The Greatest Hero-- Namesake
'Cause
you're everywhere to me
And when I close my eyes it's you I see
You're everything I know
That makes me believe
I'm not
alone
I'm not alone
-Michelle Branch, "Everywhere"
"Hey, Dad?"
"Yes, honey?"
"Why is there a fence around those graves?
"It's a monument, dedicated to the heroes of Sunnydale. They saved the world."
"Really? How many times? How? What did they look like? What were their names?" The nine-year-old, blue eyed black haired girl asked, "How did they die?"
"They saved the world to many times to count. They always, for the most part, came out unscathed. But that last time… their last battle… one of them didn't make it out alive. and so, as the other seven staggered off the field of battle, the town cheered, 'Heroes! Heroes! The heroes of Sunnydale!' The heroes didn't smile. They didn't laugh, didn't wave to the crowd. Because they had lost one of their own. And no one was happy about that.
"Oh, and honey? They aren't all dead. No, only one of them is," Alexander Harris smiled at his nine-year-old daughter, Willow Joyce Harris, as he said, "She's the real hero. And your namesake." Pain flashed briefly in his eyes as he thought of his friend.
Willow nodded seriously, then thought for a moment, before running off.
And then it was gone as his daughter ran over show him something, her hair shining in the sunlight, her eyes shining with happiness, and her smile lighting up the room. She held in her had a bouquet of wildflowers, in colors of purple, yellow, blue and white. And she had tied them together with long piece of grass.
She said with enthusiasm and joy, "See, look what I got Dad! Now she'll have flowers to keep her company!"
Yes. Willow had been the greatest hero of them all. She had been the strongest, kindest, most loving, out of all of them. And he had a feeling his daughter would follow in her footsteps.