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Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Angel. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story.

Author's Note: Okay, folks, this has been wandering around in my brain for weeks. I'm a huge Buffy addict and I have to admit that I like the idea of a slayer going back in time--it intrigued me, especially if it was Faith. So, here's the deal, it's not my normal story and has no relation to any of my other King Arthur stories. I live for reviews so if you like, please review.

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Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland

Chapter One: Chanting

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Faith pulled the stake out of the vamp in front of her and glanced over her shoulder. Why, oh why, she wondered, did I agree to come to Cleveland? She'd been here before, long before she headed to Sunnydale and took her walk on the dark side. Back when she was just a baby slayer and suddenly had every baddie hunting for her.

Back then she'd sworn that she'd never set foot in Cleveland again.

But here she was, fighting side by side with Buffy and the baby slayers.

She could hear chanting in Latin and she started to worry. No, dozens of vamps and fledglings didn't worry her but chanting in Latin did. Jeez, getting weird in my old age, she decided.

Buffy was duking it out with one of the masters. Apparently they'd interrupted a conclave of master vamps with their party crashing. And the older slayer wasn't paying attention to the chanting.

Faith started running for the chanting demon, flinging stakes at the vamps who reared up towards her, dust clouds marking her progression.

Have to get to the demon, she thought as she ran. Have to stop him.

The demon looked up in surprise as a fist connected with his jaw. He tumbled backwards, still holding the book he head been chanting from.

"Nice try, scumbag," chortled Faith, standing over the demon.

The demon glared up with his yellow eyes at the dark-haired slayer and spoke a word in Latin.

Then, suddenly, Faith wasn't there anymore.

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Faith landed hard on the ground, rolling with the impact as she tried to keep from breaking anything vital. She might be a slayer but traction still hurt like a bitch. When she finally came to a stop, Faith lay on the ground, trying to get her bearings.

Okay, step one: figure out what the fuck happened. Well, demon boy was chanting and turned his attention on me, she rationalized.

Okay, step two: figure out where the hell I am. She slowly sat up, wincing at the bruises which were already healing. It was sunny and, oddly, no smog. The air actually tasted clean. Faith frowned. The only time she'd even come close to smelling air this clean was when Giles had sent her to collect a slayer in training in Denmark. And even then the air had still smelled of some pollution.

Okay, so obviously somewhere where gasoline and coal don't make an appearance, she thought slowly getting to her feet. She began to check herself. Stakes? Check. Big ass sword inherited from Angel? Check. She swallowed a lump as she remembered the dark vampire who'd helped redeem her from her darkness. She shook her head, clearing her vision and her thoughts. No time for mourning, she reminded herself. Collapsible crossbow? Check. Arrows? Check. Apparently wherever she was, whatever had transported her hadn't thought to take her weapons.

Good for her, bad for them.

She checked her clothes. Jeans had taken a beating but that was to be expected. Wherever she was, it was chilly, too chilly for the black mesh top and bra that she was wearing. She rubbed her barely covered arms, trying to look for landmarks. Gee, maybe I should pull a Red (or rather White) and go ask for directions, she snorted. She started up the hill, slayer senses tingling. Fuck spidey senses, slayer senses were so much better.

Wherever she was, it was severely underdeveloped. No QuikStop, no 7-11s, nothing recognizable. Hell, there wasn't even a road. Not unless you counted the track that looked like hundreds of horses had torn into the ground.

She looked up, trying to gauge how much time she had until sunset. Maybe a few hours? She started forward, jogging towards what she half-hoped was civilization. Wherever she was, she had to get back to the fight. Buffy and the baby slayers were gonna be toast for those masters and that demon.

That thought alone hurried the slayer's steps.

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Giles frowned and looked up from the goo-covered book that he had been handed by an agitated Buffy. "And you are certain that the book was turned to this page?" he asked.

Buffy nodded, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited for her Watcher and friend to give the verdict. "So we can get her back," she whispered.

Giles frowned, pulling his glasses off the bridge of his nose and rubbing the throbbing spot between his eyes. "Buffy, this is old magic."

Buffy waited. "But we can get her back," she repeated more firmly.

Giles sighed. "Buffy, had you been sent back with this spell, you would have never made it home."

Buffy gasped and sat down, her knees having buckled beneath her. "No."

Giles shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"NO," repeated the blonde slayer, getting to her feet and glaring at the Englishman. "We are getting Faith back."

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Faith held onto the bottom of the cart, gritting her teeth as the wheels rolled over bump after bump, slamming her against the undercarriage of the cart. This was, however, the best way into the biggest structure around, a real, honest to fucking God castle. Well, maybe not a castle like in Sleeping Beauty, but it sure as hell looked like one of the castles in England that Giles had insisted on dragging her to since she'd turned back to the light side of the force.

There were armed soldiers who were dressed up like Romans. Hell, she'd seen Rome enough times to recognize the bearing and the dress. Yup, pole up your ass Romans, as she liked to call them. And lots of Latin.

It took a while but years of Catholic school and Giles's training began to kick in and she got the hang of the Latin. Wes would have been proud of her. She closed her eyes, silently cursing h erself for once again reminding herself of someone dead. She turned all her attention to holding onto the underside of the cart.

And getting inside the fortress.

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TBC...