The sun was slowly setting in the west. Colors in palettes of pink, orange and violet lingered in an ethereal mosaic over the horizon.
Sam and Pippin hunched over the small pile of kindling, trying to get a spark. Merry and Frodo were getting a few small pans out of a packsack and having a friendly argument about how to prepare the food. Dawn stood a short distance away, watching, her head cocked slightly, a faint smile on her face.
Buffy came up beside Dawn quietly. She spoke with a soft voice so that only her sister could hear, “They’re not pets or toys, Dawn. Stop staring.”
“I know, but they’re just so cute!”
Walking away with a faint smile, Buffy sighed and shook her head.
A little while later Spike came back into camp, holding up a pair of dead rabbits by the hind legs. Merry and Frodo walked up and took the creatures away from him. Walking away from they started up their argument again as if they had never stopped.
Spike smiled at Dawn as he walked by and tossed her one of her tomahawks, “Thanks, Bit.”
Dawn caught it easily and frowned when she saw the blood and bits of fur all over the blade. “Eww. You could have at least cleaned it off, you know.”
Spike threw gave her an irritating smirk, and a careless shrug.
As he turned away he heard the girl mutter something under her breath about annoying, sarcastic vampires and sharp pointy things. He couldn’t help a slight smile.
Pippin frowned at the pile of kindling on the ground in front of him. “We’re never going to be able to get this fire started.”
Sam gave the other hobbit withering glare, “Well you’re the fool of a Took that knocked Frodo off the ferry when we got near shore this morning and got the matchsticks wet.”
Pippin’s face nearly turned into a pout, “I already said that I was sorry.”
Spike stepped up, dug in the pocket of his jeans, kneeled down beside the fire and lit the kindling with his lighter. Both Pippen and Sam looked at the vampire wide-eyed for a moment before remembering to thank him.
Dawn bit into the last piece meat from her dinner. Daintily sucked the juices from the tips of each of her fingers. The four hobbits sat around the campfire looking contented with the memory of the meal.
The sound of a loud burp broke the momentary stillness. Buffy turned and saw Pippin holding his hand over his mouth. Pippin smiled sheepishly, “Sorry.”
Spike finally exhaled a breath and threw a hard look at Frodo across the fire. “It’s been nearly a day. I think it’s time enough that you laid your cards on the table.”
“Yeah,” Buffy agreed. “Why the hell are those things that are after you?”
They both watched as Frodo and Sam exchanged a meaningful look.
“They saved our lives, Mr. Frodo” said Sam reasonably after moment or two. “We wouldn’t have made it without them. I think we can trust them well enough.”
Merry looked at Sam and Frodo and narrowed his eyes. The question was on his face. Merry and Pippin turned their eyes on Sam and Frodo expectantly.
Frodo gave it a serious thought and gave Sam a faint nod. He looked back at Spike and Buffy across the campfire.
Frodo took an expectant breath. Raised his small hands and released the first few buttons of his shirt and reached around to the back of his head to remove the chain around his neck
“I think they were looking for this,” Frodo said. At the end of his extended arm, dangling from a necklace from his fist hung a shiny gold ring. It glinted in the flickering glow of the firelight.
Buffy’s dark eyes widened slightly at the sight of the ring. She felt an energy in the air, smothering, as if she suddenly couldn’t breathe. Emotions inside her so confused and directionless she couldn’t find it in herself to move, intermingled. Strength. Meekness. Possessiveness. Fear. Greed. Elation. Jealousy. Purpose. Adrift. Powerful.
The image of the flat palm of a hand, fingers closing over a shiny gold ring.
Spike looked away and closed his eyes. Away from the ring. Away from Buffy. An invisible shiver worked through him. Down beside him in the dark where the firelight didn’t quite reach, the vampire’s fingers tightened slightly.
Buffy felt a keen sense of loss when Frodo slipped the chain back over his head and began to button back up his shirt. As if joy had been taken from her life. She let out a breath.
“It began with the forging of the great rings,” Frodo told them. He spoke in the pattern of an accomplished storyteller, using much the same words with which the story had been first told to him. “Three were given to the elves, immortal, wisest, and fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf Lords, great miners and craftsmen of the Mountain Halls. And nine . . . nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else, desired power. Within these rings was bound the strength and will to govern each race.
“But they were, all of them, deceived . . . because another ring was made.
“In the land or Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged, in secret, a Master ring. And into this ring he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life. One ring to rule them all . . .”
“. . . but the spirit of Sauron endured,” Frodo continued with a quietly important voice.
Buffy, Spike and Dawn were all leaning forward from where they sat, engrossed in the history Frodo was spinning around the waning campfire.
Sam, Merry and Pippen were quiet, lumpy shapes off to one side, where they slept at the furthest fringe of the dimming firelight.
“Gandalf says that Sauron’s life is bound to the ring. That Sauron has somehow returned. His orcs are multiplied. His fortress of Barad-dur is rebuilt in the land of Mordor. I’m told that Sauron needs only this ring to cover all the lands in a second darkness. He is seeking it. All his thought is bent on it. The ring . . . yearns to return to the hand of its master. They are one . . . the ring and the Dark Lord. He must never find it. But Gandalf says he learned that Sauron’s servants have captured Gollum, from whom Bilbo took the ring. They know that Uncle Bilbo had the ring. They know that I have it.”
“And you say you’re going to meet this wizard?!” Buffy asked. “This, Gandalf?!”
Dawn tossed a naively hopeful look in her sister’s direction, “Do you think he’d be able to help us figure out how to get home?”
Buffy took that other girl’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. With a slightly pessimistic look, “I don’t know, Dawnie.”
“Yes,” Frodo said in answer to Buffy’s question. “We plan to meet up with Gandalf at the Inn of the Prancing Pony in Bree.”
Buffy gifted the hobbit with a faint smile before she finally stood up. Her legs nearly betrayed her she had been sitting for so long.
The wee hours of the night.
The campfire was a collection of faint glowing orange cinders.
Spike stared thoughtlessly out into the darkness. The bright starlight overhead. Listened to the monotone noises of the insects and the sounds of the wildlife in the distance of the forest. Listening for something . . . off.
Spike finally stood up. He paced the camp. Saw the details shaped in the deep colors of the shadow.
He stopped beside Dawn’s lanky form, her dark hair faintly shiny in the starlight. Buffy was curled up beside her sister in a similar fashion. The positions of their bodies accommodating each-other as if they wished to share warmth. Spooning.
Spike shed himself of his leather duster and carefully laid it over the two girls. His hand, his slightly spread fingers, reached out slowly as if to brush softly through Buffy’s silky blond hair before he finally pulled it back.
Spike found a place a short distance from Buffy and Dawn and laid down to rest. He shifted around a bit, struggling to be comfortable. A little while later he was asleep.
Spike awoke just before dawn was about to creep its way across the horizon.
Buffy was asleep next to him, nearly entangled with him. Spike absently reached his arm around her and gathered her closer. Buried his face slightly in her bright blond hair, inhaling the smell of her. The girl sighed softly in her sleep.
The vampire closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.
So many men they littered the horizon.
An army of demons falling beneath a rain of arrows flying out in a cloud from those that face them. The dead demons fell. The faceless horde of demons rolled over their dead like a tide.
A battle joined. Swords raised and slicing across flesh. Shields. Chaos across the open plain of a barren landscape.
Men swung their heavy swords. They eventually grew weary, their motions slower, but they fought on regardless. Bodies broke. Blood poured onto the ground. Demons growled, their faces drawn up with fury. They killed with swords and spears. And sometimes they fell onto the fallen men and tried to eat them. The men fought on bravely.
Others who fought the demons seemed to carry an ethereal glow within themselves somehow, just at the edge of view. Perfect flawless skin beneath the grit. Slightly pointed ears were barely visible around their helmets. They fought with uncommon skill.
The army slaughtered the demons.
Standing in the center of the successful slaughter, the king held his sword high up in the air and let out a battle cry.
Victory seemed near.
A dark knight appeared, towering over the men at nearly twice their height. The knight was covered from head to toe in armor the color of soot. Sharp points went up from the top of his helmet. A massive war hammer was slung over his shoulder. A large golden ring shined on his finger where it gripped the handle.
Men stared up at the dark knight with fear in their eyes, none seeming to have the courage to approach. The club came around at the end of the knight’s powerful arm. Dozens of men went flying back through the air as if they were nothing more than toys. Again the knight swung, swinging the heavy club as if it were nothing more than a hollow reed. Where the war club hit bones crunched, lives were shattered, and bodies went tumbling backwards over the remains of the army.
The King’s body slammed down into the earth. The King’s sword fell on the ground a few feet away. A man fell to his knees alongside and clung to the King’s body, tears just beginning to appear on his face.
“Isildur,” the King whispered, his hand softly reaching out to touch the man’s face lovingly in the final moment before life left him. The King’s body went limp in Isildur’s hands.
The sound of the dark knight’s feet falling heavy on the earth.
Isildur turned. Looked up. The huge form of the dark knight stood over him, like a cloud blotting out the sun.
Quickly, Isildur rolled over to one side and reached for the King’s sword. The dark knight’s heavy armored foot stepped down on the blade, splintering it into many smaller sharp pieces.
Isildur grabbed the hilt of the shattered sword. Only about six inches of broken blade, a length shorter than the handle, was all that remained.
He swung.
The dark knight flinched back from the blow. A few of the dark knight’s thick fingers fell to the dead earth, including the golden ring.
The dark knight’s armor cracked. There were glints of light beneath.
Some kind of energy exploded outwards across the barren earth from the slain dark knight in an expanding ripple. As the ripple hit, loose dirt was thrown into the air as it was caught by the wind of it passing. The entire army of demons suddenly fell to the earth in a cloud of dust, weapons and armor falling to the dirt.
The dark knight’s massive helmet hit the ground, and lay there, slightly crooked. The sharp points pointed up. The eyes, empty and staring, like the hollowed out remnants of a skull.
Buffy gasped as she awoke. The morning light was bright and she could hear the cheerful sound of birds in the distance. She closed her eyes and tried to relax against the feeling of Spike’s arms around her.
“You okay, luv,” Spike asked softly.
Buffy swallowed. “Just a dream,” she told him. She repeated, “Just a dream.”
The seven companions hiked through the forest.
Buffy walked alongside Spike.
Buffy spoke, “Do you get the feeling there’s something more to this?”
Spike glanced at her briefly, “Whatta ya mean, luv?”
Buffy was quiet for a few moments. She walked quietly and watched Dawn, a distance ahead of them, joking around with Pippin. There was a carefree smile on Dawn’s face. Pippin seemed to be laughing.
Buffy was thoughtful. “What would have happened if we weren’t there to save Frodo? If we hadn’t happened along at that particular moment. Sauron would have the ring right now, and everything that is good and clean in this world would be gone. I just . . . This can’t all be just an accident. Dawn falling into the light. You suddenly being able to walk around in the sun. Us . . . appearing where we did when we did. Shouldn’t it mean something?”
“Does it have to mean something? Do you think it’s fate? We were bloody fated to be here.”
“I don’t know,” Buffy responded slowly. “I do know that we should be panicked. Thrown somewhere so far from home, with no clue how to get back. Part of me feels . . . comfortable . . . here. Like I belong. Like for whatever reason this is the place I’m supposed to be.”
High up, small birds flew between the branches and the trees, chirping sweetly, oblivious to the people walking through the forest below. Sunlight filtered through the canopy lit the forest with a beauteous splendor.
Spike glanced down at the beautiful blond walking beside him, “Yeah. Maybe this is exactly where we should be.”
Spike playfully leaned into her and bumped her shoulder with his.
Buffy looked up at him and a slowly a smile dawned across her face. She leaned into him and bumped him right back.
The sun was low, leaving everything the forest in a quiet dimness.
Frodo and Sam, their packs off to one side, were unrolling their bedrolls beneath a tree. Buffy and Dawn collapsed tiredly at the base of the tree beside them.
“I can’t lift my legs,” Dawn groused.
Pippin and Merry both walked past Spike each carrying a small armload of wood.
Spike shook his head at them. “No bloody fire tonight. It isn’t safe.”
The afternoon sky had grown dim.
Dark storm clouds drifted across the sun.
Buffy turned her face up to the sky. She reached up and brushed away a drop of water that had landed on her face.
The hobbits raised the hoods of their cloaks.
It began to rain.
Spike unslung his sword and took off his duster. He came up behind Dawn and laid the heavy black leather coat over her shoulders. Dawn looked up and met his eyes with silent gratitude. Spike laid a soft kiss on her forehead.
A minute later, as it began to rain harder, Dawn saw her sister Buffy pouting at her.
The two girls huddled close together beneath the leather coat as they walked.
Rain poured down from the sky onto the travelers in an absolute downpour. The hobbits huddled beneath the raised hoods of their cloaks against the rain. Dawn, soaked to the bone, hugged Spike’s duster to herself in a hope to keep warm.
Spike’s closed fist pounded on the thick gate.
A small window in the gate opened and an old man peered out through it.
“What do you want?” the old man asked rudely.
“We’re headed to the Prancing Pony,” said Spike tersely, with a brittleness nearly matching the old man’s tone.
The peephole window closed. Spike and Buffy stepped back slightly when they heard the sound of heavy latches being released. The old man pulled open the gate and stepped out. He was wearing a gray cloak up over his head to keep off the rain. He held his hand high, shining a lantern out into the dark on the seven cold, wet travelers.
“Hobbits,” the surprised man’s eyes widened slightly beneath the hood of his cloak. “Four hobbits. And out of the Shire by your talk. Traveling together with a man and two young women. Peculiar. Very peculiar. What business brings you to Bree?”
Spike’s expression thinned and he clenched his teeth. Buffy’s fingers tightened on his arm, a silent plea for him for once to be agreeable and not snap back. The rain clumped Buffy’s hair and water poured down her face in rivulets.
“We wish to stay at the inn,” responded Frodo. “Our business is our own.”
“Alright, alright, young sir,” beckoning all of them inside the village gates. “I meant no offense. It’s my job to ask questions after nightfall. There’s talk of strange folk abroad. Can’t be too careful.”
The seven mismatched travelers entered the village of Bree.
Spike and Buffy looked back as the man closed the village gates behind them.
Author's note: Alot of exposition in this chapter. I hope I handled it well. I tried. Some really short scenes too. I hope that works as well.
I'm mostly playing off the LotR movies here, though I've read the books a bunch of times too and may choose to borrow anything from there as well if it suits.
For Sparrow Luver who asked me not to pair Dawn up with either Aragorn because of Arwen or Legolas because he's "too fine to be with someone". I've been debating whether to pair her up with Gandalf actually. It could be cool. What do you think?
For anyone who wonders why I chose tomahawks as the weapon for Dawn it's because I've been in love with the image of a girl fighting with a small ax in each hand ever since I saw Dina Meyer in "Dragonheart" I'm weird. It also gives a nice variety between Buffy, Spike and Dawn.
Thanks to everyone who pointed out "Full of Grace" as name of the song I warped the lyrics of for my title.
By the way, I was kidding about the whole Dawn/Gandalf thing. Don't flame me. I'm still thinking about the possibility of any Dawn relationship. I'd almost consider her with Pippin if it wasn't for the whole weird size issue. Still thinking . . .
I did a few tiny tweaks to the previous chapter if anyone noticed.
Oh, Aragorn is showing up next chapter . . .