Four figures raced through the dark night, stumbling over
rocks as they fought their way through the forest. The treetops
partially blocked the moonlight and cast patches of light and looming
shadows across the forest floor. There was no sound other than the
sounds of their laboured breathing as they desperately sought shelter.
The sound of thunder shattered the relative silence of the
night, stopping the four creatures right in their tracks. A fearful
whimper came from the youngest of the group as a large swirling hole
opened up right before them. A large wind blew twigs and leaves off
the ground and into their faces. The thunder continued to rage on
though there was no sign of lightning in the sky. Faintly, they
heard screaming and the four creatures were startled to see flashes
of green light coming from the black vortex.
Suddenly, the hole spat out a large figure. The group
skittered away from the stranger, watching in shock as the vortex
sealed itself and disappeared from sight. There was a deafening
silence in its wake as the four creatures turned their eyes onto the
unconscious person before them. The curiosity on their faces turned
to fear as the creature began to stir.
*****
Willow was aware of falling. Black and green swirled all
around her, blinding her eyes and forcing her to squeeze them shut
against its brilliance. Her mouth was open, still caught in that
horrified scream that seemed to last forever. But in reality, it had
only lasted a few moments.
She was wrenched from her friends in one instant, and then
chucked out into the night air soon after. Her body made impact with
the ground and Willow felt the air being driven out of her lungs.
She went as still as she could, her mind racing to comprehend what
had just happened.
Ground, she was on ground. She brushed dirt away from her
face and came to the conclusion it was an outdoorsy kind of ground.
It was damned cold, and the bits of leaves and grass catching in her
fingers were slightly damp, but all in all, it wasn't that bad.
Leaves meant trees and trees meant good old Mother Nature, which also
was a good indication that she wasn't in a hell dimension. There
weren't trees in those dimensions, at least not trees that weren't
dead and creepy-looking, which meant she most likely wasn't in one of
those. But then again, there were worse places to be than a hell
dimension. She just hoped she wasn't in one of them.
Willow gingerly moved her arms and legs, face still in the
dirt because she found that she couldn't really lift her head. Her
head ached, throbbed, pulsed, and all those other words that
described shooting pains in one's cranium. Unfortunately for Willow,
it seemed to be doing all those actions at once. She groaned in
discomfort, sluggishly trying to force herself up into a sitting
position.
"Where'd she come from?"
The voice came out of nowhere. Willow jumped and pushed
herself a bit away from the direction of the sound. More shocked
whispers accompanied her movements, and Willow felt her heart wrench
with fear. Trying to force her eyes open, Willow desperately tried
to understand what she was hearing. What kind of accent was that?
Scottish? Irish? Both? Something European, at least.
"What do we do?" asked another whispering voice.
"Look at her! She's huge, like Gandalf."
"Not like Gandalf completely," one protested. "This here is
a woman."
"What's she doing here? Where did she come from?"
"Mister Frodo, don't you think we should be moving along?
Black riders on our trail, strange humans falling out of the sky.
It's just not safe to linger."
"Should we just leave her, then? What if the black riders
find her?"
"How do we know she isn't one of them?"
Willow bit her lip and finally forced her eyes to open. She
looked up and set eyes on the most astonishing thing she had ever
seen. And since she'd lived on the Hellmouth her entire life, that
was saying a lot.
They were small, no more than three feet and a half tall at
most. All of them had a mop of curly hair on their heads, three of
them fair-haired and one with striking black curls. Their faces were
cute and pudgy, and they had wide eyes that shone with fear and open
distrust. Their feet were the most shocking thing of all: all four
of these creatures had long, unshod hairy feet with dirt caked all
over them.
They weren't human. They weren't even close. Willow gave a
tiny shriek and began to push herself even further away from the
strange creatures. "Whoa! Whoa!" she cried, crab-walking backwards
until her back hit a tree and she was able to push herself upright.
Her words seemed to startle the tiny beings, as they also began to
back away slowly.
"Little midgets with big feet who speak with European
accents," Willow said hysterically, a strained laugh escaping
her. "I must be dreaming again."
The midgets in question looked at her fearfully, the fatter
of the four trying to usher all of them a good distance away. That
was all right with Willow. She liked the idea of having distance
between herself and . . . whatever these guys were, even if it was a
dream. But somehow she just knew that it wasn't.
"Yup, must be dreaming," she repeated, trying harder to
convince herself than the others. "Dreams are full of unexplainable
things, non-rational things. The subconscious is a tricky thing,
pulling images out of left field. Of course, if you listen to Freud,
the so-called expert on subconscious, he'd say that this is
significant. So you gotta wonder what my subconscious is telling me
with four munchkins with big hairy feet. And I can assure you it is
not my biological clock, because I just turned 21.
"Of course, who's to say Freud had all the answers? It's
just like Spike always says: 'It's not an internal urge so much as
being fucked up in the head'. And Spike's lived longer than Freud,
so he has the advantage of experience. Of course there is always
Angel who is a good 125 years older than Spike. He'd probably say
it's just because of the stress from withdrawal. Yeah, that's it!
I'm stressed from the tensions of withdrawal. It's making me dream
the wacky," Willow rambled, running out of breath. She looked around
suspiciously before viciously pinching her own arm and then wincing
at the pain. Guess that meant she wasn't dreaming, after all.
"Aw crap," she muttered as fear crept back into her
belly. "This is not good."
The four midgets were very disturbed at this point. One of
them actually gave a tiny yelp before taking off in the opposite
direction. The remaining three paused for a second and decided to
follow their friend, leaving Willow standing there. She watched them
run off when it suddenly hit her.
She didn't know where she was.
"Hey! Wait!" she shouted, skittering after them. Her words
only seemed to make them run faster, and Willow gave a silent curse
before full-out running after them.
"Please wait!" she pleaded with them. "I just, I don't know
what happened. What is this place? Please just-"
Whatever she had to say was cut off when a black horse
suddenly burst through the tree line and cornered off the midgets.
Willow squealed in shock and fell backwards to the forest floor,
rolling away in order to avoid the horse's stamping feet. Atop the
steed was a rider dressed all in black, a sword sheathed at his
side. Willow froze when the rider turned to her, cringing when a
shrill scream filled her ears.
The little ones panicked and fled. Willow watched them run
off into the night, blinking a few times before she realized that one
of them was missing. She turned back to the rider and saw that it
had isolated one of the little ones, trying to corner him. The
midget shouted in alarm and turned this way and that but found
himself unable to shake the black rider. The fear on his face pulled
at her heart and she knew she couldn't leave him there.
Willow swallowed deeply, looking around her desperately for
something that could help her. Her wandering hands found a rock and
she gripped it tightly in her hand. She looked back at the black
rider as fear clouded her mind. If she had to choose between this
guy and the midgets, it was definitely going to be the midgets.
She scrambled to her feet and let loose the rock, moving
before it even hit its target. It hit the rider in the back and the
horse turned in response to the tug on its reins. Willow raced
around the steed, coming around to see the midget and pulling him to
his feet.
"Run!" she shouted. She tightened her grip on his hand as
she took off in the direction the other midgets had gone. The black
rider recovered and took pursuit. The midget gave a surprised grunt
before scrambling to keep up with her.
"Mister Frodo, come on!" the others cried. Willow squinted
in the dark, trying to determine where the voices were coming from.
The tree line receded, and soon she could see a fence in the
distance. The midgets scaled the fence and ran down what looked like
a dock. There was a tiny raft at the end and all three creatures
scrambled upon it before looking back.
"Hurry! Hurry!" they shouted.
She ran as fast as her legs would take her, nearing the fence
and helping the midget over. The fence wasn't that big, so she was
able to scramble over it quickly before pushing the midget ahead of
her and down the dock. Willow could hear the rider getting closer,
the horse had cleared the fence mere seconds after she did. She ran
harder, the hand of the tiny one grasped in hers as she propelled
both of them onto the little raft as it moved very slowly away from
the dock.
The raft swayed under the new weight, but the other midgets
were able to still it. Willow managed to get herself into a sitting
position, looking back at the dock with fear. The black rider
watched them from the edge of the dock before turning around and
heading back to the fence. It took off in another direction and two
other black riders appeared out of nowhere and followed it. Willow
gave a shaky sigh, trying to sit upright and think about what was
happening.
"Who are you?" the dark-haired midget demanded, suspicion
heavy in his tone.
"Who are you?" she asked in reply. "And what were those
things? And where am I? And where are you taking me? And what
happened to my friends and my living room?"
"You talk too much," one of the sandy-haired Hobbits observed
and made a distasteful face. Willow scowled at him, looking around
the dark area for some sign of . . . anything. The midgets kept
silent, watching her and carefully keeping their distance. Willow
watched them with the same amount of distrust in her eyes. Finally,
one of them spoke, though he kept his eyes trained on her.
"How long to the nearest crossing?" he asked the rower.
"Brandywine Bridge," the rower replied, his words short as he
guided them further and further away from the shoreline. "Twenty
miles."
"Twenty miles should be long enough for you to explain
yourself," the chubby one stated, his voice hard as he tried to mould
his face into a menacing look. Willow glared at him, tucking her
legs underneath her and casting a look down at the water. She
absently flicked at the water and debated what to say to these
creatures. A look to the shoreline reminded her of the black rider
and her decision from before. Better the midgets than that guy.
Heaving a sigh, she turned back to the four creatures who
anxiously watched her every move. "I'm Willow. And I think I'm very
lost."
*****
The five odd companions huddled in the dark of the trees.
Frodo, the hobbit with dark hair, stared across the street. There, a
looming wooden gate separated them from the town of Bree.
"Come on," he whispered urgently. The group trotted across
the road. Willow wrapped the loaned cloak tightly around herself.
It only came down to mid-thigh, but it was better than nothing. She
and the Hobbits agreed that having her roam around in her jeans and
red tank top would have brought about some unwanted attention. Well,
more unwanted attention, considering they would be getting some,
anyway. Four Hobbits and one human girl together as a group was more
than likely to turn a few heads.
Frodo knocked on the wooden door. There was some shuffling,
and then two peepholes opened in succession.
"What do you want?" demanded a gruff voice.
"We've come to stay at the Prancing Pony Inn," Frodo replied.
The door swung open and an old man with stringy gray hair
stood before them. Willow blanched when he glared at her
suspiciously, turning her eyes down to her feet. She was wet, cold,
uncomfortable, and Goddess knew how far from home; she just wanted to
sit somewhere warm and try to think of a way out of this mess.
"Four Hobbits and a girl!" the gatekeeper exclaimed and made
no move to open the door. "What business have you in the town of
Bree?"
"We're making for the inn," Frodo replied evenly. "Our
business is our own."
The guard moved aside and ushered them in with a grudging
apology. "I meant no offence, lad, it's me job to ask questions.
There's talk of strange folk running around these parts."
Willow trod past him without stopping, her head down and eyes
on her feet. She shivered involuntarily, wiping some rain drops off
her nose while she followed the Hobbits to this Inn place. And the
Inn was definitely where she wanted to be. The Hobbits had assured
her that the friend they were going to meet would be able to help
her: some guy named Gandalf, a wizard. Willow wasn't so sure that
he would be able to help, but she was willing to give it a shot.
Besides, she didn't really have too many options at this
point. It was either go with the Hobbits, or wander around this
strange place on her own. Willow scrambled around various people and
animals in order to follow behind Pippin closely, ducking her head
whenever someone gave her a second look. She ignored more than one
leer from some drunkards just outside the inn, and pushed her way
through the door to stand patiently between Merry and Pippin as Frodo
went about questioning the innkeeper.
"Gandalf, yes, I remember him," the man said. "Gray beard,
pointy hat. Haven't seen him in six months."
Frodo turned back to look at his friends and Willow couldn't
ignore the look of real fear in his eyes. No magical wizard. This
was not good.
Disappointed, they shuffled off to a table, their rooms yet
to be prepared. Willow watched numbly as the Hobbits set about
eating an enormous quantity of food. She couldn't understand how
they could eat so much and not get sick; after all, it wasn't like
there was anywhere for all that food to go into. Unless Hobbits had
more than one stomach . . . and that really wasn't important right
now.
Merry came back to the table with a huge jug of ale in his
hands. Pippin looked over at him in shock. "What's that?" he
demanded.
"This, my friend, is a pint," Merry explained with great
relish.
Pippin gazed at it earnestly. "They come in pints?" he
squeaked disbelievingly. His face took on a determined look. "I'm
getting one too." He hastened away from the table.
The other two, however, did not concern themselves with the
ale. "Mr. Frodo," Sam whispered to his companion. "That man there,
the one in the corner. He's been watching us for a good thirty
minutes."
Willow turned along with Frodo, looking over at the man in
question. He sat amongst the shadows of the Inn, the hood of his
cloak effectively hiding his face from view. He smoked a pipe and
appeared to be preoccupied with his meal, but definitely cast his
eyes their way more than once.
"Excuse me," Frodo called for the barkeep, pointing to the
man in the corner before pitching his voice lower. "Who is that?"
The barkeep looked over and turned back to them with a grave
face. "He's one of those Rangers. Don't know his real name, but in
these parts they call him Strider." With that, the barkeep moved
away, as if he was trying to visibly distance himself from Strider
and his quarry.
Willow turned back to her plate, noticing that she hadn't
really eaten anything. She pushed some food around with her fork,
finally putting some of it in her mouth and chewing. Her stomach
seemed to be protesting the idea and Willow was struck by how ill she
began to feel. Swallowing with great effort, she sipped lightly at
the brew Frodo had ordered for her, in an attempt to cure her dry
throat. The room began to feel a bit warm and Willow shook her head
to clear away the feeling.
But still it persisted. Willow pressed her lips together,
shut her eyes, and tried to will the unease from her body. She tuned
out the noises of her companions and the inn, trying desperately to
squash the fever overriding her. It took her a few minutes before
she realized what was happening. Nothing ever got her this worked
up, this sick, but one thing in particular. There was black magic
around here somewhere. Willow forced her eyes open to find Merry
shooting her a few worried looks. She was sweating by this point,
and mentally searched the inn for the source of the magic she felt.
She was more than a little surprised to find that the source
came from right across the table where Frodo sat with his eyes
closed, much like hers had been seconds ago. To her dismay, he
looked like he was listening to some far-off voice, a few beads of
sweat dotting his face. The evil was small and localized, and it
seemed to emanate from underneath Frodo's shirt. Willow couldn't
believe she hadn't sensed it before, but then again with being thrown
into another world and chased through a forest by psychotic
horsemen, she had had other things on her mind.
As swiftly and gently as she could, Willow gave the hobbit a
little kick under the table. Frodo started, eyes opening to regard
her with an incredulous look. Sam nearly leapt to his feet, giving
Willow such an evil eye that she almost apologized and backed down.
Almost.
"Whatever it is, you need to ignore it," she said softly,
looking directly at Frodo. "I know it's enticing, but you have to
fight against it. Nothing good can come out of losing yourself to
that kind of power, Frodo."
Frodo looked shocked and slightly ashamed at her words. Sam
glared at her even more fiercely than before, the suspicious
expression back in his eyes. Merry looked between Frodo and Willow,
annoyance clear on his face. He opened his mouth to speak but fell
silent when Pippin's voice wafted over to them.
"Baggins? Of course I know a Baggins. Frodo Baggins, he's
right over there. He's me cousin twice removed on his mother's
side . . ." Frodo rushed over to Pippin, pulling his arm and stopping
Pippin's free-flowing words.
In an instant, everything went wrong. Like frames in a
movie, Willow saw Frodo slip, saw his hand go up, saw the twinkling
of gold, saw a ring land right on Frodo's finger, and then saw Frodo
vanish. The minute the ring landed on Frodo's finger, Willow felt
woozy. It was like being hit with a ton of bricks.
"Where's Mr. Frodo?" Sam demanded, on his feet in a
heartbeat. He rushed over to where Frodo had last been seen. Merry
grabbed Pippin by the arm and dragged him away from the shouting
humans at the bar. A fight broke out somewhere in the back of the
tavern and soon glasses, plates, and even a few chairs were thrown
around as people rushed to either avoid the fight or join it. Willow
trembled at the table, hands fidgeting as she was unsure about to
what to do. Her eyes searched the inn frantically, unable to detect
any sign of Frodo.
"Oy! There he is!"
Willow snapped her head in the direction of Sam's shout and
followed his gaze to see the mysterious Strider drag Frodo up the
stairs. She jumped to her feet, picking her way through the crowd to
meet up with the Hobbits. She was surprised to find them arming
themselves with broken broom handles, broken bits of wood, and
anything else they could get their hands on. Willow cast her gaze
about her and grabbed a broken chair leg lying not too far away.
Sam let out something that sounded like a growl before he
charged. Willow yelped and followed behind all three Hobbits. Merry
stopped at the foot of the stairs, listening for the sound of Frodo's
voice before he raced up toward the room at the end of the hall.
"We have to save Mr. Frodo," Sam prompted his companions.
Willow nodded her agreement but felt her stomach start to twist up in
to knots. She was no good at this fighting thing. Where was a
Slayer when you needed one?
Sam didn't seem to notice her hesitation and just kicked in
the door, jumping in. Willow shook her head and charged after him.
"Let him go or I'll have you, long shanks!" Sam bellowed.
The other two Hobbits added their own threats and charged, easily
knocked down by the tall man. Willow launched herself at Strider
once she saw the Hobbits down, hoping at the very least to knock the
man to the floor so they would have an easier time hitting him with
their sticks. Strider effortlessly caught her by the arm and twisted
her around. Willow cried out in pain and tried to break free but
succeeded only in stomping on the man's foot. She heard a small
curse before she threw her to the floor, landing beside her hobbit
companions.
"Stop!" Frodo shouted suddenly and jumped between his friends
and Strider. "That's enough! Everyone just stop."
Willow nodded, panting heavily due to exertion and fear.
Strider had a sword, a very large one at that, barely hidden under
his cloak. This could turn very ugly, very fast.
"Who is this?" Strider demanded of Frodo as he pointed his
finger at Willow. She frowned at his tone of voice, clearly curious
and more than a bit suspicious.
"She's a friend," Frodo replied quickly.
Strider merely arched an eyebrow. "She wears a strange
manner of clothes."
"She's also right here while you talk about her," Willow
grumbled unhappily. She scrambled to her feet and pulled Pippin up
alongside with her. Strider merely glared at her, sending an
unimpressed look to Frodo.
"Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked breathlessly.
Frodo nodded, his face pale and uncertain. He cleared his
throat and gestured towards Strider. "It's okay," he told
them. "He's here to help."
Willow looked warily between hobbit and man, wondering
briefly whether to ask what it is that Strider was supposed to help
them with. The man himself made no explanations, motioning only to
the bed in the corner.
"Sit down," he instructed them. "We have much to discuss."
Willow frowned and followed the Hobbits to the bed. She
seated herself gingerly on the corner and found herself not liking
this Strider man too much. He was way too bossy.
"Those things that were chasing us," Frodo began. "What are
they?"
"They are the Nine," he started slowly. "The old kings of
men were given the nine rings of power by Sauron, the Deceiver.
Their greed consumed them, and he made them slaves to his will. They
are Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead, and always drawn towards
the ring."
"What ring?" Willow asked before she could help herself. She
looked to Frodo and saw him clutching his jacket pocket. She
remembered the evil she sensed before and the ring she had seen fall
onto Frodo's finger downstairs. She made the connection, but still
felt a little confused.
"The One Ring," Strider answered her, his voice grave. "The
Master Ring forged by the Dark Lord, Sauron. It's been missing for
centuries."
"And recently found," Frodo added, his voice numb.
Willow was beyond confused. She looked between the fearful
faces of the Hobbits and the grave expression of Strider. "What do
we do now?" she asked hesitantly.
Strider simply arched an eyebrow at her before turning to
address Frodo. "We will leave at dawn," he stated firmly. "You are
to remain here in Bree-"
"Whoa, no way!" Willow objected fiercely. "You're not
leaving me here. I won't stay."
"She needs to see Gandalf," Frodo interjected before Strider
could comment. "She needs his help."
"Why?" Strider demanded.
"I'm lost," Willow answered shortly. "Gandalf should be able
to help me get home."
"Please, Strider," Frodo pleaded, eyes flickering between the
two humans nervously. "I promised that we would help her. She
helped me, I owe her that much."
Strider scowled, looking at Willow before turning his eyes
back to the window. "It is a hard road," he warned her. "If you
fall behind, you will be left behind. We have no time to waste with
the Nine on our trail."
"I won't fall behind," Willow returned stubbornly.
Strider spared her another look, doubt and suspicion on his
face. "We'll see."
*****