Author: eena_angel2001
Rating: R
Category: LOTR/BTVS
Pairing: Willow/Legolas
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns LOTR, Whedon owns BTVS.
Spoilers: S7 for BTVS. ROTK for LOTR.
Summary: I will follow you to death and beyond. . .
Notes: Just got the Twin Towers on DVD and feel a sudden LOTR kick settling in . . .
For BTVS: Instead of escaping Sunnydale before it collapses, our heroes get sucked into the crater.
Translations:
Uuma ma' ten' rashwe, ta tuluva a' lle-Don’t look for trouble, it will come to you.
Mani naa tanya?-What is it?
Ed' i'ear ar' elenea!-By the sea and stars!
Mani naa tanya nat'?-What is that thing?
Edan-Human
En-Look
Re naa neva gurtha!-She is near death!
Ron ilya naa-They all are
Sut nir’ naa ba?-How many are dead?
Ratse-Twelve
Kuila-Alive
Nerte-Nine
Manke-Where?
A’ Gondor- To Gondor
Lle lakwenien?-Are you joking?
N’uma! Ma’ ie’ he loske-No! Look at her hair.
Tanya naa il-faarea ten’ amin-That is not enough for me
Magh-lle dol! He loske naa vee’ nim vee’ Gandalf-Use your head! Her hair is as white as Gandalf's.
Ta naa il’faarea!-It is not enough!
Nim ve’ tanya naa poika val!-White like that is pure power!
Ar’ tanya naa mankoi amin dele!-And that is why I’m worried!
I’nim Seldarine cuiva!-The white Goddess awakes!
Uuma yela he tanya!-Don’t call her that!
Re quena I’numenenya lambe-She speaks the Western Tongue.
Legolas, amin uuma merna-Legolas, I don’t want
Aragorn, uuma dela sen ikotane-Aragorn, don't worry them so.
Lle cael beika-dur e' sen-You have excessive faith in them.
A/N: All these translations came from this site: http://www.greycompany.org/Circle/language/phrase.htm
Prologue:
She felt a tickling sensation first, just underneath her chin. It was the barest touch, cold and smooth, leaving a water drop on her skin. She moved her jaw slightly, trying to push the offending object away. She didn’t have the energy to wake up and move away, she didn’t have the energy to do much. Her body ached, her joints felt stiff, and she could feel her own blood drying on her hands. It would hurt too much to wake up; it would hurt too much to move.
She was closer to death than she had ever been before. But she knew, even now, that she would not have the luxury of death. The solace of that kind of oblivion was being denied to her, she knew it in her heart. It simply was not time for her to die.
Though right now she wished it was.
She couldn’t be sure where she was, or how long she had been there. She fell in and out of consciousness, never making it to the point where she could open her eyes and see what was around her. Rather, she was confined to feeling her location through the dirt at her fingertips and the grass that rose up around her body. The heat from the sun warmed her body, letting her know when it was day. And she knew it was night when the wind whipped around over her head and there was cold invading every corner of her body.
Sometimes, she could even hear things. The chirping of crickets, the singing of birds, the whistling of the wind-she heard all these things, though she didn’t understand them. The last time she had been awake, she had been in hell. Literally. She had been with her friends, down in the bowels of the Earth itself, right in the mouth of Hell, facing an unholy army of demons and evil spirits. And before the end had come, she and her comrades had seen that evil defeated.
But then the ground beneath their feet opened up and swallowed them whole.
Time passed to the point where she began to believe that she had been out here for months, years even. The rational part of her brain knew that that was unlikely, but still, she couldn’t help but feel that way. She slipped in and out of it, not knowing what had happened exactly, but knowing that she was still in that very spot. She began to worry after a bit. Where were her friends? Why had the Slayers not yet recovered? They would be the first to do so. And there were so many of them now. Several of the Slayers had been with them with the ground fell, several had fallen with them. So where were they now? She hoped to the Goddess she wasn’t the only one left alive. She wouldn’t be able to handle that.
“Mani naa tanya?”
The voices began appearing about the tenth she regained some sort of consciousness. Her heart had soared upon hearing them and though she could still not manage to wake completely, she clung desperately to what clarity she had.
“Ed' i'ear ar' elenea!”
She didn’t hear the strangers approach, only hearing them when they dropped heavily down next to her. Warm hands pressed gently on her back, giving her a gentle shake.
“Mani naa tanya nat'?”
“Edan.”
She tried to speak, to make a sound somehow to let them know she was alive. She could only manage a low grunt, one she thought the strangers would not hear. But they did, and there was an outbreak of excited whispers. More questions where slung her way, but she couldn’t understand them one bit. Her mind was slowly slipping back into darkness, her body already exhausted from her minor efforts.
The hands turned her over, gently cupping her cheek and trailing down her neck, stopping here and there in places where she knew she had wounds.
“En!”
“Re naa neva gurtha!”
“Ron ilya naa.”
“Sut nir’ naa ba?”
“Ratse.”
“Kuila?”
“Nerte.”
She felt herself being moved. There were arms encircling her, bringing her broken and cold body up against a firm chest. Her head swung backwards lifelessly, her right arm drooping to the ground. The person carrying her rose, wrapping some warm cloth around her. She was jostled a bit as her rescuer began walking.
“Manke-”
“A’ Gondor.”
Their words were so foreign. She had never heard of a language like this. But her head was foggy; maybe she wasn’t hearing them right. There could any number of reasons for why she couldn’t understand those rescuing her; she just didn’t have the ability to think them over right now. Her mind was slowly drifting back into the darkness once more, and she was tired of fighting it. Goddess knew what would greet her when she woke next but she was far too injured to care.
And so Willow let herself fall into oblivion once more.
***
Part One: The Dead From The Living...
He could barely see through the sheen of his own tears. Quick, ragged breaths escaped his throat, runny nose swiped at repeatedly by the back of his hand. He was a mess, he could tell that much. All the cleaning and wrappings that his saviours had done to him was all wasted. He wept openly, barely able to keep his head up as he looked down at the row of cots lined up neatly in this bare white room.
Twelve little cots, all lined up in a row. Eleven bodies and one pile of ash. He couldn’t believe that it had come to this.
Xander Harris shook his head, a flood of fresh tears streaking down his cheeks. With indescribable pain, he looked down at the body on the first cot. Weak whimpers escaped his lips as he brushed back curly blonde locks away from a pale face. Amazing that her body was still intact, that it hadn’t even begun to rot. Hadn’t they been out for a good day or two? That’s what those healer people had said, that was their guess. A day asleep in this palace thingy and maybe a day or more outside, lying on the ground where they had been discovered.
Wasn’t the body supposed to decay after awhile? There should have been some sign of it. But there was nothing, only the thin red line running diagonally across her body. If he hadn’t known any better, if he hadn’t frantically searched for a pulse beforehand, he would have thought her sleeping. He would have thought they were all sleeping, except for Spike. There was no real way to pretend with a pile of ashes.
“Oh shit.”
The soft exclamation came from somewhere behind him. Xander didn’t turn around at the sound of the voice. He knew who it was.
Footsteps announced the approaching person. Xander turned his eyes to the side, watching as Faith walked into his periphery. The brunette Slayer looked like hell, though a clean kind of hell. Her hair had been washed and her skin as well. But he could see the bruises dotting her cheeks. They were fading fast, due to that good-old Slayer healing, but she was still weak. Her movements were slow, a bit unsure. She was kind of limping, her right ankle wrapped up in bandages that he could see peeking out from underneath the dress she was wearing. If he were in the right mood, he would have teased her for that very fact. Faith wasn’t the kind of girl who wore dresses, even though this wasn’t a pink, frilly kind of dress. It was white and simply cut, a lot like his borrowed clothes. In fact, it was a lot like the clothes they were all wearing, even the bodies.
“It’s true,” Faith muttered, her voice strained. She turned towards him, her eyes full of pain and loss. Her eyes fell on the cot before him, gaze softening when she saw Anya lying there.
“How many?” she managed to gasp. Xander shrugged his shoulders listlessly, picking up Anya’s cold dead hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
“They only found twelve,” he finally answered, gesturing with a nod to the other cots. “Spike’s at the end. They said they found his body burned beyond belief. When they picked him up, he fell into ashes.”
Faith nodded faintly, staggering over to the ashes at the end. Her hand swept over the pile, not quite touching it but skimming it. She stopped her movements slightly, her hand shaking when she lowered it to the cot’s surface. He heard some clinking before she straightened, turning around to show him what she had found. Spike’s gem, the one that had destroyed the Hellmouth by bringing the sun right into it. The chain was still pure silver, but the diamond in the middle was burnt out, blackened and chipped all over.
“He did good in the end,” Faith murmured. Xander nodded his head silently in agreement. No matter how many problems he had with the vampire, it was never untrue that Spike came through in the end. This time was no exception. He came through, right unto his final death.
“Buffy’s going to freak,” Faith stated simply. Xander shut his eyes and lowered his head to rest on Anya’s arm. Faith was speaking the truth, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. He didn’t want to think about the pain his friends would also go through when they made their way down to this room. His own sorrow was crippling enough, he wasn’t sure if he could handle watching Buffy or Dawn or Willow collapse.
“Oh no.”
This was whispered too and Xander didn’t need to raise his head to know who Faith had found now. He had seen Robin’s body, right in the middle of the row. His heart had sunk to know that the man had not made it. Robin had been a great help in the last days, and Xander wasn’t exactly as blind and clueless as everyone thought he was. Robin had meant something to Faith, even though the Slayer would never admit it.
“He looks so peaceful,” he could hear her crying. Xander looked up, not shocked to find the brunette sitting on the side of Robin’s cot, her hand pressed against his chest. She had been looking for a heartbeat, all in vain. Robin was dead, gone like the rest of them.
“They all look that way,” he rasped, his throat sore from so many tears. “It’s like they’re sleeping, but none of them are. Maybe it’s magic, maybe it’s not. I don’t want to think about it. It’s hard enough that they’re gone.”
Faith shook her head, taking deep breaths as she moved away from Robin’s body. Her eyes swept over the other dead, face lighting up with recognition and quickly darkening with sorrow. He knew how she felt, felt the same way when he had seen all the others. Nine young Slayers, dead at the time of their Calling. Emily, Claudette, Jamie, Rhona, Gail, Liz, Erin, Trisha, and Bridget, nine young girls, dead before any of them hit seventeen. It was enough to make anyone cry.
“You think that it happened when the ground gave way?” Faith asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. The Slayer's words were sort of panicked, her breathing coming too fast. She looked almost desperate as she talked to him.
"What happened?" he asked slowly. Faith made a sweeping motion with her arm, indicating all the bodies around her.
“Them!" she responded. "The way they are now, how they look. That whatever magic it is happened when the ground fell? That had to be it, right?”
“Why do you care Faith?” Xander asked hollowly. “What does it matter? They’re dead.”
“Because,” Faith snapped suddenly, her face falling suddenly and eyes filling with tears. “Because if it happened then, then they were all dead when the floor gave way. And that means they were already at peace when we wound up in this weird place.”
The brunette sank to her knees beside Rhona’s bed, her head hanging in shame as she tried to wipe away evidence of her tears. She seemed furious with herself, for showing any sort of weakness. But that was Faith; it was how she would always be. She couldn’t be emotional, she couldn’t let people in. But in the last few days, it had been hard not to let some of these people into her heart. Fighting the end of the world tends to bring people together.
“And that means that they weren’t laying there for days,” Faith gasped, choking over her own tears. “That they weren’t alive, dying slowly while looking for help. That means they didn’t suffer, they weren’t waiting for us-”
“I know Faith,” Xander interjected, picking up for the brunette when she fell silent. “I know.”
Both were silent for a while, looking remorsefully between the twelve cots. Xander shifted slightly, placing Anya’s hand at her side and moving up to help Faith to her feet. His eye patch was still intact and for some reason, it felt like that eye had dust in it. Faith watched him approach warily, her eyes going back to the bodies. She wiped whatever tears she had left from her eyes, taking a deep breath to regain her composure. She wrenched on the cuffs of her dress, looking down at her clothing and then around the room once more. The brunette allowed him to pull her to her feet, her eyes dark with suspicions.
“What is this place Xander?” Faith asked, sounding incredibly tired for a moment. “Where the hell did we end up?”
“I can’t tell you that Faith,” he replied, moving both of them towards the door. Faith moved slowly, still favouring her right ankle. “All I know is that I woke up and they told me that we were found and brought here.”
“Where’s here?” Faith asked, straightening and her voice taking on a hard edge. Xander shrugged helplessly again, turning the knob and ushering Faith out into the hallway. The hallway was nothing more than a giant balcony, framing a courtyard of sorts. The sun was out and shining, birds chirping in the distance. Entirely too cheery an atmosphere for them. Not when twelve of their comrades lay dead behind them and six of their companions were still too injured to wake.
His eyes fell on the two men, dressed as medieval knights, complete with swords and chain mail, standing at the end of the hall. He recognized the one on the right as the man who had escorted him down to this room in the first place. The other one must have brought Faith. They were both looking very serious, but not the least bit forthcoming. Xander had found that out pretty quick, when all his questions fell on deaf ears. Xander had simply been too tired to really fight about it.
"I honestly can't tell you where we are Faith," Xander finally replied. "I woke up and they told the name of this place was Gonzo or something."
Faith made a face, turning her face upwards to glare at him. The guards were watching both very closely, but Faith ignored them for the time being.
"Gonzo is a Muppet, brainchild," the Slayer shook her head. "What is this thing with you and mispronouncing everything?"
"What do you expect when everything is so damn un-pronounceable?" Xander retorted, a sad smile tilting the corners of his mouth. "Besides, I'm not as bad as Buffy is about it."
"You got that right," Faith agreed, her face becoming serious again. "She's going to wake up soon Xander. She had a hole in her stomach, but she's Buffy. She'll be up and alert pretty damn soon. And she's going to want some sort of an answer for all this. How are we going to explain any of this when we're both incredibly lost? I mean, who's in charge of this place? Shouldn't we talk to someone or beat up someone for information? I say we start with those two."
Xander followed her finger to look at their guards. Both men seemed mildly affronted by Faith’s words, but then shared a small laugh. Probably laughing at the thought of someone as tiny as Faith trying to hurt them.
They were in for a hell of a surprise.
"Just like a Slayer," Xander chuckled half-heartedly. "Jumping to violence as the answer."
"Worked before," Faith smirked, the expression not quite making it to her eyes.
"When?" Xander demanded softly. "When you were jail?"
"You had to bring that up," Faith rolled her eyes, falling silent once more. Her eyes went back to the closed door, her mind no doubt back on their dead. Xander sighed, wanting suddenly to be very far from this place. Anya was dead. He wasn't going to be able to stay on his feet much longer. He needed to crawl into bed and finish crying his heart out. But first, there was the matter of his friends to tend to. He had to make sure everyone else was all right. And then maybe they could all cry together.
“Is it right to leave them?” Faith asked, voice uncertain and awkward. “Shouldn’t one of us stay with them or something?”
“They’re gone Faith,” Xander replied tiredly. “We can’t do anything for them anymore. We knew we were going to lose people going in and we accepted it then. We have to focus on the more important matters right now. Like where we found ourselves and how we get back home.”
“But it hurts,” Faith muttered unhappily. Xander nodded, eyeing the stoic guards at the end of the hall suspiciously. They pretended like they weren’t listening, but Xander knew they were filing everything he and Faith said away carefully. He didn’t like that much. He touched Faith’s arm and motioned for her to follow him.
“It always hurts to lose people Faith,” Xander replied. “And God-willing, it always will. It’s the price we pay for having our souls.”
“Didn’t know I fit into that category,” Faith laughed dryly. Xander smirked and began to lead her down the hallway.
“Yeah. I was kind of surprised too.”
“Oh shut up Harris.”
***
Part Two: The World Is Changed...
“Lle lakwenien?”
“N’uma! Ma’ ie’ he loske.”
“Tanya naa il-faarea ten’ amin.”
“Magh-lle dol! He loske naa vee’ nim vee’ Gandalf-”
“Ta naa il’faarea!”
Willow groaned in her sleep, wishing whoever was arguing would go and do it somewhere else. She wasn’t up for having one going on so close to her. It was waking her up, and she didn’t want to be woken up. It was far too nice to be sleeping, all nice and warm, safe from the storm she knew was coming.
“Nim ve’ tanya naa poika val!”
“Ar’ tanya naa mankoi amin dele!”
The redhead frowned in her sleep, shifting slightly in hopes of getting away from the angry voices. It was a bad move. The second she moved, she became aware of a fiery sensation creeping across her side. Willow moaned in pain, moving her hand to clutch at her ribs. She felt a few tears leak out of the corner of her eyes, stifling a sob. Immediately, the voices stopped their screaming and she heard some hushed whispers.
“I’nim Seldarine cuiva!”
“Uuma yela he tanya!”
“Why won’t you shut up already?” Willow demanded, her voice very weak. The voices stopped once more, though she thought she heard some disgruntled grumbling. Willow felt herself being moved a bit, her body kind of tilting to one side. She quickly figured out she was lying on a bed and that someone had just settled down beside her. A warm hand pressed itself against her forehead and Willow grimaced.
“No,” she whined, trying to twist away from the hand. “Wanna sleep. Go away; come back in ten minutes, or years. Take your pick.”
“Re quena I’numenenya lambe.”
“What did I say about the talking?” Willow muttered unhappily. The redhead screwed her eyes shut, trying desperately to keep herself in some sort of state of sleep. But she was becoming more and more aware as the seconds ticked by, and her gibberish-talking friends were not helping in the slightest. Why weren’t they going away? Didn’t she just say that she wanted to be left alone? She wanted to sleep and to dream of much more pleasant things than reality. Waking up meant having to deal with what had happened before.
And that had not been of the good.
“You need to wake,” came a gentle voice, near her left ear. Whoever this guy was, he seemed pretty concerned with her, trying to slowly coax her out of her slumber. Willow groaned and tried to turn away from the sound of his voice, bumping her nose into a firm chest. Great, the guy was leaning over her. His hair was tickling her cheek and his hands were gently shaking her shoulders. He seemed pretty damn determined to wake her up. Too bad for him that she was equally determined to stay awake.
“Perhaps we should call some of her friends,” came another voice from further away. The voice was rougher than the first one, and certainly less friendly. But she decided not to focus on that, but on what he had actually said.
“My friends?” she murmured, raising a hand to rub at her closed eyes. “Where are my friends? Who are you people?”
“We found you and your group in the forest,” came the whispered answer. “You were injured, we brought you in for healing. Some of your friends have awakened, some have not.”
Some have not. Willow felt a shiver of fear shoot down her spine. She felt there was much more to that statement than she wanted to know.
“We can take you to them once you awake,” the man sitting on her bed promised. There was a sharp grunt of protest from the other man.
“Legolas, amin uuma merna-”
“We can’t keep her locked up-”
Okay, now that woke her up. Locked up? She didn’t like the sound of that. Why would she be locked up? She hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, lately she hadn’t done anything wrong. That she could remember at least. Since the Hellmouth swallowed her whole, she hadn’t done anything but sleep and feel pain. The pain was still there, but it looked like sleep was no longer an option.
“All right, I’m awake,” she announced, slightly defeated.
“Your eyes are still closed.”
Damn, what a stickler for the details. The redhead sighed and reluctantly opened her eyes. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience. Her eyes felt dry and red, her vision incredibly blurry. Those first few seconds where she tried to regain her focus, things swam in and out of her vision. Willow suddenly felt sick to her stomach and shut her eyes once more.
“She needs a healer,” the man sitting next to her insisted.
“Legolas, you know how dangerous it is having her-”
“I know she is not evil Aragorn!”
She wasn’t liking the direction this argument was taking. Willow turned onto her left side, gripping at the ends of her blanket as she willed her aching head to stop throbbing. The two men were still having their argument and she couldn’t care less. Some of her friends were around here and she needed to get to them. Sleep was long gone now and it was time to face facts.
Things had gone wrong in the Hellmouth. They had gone very wrong. She felt her heart rate pick up as her mind envisioned what could have become of her friends, of her allies. And the First. She remembered the First very distinctly. What had happened with the First? Did they do it? Did they stop it? Or had they failed, and the world fallen to the evil of the Hellmouth?
So many things to find out, so many concerns to address. Willow forced her dry and tired eyes open, glaring down at the white sheets covering her body. The fighting continued somewhere behind her but she paid them no mind. She hefted herself up on the palms of her hands, shrugging off an attempt by the man sitting on her bed to help her. The redhead scrambled into a sitting position, biting her bottom lip as another wave of pain rolled through her body. Her side still hurt way too much.
Willow bent over, resting her head on her knees for a second as she tried to work through the pain. She felt like her body had been put through the wringer, twice. Whatever had happened, none of them could have come out of it unscathed.
And according to these guys, some of them didn’t.
She raised her head, her eyes open and focused for the first time. She immediately saw the two men. The one on her bed was incredibly beautiful, long blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. He watched her with a certain amount of awe, his perfect face open and welcoming.
The man by the door was the complete opposite of the blonde guy. He was dark, tanned, and much older looking. But it was not to say he wasn’t handsome, because he was. But Willow felt a bit uneasy under his untrusting gaze. He seemed like something else, almost regal but also very intimidating.
“Who are you people?” she asked, her voice weak and filled with tears. “What happened? Where is everyone? Where is this?”
“Many questions you have,” the man by the door observed. “And we have just as many. Your group has been housed in my palace, my healers tending to your wounds. Several of your comrades have awakened, but it is you dear lady that I wish to speak with.”
“Who are you?” Willow repeated, eyes wide. The blonde man got off her bed, placing his hand over his chest and bowing low to her.
“I am Legolas, Prince of the Mirkwood Realm,” he replied smartly. “And this is Aragorn, or King Elessar of Gondor. You are in the city of Minas Tirith, white lady.”
“Huh?” Willow shook her head. “Okay, none of that made sense to me. Goddess, where is Giles when you need him? And why am I so special that the King only wants to talk to me?”
“Are you not the power that brought so many across the boundaries of time and space?” demanded Aragorn, stepping closer and closer to the redhead. Willow recoiled from his approach, not caring that Legolas had stopped him and was now whispering in that gibberish language again.
“I didn’t do anything!” the witch insisted. “Well, I did some stuff, but that was before everything went bonkers. Listen, I don’t know what happened, or why you’re all angry-guy, but if you just take me to Giles, I’m sure we can all figure this-AHHH!”
Both men jumped at her scream, Aragorn actually withdrawing his sword. But Willow could care less about them at the moment. Her wandering eyes had travelled the room, landing on the small vanity table in the corner. It was a simple dresser, but Willow’s concern with the mirror attached to it.
Or to be more specific, her reflection in that mirror.
“What happened to my hair!”
***
Part Three: This World Is Not Our Own
It was probably some sort of cosmic joke.
That had to be the only explanation for this. It was all some big joke on the part of the higher powers. Then, all the times that it happened would make sense. This kept happening to him because some force outside of himself desired that it would happen, time and time again. That made sense to him.
But it didn't make him like it any bit better.
Rupert Giles winced in pain as he tried to stand up, ignoring the pain traveling up and down his back as he got to his feet. He had been laying in bed for a few hours now and though his nurses seemed to think that he was in no condition to be walking, he was intent on getting out of this room. Many things had happened after the battle with the First and if he ever planned on figuring out what those things were in particular, he better get himself up and out of bed.
Giles grunted at the effort it took just to get vertical. He clutched at the cane in his hand, glad that one of the nurses had the foresight of bringing him one. This way he could keep his balance better, loading off some of his weight to this stick and still make some sort of process.
Though that process was not something to be marvelled at.
A full hour of trying had yielded him entirely exhausted and barely three feet from his bed. Giles was a bit embarrassed by his own weakness, but he refused to sit down again. He had to get out of here, to get out there. He had heard the nurses talking when they thought he was still out cold. He had heard them say many things, some which gave him hope and some that made his heart sink.
He knew that some of his companions were awake and wandering around this place right at this very moment. He was well aware there were other injured parties out there as well, some who had not yet recovered at all. But worse, he knew that there were some out there who didn't make it at all. He had heard those healers talking, heard their sad murmurings.
Twelve had been found dead. He did not know who found them, or where they all had been brought once they were found, but he knew that somewhere nearby, twelve of his comrades were dead. Faces and names floated around his brain and there was no way he could just lay back and wonder. He had to know who was here with him, who had survived and who had not.
His fear for his friends fuelled him, pushing him to keep moving, to keep walking to that door. He struggled quite a bit, biting his lip to keep from crying in pain. Sweat dotted his forehead as he exerted himself, triumphant once his hand fell on the door handle. He pulled it open with great satisfaction, stepping out of the doorway. His legs faltered in that second and Giles knew he had spent what precious energy he had as he fell to the floor.
Hands appeared out of nowhere, steadying him almost immediately. Giles sagged in relief, turning his head upwards to thank the person who had caught him.
"Geez G-Man, what are you doing up?"
A smile touched his face as he was helped into an upright position. Xander slung one of Giles's arms around his shoulders, bracing the older man with an arm around his waist. He started when he felt someone do the same on his other side, turning to see Faith watching him with a sad smile tilting her lips. Giles felt a flood of relief looking at the two of them. Both were awake and alert, and most certianly not dead.
"Xander, have I not told you to stop calling me that?" Giles finally replied, facing the other man and giving him a fond look. "You are both well, right?"
"As right as rain," Xander quipped, his face falling suddenly into a frown. "Well, okay, that's a lie. Faith here has a sprained ankle and excessive bruising. My ribs have been wrapped up and I'm pretty sure that burning sensation on my right arm means that I have a wound there. But other than that, we're both okay."
"How about you Giles?" Faith asked, giving the man a careful one-over. "Where are you hurt?"
Giles flushed and grasped his cane.
"I don't think that's of great importance," he muttered unhappily. Xander frowned at the man, nodding towards the cane in his hand.
"Since you have to use that and can barely walk, I say it is," the dark-haired man countered. "So tell us? It's not permanent or whatever, right?"
"It's not permanent," Giles assured him. "At least, I hope it is not. But if you must know, I sustained an injury to my back that makes my walking very painful."
Faith arched an eyebrow, leaning around the man and tracing her hand up his spine.
"No bandages," she commented dryly. Giles blushed, clearing his throat in embarrassment.
"It's further down," he mumbled. Faith stopped, giving the older man a look before exchanging an amused glance with Xander.
"You got shot in the butt again, huh?" Xander clucked his tongue in sympathy. Giles scowled, giving both a measuring glare.
"Can we not discuss this now?" he grumbled. "Come on, we need to get moving."
"I don't think you're in much the right condition to be moving at all," Faith murmured thoughtfully. "Maybe we should just get you back in bed-"
"Absolutely not!" Giles barked. "In case you have not noticed, we are in a world that is not our own. Our friends are scattered about this building, in various states of ill health, and I will not go rest until I have found out who is alive and who is . . ."
"Not?" Xander finished for him. "You heard about the twelve, right?"
Giles nodded, a feeling of fatigue suddenly filling his body. He gave both a grim look.
"I cannot just lay back and wonder who is gone," he confided in them. Faith nodded in understanding, propping the older man up and beginning to lead him down a corridor. Xander followed, helping Faith support the man as they made their way down the hallway.
It was at this point where Giles realized that they were not alone. Two guards had stood just behind them and now were following the trio has they walked away from Giles's room.
"Um, who are they?"
"Our shadows," Faith answered simply. "They've been following us around wherever we go. I think they're supposed to make sure that we don't run off to create havoc or something."
"So they know you well?" Giles grinned. Faith pouted as Xander chuckled in response to the other man's words.
"Well, your mouth seems to be working just fine," the brunette Slayer grumbled, but with a smile on her face. "Good thing too, because we might need it later on. And I actually mean that in a non-dirty kind of way. You're kind of the only diplomatic one among us."
"The lady makes a good point," Xander agreed. "After all, once we find everyone, we're going to need to sort this all out. That might work better if our hosts like us. And if we let me or Faith do the talking, that's probably not going to happen."
"You're both quite mad," Giles sighed, struggling to keep in step with his companions. "Are any of the others awake yet?"
"We heard that someone else is," Xander admitted. "I think one of the nice healing ladies said it was another woman."
"But then she got all flustered and ran away," Faith added. "Which kind of makes me think that Buffy is up and barking orders at them."
"Or Willow is up and she made with the mojo," Xander suggested. "Either way, not a good way to be starting our stay here. Wills is kind of scary when she pulls out the old magic."
"And it is most likely that we will need that scary power before this is all over," Giles continued. "Whatever happened, I believe only Willow's magic can fix it."
"Not all of it," Faith sighed, biting her lip as she looked down at her feet. "There's nothing she can do about Robin and the others."
"Robin, oh Faith, I am truly sorry."
Faith nodded at his words, wiping absently at her eyes before clearing her throat.
"He's not the only one," she shrugged. "Anya . . ."
"Anya!" Giles gasped, turning his head to look at Xander. The young man's face had darkened and closed off, pain radiating in his brown eyes as he stubbornly set his jaw.
"We knew we would lose some," was all Xander had to say. Giles nodded, not wanting to push the man any further than he was willing to go. Instead, finding that they had turned down a busy corridor, Giles watched in interest as people seemed to clear a path for them as they walked.
"Frightened, aren't they?" he mused. Faith snorted, shaking her head a bit.
"You have no idea," the brunette growled. "They won't even give us any straight answers. The Stoic Twins back there aren't any help either. I seriously think that no one wants us to know what's going on."
"But where are the others?" Giles asked, looking up and down the hallways. There were only closed door as far as he could see.
"They're in these rooms," Faith replied. "But sometimes, they won't let us into them. Andrew's in that one on the end. He seems okay, though still sleeping it off. Buffy's in the room next to him, but they won't let us in after the first time. They said they didn't want us riling her up or whatever."
"Is she all right?" Giles asked softly.
"She's fine," Xander replied. "Well, as fine as a person can be with a hole in their stomach. But fine nonetheless."
"The others are sleeping and stuff," Faith continued. "They wouldn't even let us go in to check on Amanda. Didn't make me feel any better if you want to know."
Giles opened his mouth to reply, but a sharp scream cut off anything he had to say. Faith and Xander both turned to the sound of the scream, Faith dropping her arm from around Giles's waist as she stepped forward.
"Did anyone else think that sounded like Red?" she asked. Without waiting for a reply, the brunette was off, limping in the direction the scream had come from. Xander gripped Giles tightly by the waist, propelling himself and the older man after the Slayer. Xander watched as Faith reached the right door, yanking it open and jumping inside. He and Giles followed, the Watcher trying to aid their movement by making use of his cane. Pain began to shoot down his legs again, but he ignored it, too concerned with Willow's safety at this point.
Both men rushed through the door, momentarily surprised to see a sword being levelled their way. A very angry dark-haired man held the sword, his gaze hard and measuring as he looked them over. Xander gulped and raised his free hand.
"We come in peace?" he offered meekly. All he got was an arched eyebrow in response. Giles was startled when he heard a voice ring out, the words being spoken entirely too foreign for him.
"Aragorn, uuma dela sen ikotane."
"Lle cael beika-dur e' sen."
"What did they say?" Xander asked Giles quietly. Giles merely shrugged, turning his eyes away from the feuding men and spying Faith and Willow in the corner. His eyes went wide as he looked at the witch, too stunned to make words.
"Wills?" Xander called, his tone shocked. Faith and Willow turned to face them, Willow's face one of panic while Faith looked very lost.
"I don't think I can call her Red anymore."