battle; how Men had managed to defend Helm’s Deep, and how she and two hobbits, along with a small army of Ents managed to defeat Saruman and break his evil hold over her.

“Tara and the others… they’re ok?” Willow asked anxiously, concern for her girlfriend and the others evident in her tone. “And Spike? He’s here? Are you… uh…”

“I assume so,” Buffy replied, cutting her friend off. “Rivendell is far removed from where the battles are being waged, so I’m pretty sure they’re safe. I wouldn’t have left Dawnie there if I was going to be worried about her safety. But if we don’t stop them soon, Sauron’s armies will push north and eventually reach Elrond’s stronghold.”

She ignored out of hand Willow’s tentative broach of the subject of Spike. Though Willow had been instrumental in reuniting her with the vampire – spells gone wrong and all – she’d done so begrudgingly and only with a lot of arm-twisting by her. Instead, she kept the topic on the current situation, and how she hoped that the two hobbits the Fellowship had left behind were doing alright on their own.

It was only the ring’s destruction that would ensure success in their fight to free Middle Earth from Sauron’s evil.

“What are we still here for?” Willow asked when Buffy grew quiet. “Shouldn’t we… you know… go?”

“Gandalf has gone ahead to see to another kingdom a few day’s ride from here. Minas Tirith, I think it’s called. He’s gonna try and rally the troops there and force the Theoden King to act. But whatever the outcome…” Buffy trailed off, unsure how to proceed. Finally deciding to be honest. “I think that’s going to be our last stand.”

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

Tara was troubled. Even though they’d received word from Lothlorien that the Theoden King had been successful in routing Saruman’s army from Helm’s Deep, thanks in part to the alliance that Elrond had upheld, the battle was far from finished. The Elven people were on edge, especially their king, and the entire city’s nervous energy was playing havoc with her state of mind. Since she’d spent time with Gandalf, she’d become much more susceptible to the emotions of others.

The latest row between Arwen and Elrond weighed heavy on her heart. The Elven King was adamant that his daughter leave while she could and escape what would most likely be the destruction of their home. Arwen was equally adamant that they keep the faith, that hope was not lost.

Tara wondered if it was her place to kindle that hope within her Elven friend. For she had seen what her father saw, the closely guarded secret he held tight to his breast.

When she came across Elrond deep in thought at one of the tables, she could not keep quiet. She laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke quietly, “You should tell her what you know.”

There was no heat to her words, which was why Elrond did not take offense. He sighed instead, replying, “That path is but a speck of dust upon the mountainside.”

“But a speck of dust it remains. A drop of water does not extinguish it, for it will bind to the earth whence it lays, becoming a part of something, something indestructible. That is Arwen. Her spirit can ignite us all and give us the hope we need to see this finished. Give her that hope, Elrond. Please.”

“Tell me what?” Arwen’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two, finally settling on her father. “Ada?”

Elrond remained quiet, so Tara spoke.

“There is a child, Arwen. Your son.”

Arwen gasped and stared at Tara, seeing the truth in her eyes.

“Ada?” Arwen’s eyes beseeched her father. “Is this true? You have the gift of foresight, tell me what you saw.”

“I looked into your future and I saw death.”

“But there is life also,” she reasoned. “You saw that there was a child. You saw my son.”

“That future is almost gone.” His tone was heavy with regret.

“But it is not lost,” Arwen remained adamant, clinging to the truth of her friend’s words in the face of her father’s skepticism.

“Nothing is certain.”

“Some things are certain,” she told her father. “If I leave him how, I will regret it forever. It is time. Reforge the sword, Ada.”

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

Elrond stared down at the broken pieces of Narsil, the sword of Elendil, the first king of Gondor and Arnor. His mind deep in the memory of Isildur’s betrayal, he did not hear Xander’s approach. It wasn’t until the boy spoke that he turned around.

“You preach of how your people are a tolerant sort, that you view Spike as one of your own. You tell me story after story of all the good he’s done here to get me to change my mind about him. Yet, you’re just like me.”

Xander stared at the painting, understanding the significance of it. Then his gaze shifted to the broken sword set up like a shrine as the betrayal Middle Earth had suffered.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit hypocritical?” he asked, finally looking at the Elrond.
 
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