Summary: Illyria is alone even as she is surrounded by those who mourn the fallen.

Spoilers: "Never Fade Away."

Disclaimer: Let me check. Do I own Illyria? Nope. How about...nope. I don't own a single darn thing. (In case you didn't know, Mutant Enemy does.) What do you think of that?

Funeral

The sun rose on the Los Angeles alley, and Illyria was alone, surrounded by the dead corpses of monstrous evil. But then, she had always been alone. If the ashes of Spike and Angel could be found among the corpses, or if they had found shelter from the dawn, she did not know. The body of Charles Gunn was to be found somewhere in the carnage, but she knew not where.
And, in the palace of Cyvus Vale, lay the body of Wesley Wyndam- Pryce, he who had been her guide in this strange world. Now she had lost even that sense of orientation. The building of the wolf, the ram, and the hart was shattered. She had no place to go, no mission to fight for anymore. But then, she had always been alone.
When she had ruled this world and so many others like it, traveling from dimension to dimension as she pleased, she had always been alone. When you have power, after all, there is no one that you can trust; everyone wants to steal that power from you. She had lovers, and she had had generals, but she had never had a friend.
The shell had called these people friends, had called Wesley more than a friend, but now they were all fallen, and Illyria was alone, as she always would be.

She did not know why she went to the funeral. She felt she needed closure, some last moment in which to wish Wesley farewell. In any case, she went.
The funeral was a motley crew, with more than a few Shadowmen, for Wesley had once been a Shadowman, Illyria learned. Illyria remembered the Shadowmen, powerful humans with power over demonic forces. They had changed in the intervening millennia, it seemed, by quite a lot.
One of the Shadowmen was Wesley's father, Roger Wyndam-Pryce, who had come with his wife Delores. He was a clearly powerful, intimidating man, and Illyria knew that Wesley had been afraid of him. Now Illyria wanted nothing more than to tear out the throat of this man who offered and received false condolences, to show him the might of Illyria. The Shadowmen, with their schemes and machinations, should have fallen down and worshipped her.
Another of the Shadowmen caught her interest. He said his name was Rupert Giles, and when he expressed his sympathy it was real feeling. He and Wesley had worked together, it seemed, some years ago. Rupert Giles looked at her oddly, as if he wandered how such a frail Texan could have survived the destruction of the wolf, the ram, and the hart when all else had fallen, but he said nothing.
And there was the tool of the Shadowmen, the Vampire Slayer, who had been created by them long after Illyria had been confined to the Deeper Well. Her name was Faith, and she burned with a rage that Illyria knew very well.
Soon, all left, the Shadowmen returning to their plans and their schemes, and the Slayer to her battle with evil. Perhaps Illyria would seek out this Slayer, and they would fight side by side. Perhaps, but for now Illyria was alone.
Alone in front of Wesley's grave, Illyria let herself transform back from the form of the shell. This was who she was, not Winifred Burkle as all the Shadowmen had believed. And she was alone.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
Requiescat in pace
1966-2004