The Paladin Project 18 – The Once & Future King
"What do you think the weapon does Xman?"
Xander shrugged. "Haven't got a clue, maybe it gives its holder the strength to fight the First, or turns the First corporal, or acts as focus for a spell."
"What next? Take it back for the prof squad?"
"Sounds like a plan," he nodded.
"Xand," he glanced across at the Slayer to see her eyes were filled with self-doubt. "Why do you think you could pull the weapon out of the stone?"
Ah, Xander knew he had to tread carefully. He sensed that the Slayer's question was fuelled by her lack of self-worth and mass of insecurities. "I don't know Faith," he said slowly, considering every word before he spoke it. "Maybe G-Man or the others will recognise the weapon from some dusty old book and find out why I could lift it out and you couldn't."
"Five by five," Faith nodded. "Let's head back then. What the fuck-?"
Xander's eyes widened as six figures brandishing gleaming scimitars melted out of the surrounding darkness. Whatever they were, they were trouble. "Faith, back to back."
"On it Xand."
* * *
Amore smiled even as he rushed towards the duo facing off against the six Drow, drawing his sword as he ran. In his 1,500 years he'd acted as a Watcher on no less than five occasions, but he'd never seen a Slayer with the brunette's ferocity and spirit.
But her companion was something else entirely. At first glance he appeared to be nothing more than an average looking male in his early twenties but Amore sensed there was more to him than that, a tangible aura of power surrounded him. He was clearly destined to achieve great things. "If he lives," he muttered, re-focusing his attention as he entered the fray.
Two of the Drow spun away from the man and the Slayer at his approach, their blades flashing in the night as they charged him. Amore's teeth bared in a deathead's grin. He knew of the Drow's unparalleled reputation as assassins but he was Lance Amore, this dimension's greatest ever swordsman.
Moving quickly, he stepped towards the left Drow, his blade slicing diagonally upwards. His adversary swung his right scimitar down to block his attack but Amore's blade slid beneath the Drow's attempt at defence smashing into his adversary's hip with bone-shattering impact. Even as the Drow fell screaming to the ground he sensed the other Drow closing in on him.
Amore spun around the on-rushing killer, sliding away from the dark elf's downward slash. Before the Drow had chance to recover his guard, Amore's sword flashed up, ripping a bloody furrow across the killer's shoulder. The assassin's eyes widened but to his credit he didn't take a back-step before charging back into the attack, his blades ripping through the air separating them. Amore leaned away from his assailant's lead blade before grabbing the dark elf's out-stretched arm. Holding the arm tight he drove his foot into the hired killer's groin. The assassin let out a pain-filled gurgle before beginning to double up. Amore's sword glinted downwards, taking the dark elf's head off at the shoulders.
Seeing another elf charging him he leapt forward to meet him. His eyes widening at the Drow's twin scimitars slashing at him, one aimed at the hips and one at the chest, he dropped sideways to the ground, his sword thrusting upwards between the Drow's blades. Seeing his attack, his adversary attempted to retreat but he kicked out, his heel catching the assassin on his knee shattering the bone and sending the dark elf plummeting onto the point of his sword. The weapon tore its way out his rival's back, sending blood and guts splattering. After pulling his blade out of the thrashing body he rolled to his feet and decapitated the first Drow. Turning he saw the Slayer and his companion staring at him with looks that combined respect with wariness. "You're pretty good with that pig stick amigo."
Amore smiled at the young woman's praise. "As are you fair Slayer," his eyes widened as he noticed the weapon carried by the man. "Justice." His legs suddenly shaky, he dropped down onto one knee and bowed his head in supplication. "My liege lord."
* * *
Xander exchanged stunned glances with Faith. Just two minutes ago they'd been battling for their lives against half a dozen ebony skinned warriors. And then their rescuer had arrived, tearing through their attackers with a skill not equalled by either of the MacLeods or Blade, the finest swordsmen he'd previously seen. "Fuck Xand, that's one who can seriously go," Faith commented before continuing in a puzzled murmur. "What was that liege lord crap though?"
"No idea," he muttered in reply as he inspected the knelt man. The man was close to six feet tall in height with the powerfully muscled body of someone who worked in manual labour. His wavy sandy-brown hair hung down to his shoulders and parted down the middle, while his friendly grey eyes were set in a square face with a healthy tan that suggested he spent considerable time in the sun. "So not a vampire," he muttered to himself, which didn't mean he wasn't unfriendly. After a minute he spoke, his tone tentative. "My name's Xander Harris, she's Faith-."
"Nice intro Xand-."
He ignored the interruption. "Thanks for the help," he hesitated. "Who are you?"
* * *
"Good lord."
"I think you covered that the first two times G."
Giles glared at Faith's cheerful comment. "Yes thank you Faith, very helpful," he sniffed. "Your input is as always appreciated." The brunette sniggered and winked. Suppressing the urge to throw something, maybe an axe, at the Slayer he turned back to the newcomer. "Could you repeat your story?"
The sandy-haired man nodded. "Certainly Mr. Giles. My name is Lance Amore, but my name was Lancelot du Lac." Giles groaned, oh bloody hell he'd said that again. "I was," the man's face shone with pride, "the foremost knight of The Round Table, my king's champion."
"Good lord," he muttered again, careful to keep his voice so that the Slayer wouldn't hear and comment again. From her widening smirk he guessed he hadn't been wholly successful. He felt the beginnings of a throbbing headache. Not only had he to contend with the fact his surrogate son was now the legendary Demonsbane, the return of the ultimate bad girl in Faith, the expulsion of Buffy and Willow, and the supreme evil in the First he also had to cope with the apparent resurrection of Sir Lancelot! "And might I ask-."
"If I can make a suggestion?" After a second he glanced at Angel and nodded. "Lance-," the vampire shook his head. "Sir Lancelot could sing for Lorne, that would tell us if he was telling the truth."
Giles looked across at Wesley. "Would you agree Wesley?"
"Lorne is rarely wrong-."
"Never," broke in the green-skinned demon from a corner of the crowded conference room. "Never wrong."
"Very well," Giles sighed as he glanced up at their newcomer. "Would you mind Sir. Lancelot?"
"Certainly," the knight moved to the centre of the hushed room where he was met by a keen-eyed Lorne flanked by a protective looking Angel and Gunn. After a quick look around Lancelot began to sing 'Onward Christian Soldiers', his voice a rich, deep baritone. "Oh dear, oh dear," Lorne muttered, his expression queasy. "I don't get this sort of headache listening to 50 Cents." The suddenly grey demon looked towards him. "He's telling the truth," Lorne waved weakly. "Please, please stop."
Giles turned at the sandy-haired man for a few seconds before shaking his head clear. "And how," he was proud of how steady his voice was, "have you managed to live for 1,500 years. Are you an Immortal?"
"Not in the way you mean," the newcomer's genial smile was replaced by a thin grin line. "I was born in the year of our lord 490 AD. By 510 AD I was renowned as the finest knight in Brittany but always I heard tales of the peerless King Arthur, the greatest knight in Christendom so I travelled to England to test my mettle against him." The knight's eyes began to sparkle with the recollection. "I was just days from Camelot when I was met by a challenger. He was nearly seven foot tall, with a flowing brown beard that hung onto his thick chest, hard grey eyes, and the widest shoulders I've ever seen. This giant of a man said he'd heard that the knight Lancelot was coming to Camelot and was I he? When I confirmed I was the man challenged me. I agreed and we fought." Lancelot's smile returned. "The man was technically not my match, but his ferocity and spirit surpassed anything I'd ever faced."
The Round Table legend paused, obviously lost in the past. "After what seemed hours the man pulled back and asked why I wished to kill Arthur. I replied that I didn't, merely test his skill in battle. The man revealed that he was in fact Arthur. I immediately dropped to one knee and pledged my allegiance. Soon I was my king's champion. Then in 518, Arthur met and fell in love with Gwen." The man glanced at the floor. "I was 28, Arthur 34, and Gwen 16. But it made no difference, both Arthur and I fell in love with her."
"A couple of men taking advantage of a kid half their age. Fuck, like I haven't heard that before."
The knight flinched at Faith's disapproving tone. "Faith," Giles interrupted. "The laws of society were somewhat different -."
The brunette snorted. "Oh yeah G, teen babe gets perved on by a bunch of older guys. Sounds real familiar to me," she commented bitterly.
Forcing aside his worries about Faith's continuing issues, he nodded and smiled at the newcomer. "Please continue."
"In the summer of 519 Gwen married Arthur. I was best man." Faith snorted derisively. "For four years we managed to keep our mutual attraction under control. But then Arthur was injured in a hunting accident and grew angry, depressed by his injuries. Gwen became upset and sought solace in my arms.
"I bet." This time Lancelot ignored Faith's muttered comment. "For over two years we carried on our affair. Then Mordred found out about it, shortly after I found but was unable to touch the Holy Grail." Giles fought back the urge to utter another 'good lord'. "And used the situation to engineer a split and a war between myself and Arthur."
Giles took a moment to stare around the room, examining the looks of astonishment on the others' faces that he felt inside. And his headache was getting worse. "How have you managed to last fifteen centuries?"
"After I died I was judged unfit for hell or heaven and returned to earth to either redeem or condemn myself, however long it took for my good lord to pass judgement for my actions."
"Quite." Giles resisted the urge to rip off his glasses and give them a good rubbing. "And," he turned his attention to the weapon in Xander's hands. "Where did that come from?"
"This?" Xander lifted the halberd to chest level. "Faith and I found it in an underground cavern beneath the vineyard. It was stuck in a rock. Faith couldn't get it out but," the young man shrugged. "I could."
Giles felt the colour drain from his face. He opened his mouth but couldn't force any words out. Eventually he heard a dazed-sounding Angel from his left. "But that was a sword in the stone. You're not telling us you're The Once & Future King?"
The vampire's question was answered not by a confused-looking Xander but by a seemingly calm Lancelot. "As I'm sure you know Mr. Giles, a halberd is an unwieldy weapon to use. While it was this halberd Arthur," Lancelot glanced towards Xander, "pulled out of the stone to prove his worthiness he always fought with a broadsword. As a result the halberd was forgotten and replaced by a sword in Arthurian lore."
"You're saying that X..Xander," Giles was finding it difficult to breath. "Xander is the reincarnation of Arthur?" There was a thud as Xander's fainting body hit the ground. The knight cast the crumpled body an amused glance before speaking. "No," he shook his head. "Xander is of the blood, I sense Arthur's touch on him. The reason he was able to," the knight chuckled as a bemused looking Xander was helped to his feet by Faith, "lift the halberd from the stone is two-fold. Firstly, he of Arthur's line." Faith gasped. "And he shares many of his fore-father's qualities – bravery, loyalty, and determination. He is a fitting carrier for Justice."
"Quite." Giles found his emotions split. On the one hand, Xander was a fine young man but he was still an American, the idea of him being King Arthur... On the other, Arthur would be most welcome in Britain right now. Anything would be better the prat running his country right now and the EU. Giles shook his head, it was impossible for his headache to get any worse.
"Hey!" it was Colonel O' Neill. "I'm related to King Arthur, no wonder I'm such a military genius!"
"Oh dear," Giles cradled his head in his hands. "I was wrong, it could be worse."
* * *
Faith's body shook as she lay crying on her bed. As a kid she'd only ever had the bible to read but when Linda had taken her in she'd taken the opportunity to read every book available including all those relating to King Arthur. No wonder Xander couldn't love her. How could a descendant of one of history's greatest ever heroes love a low-class skank like her?
"What do you think the weapon does Xman?"
Xander shrugged. "Haven't got a clue, maybe it gives its holder the strength to fight the First, or turns the First corporal, or acts as focus for a spell."
"What next? Take it back for the prof squad?"
"Sounds like a plan," he nodded.
"Xand," he glanced across at the Slayer to see her eyes were filled with self-doubt. "Why do you think you could pull the weapon out of the stone?"
Ah, Xander knew he had to tread carefully. He sensed that the Slayer's question was fuelled by her lack of self-worth and mass of insecurities. "I don't know Faith," he said slowly, considering every word before he spoke it. "Maybe G-Man or the others will recognise the weapon from some dusty old book and find out why I could lift it out and you couldn't."
"Five by five," Faith nodded. "Let's head back then. What the fuck-?"
Xander's eyes widened as six figures brandishing gleaming scimitars melted out of the surrounding darkness. Whatever they were, they were trouble. "Faith, back to back."
"On it Xand."
* * *
Amore smiled even as he rushed towards the duo facing off against the six Drow, drawing his sword as he ran. In his 1,500 years he'd acted as a Watcher on no less than five occasions, but he'd never seen a Slayer with the brunette's ferocity and spirit.
But her companion was something else entirely. At first glance he appeared to be nothing more than an average looking male in his early twenties but Amore sensed there was more to him than that, a tangible aura of power surrounded him. He was clearly destined to achieve great things. "If he lives," he muttered, re-focusing his attention as he entered the fray.
Two of the Drow spun away from the man and the Slayer at his approach, their blades flashing in the night as they charged him. Amore's teeth bared in a deathead's grin. He knew of the Drow's unparalleled reputation as assassins but he was Lance Amore, this dimension's greatest ever swordsman.
Moving quickly, he stepped towards the left Drow, his blade slicing diagonally upwards. His adversary swung his right scimitar down to block his attack but Amore's blade slid beneath the Drow's attempt at defence smashing into his adversary's hip with bone-shattering impact. Even as the Drow fell screaming to the ground he sensed the other Drow closing in on him.
Amore spun around the on-rushing killer, sliding away from the dark elf's downward slash. Before the Drow had chance to recover his guard, Amore's sword flashed up, ripping a bloody furrow across the killer's shoulder. The assassin's eyes widened but to his credit he didn't take a back-step before charging back into the attack, his blades ripping through the air separating them. Amore leaned away from his assailant's lead blade before grabbing the dark elf's out-stretched arm. Holding the arm tight he drove his foot into the hired killer's groin. The assassin let out a pain-filled gurgle before beginning to double up. Amore's sword glinted downwards, taking the dark elf's head off at the shoulders.
Seeing another elf charging him he leapt forward to meet him. His eyes widening at the Drow's twin scimitars slashing at him, one aimed at the hips and one at the chest, he dropped sideways to the ground, his sword thrusting upwards between the Drow's blades. Seeing his attack, his adversary attempted to retreat but he kicked out, his heel catching the assassin on his knee shattering the bone and sending the dark elf plummeting onto the point of his sword. The weapon tore its way out his rival's back, sending blood and guts splattering. After pulling his blade out of the thrashing body he rolled to his feet and decapitated the first Drow. Turning he saw the Slayer and his companion staring at him with looks that combined respect with wariness. "You're pretty good with that pig stick amigo."
Amore smiled at the young woman's praise. "As are you fair Slayer," his eyes widened as he noticed the weapon carried by the man. "Justice." His legs suddenly shaky, he dropped down onto one knee and bowed his head in supplication. "My liege lord."
* * *
Xander exchanged stunned glances with Faith. Just two minutes ago they'd been battling for their lives against half a dozen ebony skinned warriors. And then their rescuer had arrived, tearing through their attackers with a skill not equalled by either of the MacLeods or Blade, the finest swordsmen he'd previously seen. "Fuck Xand, that's one who can seriously go," Faith commented before continuing in a puzzled murmur. "What was that liege lord crap though?"
"No idea," he muttered in reply as he inspected the knelt man. The man was close to six feet tall in height with the powerfully muscled body of someone who worked in manual labour. His wavy sandy-brown hair hung down to his shoulders and parted down the middle, while his friendly grey eyes were set in a square face with a healthy tan that suggested he spent considerable time in the sun. "So not a vampire," he muttered to himself, which didn't mean he wasn't unfriendly. After a minute he spoke, his tone tentative. "My name's Xander Harris, she's Faith-."
"Nice intro Xand-."
He ignored the interruption. "Thanks for the help," he hesitated. "Who are you?"
* * *
"Good lord."
"I think you covered that the first two times G."
Giles glared at Faith's cheerful comment. "Yes thank you Faith, very helpful," he sniffed. "Your input is as always appreciated." The brunette sniggered and winked. Suppressing the urge to throw something, maybe an axe, at the Slayer he turned back to the newcomer. "Could you repeat your story?"
The sandy-haired man nodded. "Certainly Mr. Giles. My name is Lance Amore, but my name was Lancelot du Lac." Giles groaned, oh bloody hell he'd said that again. "I was," the man's face shone with pride, "the foremost knight of The Round Table, my king's champion."
"Good lord," he muttered again, careful to keep his voice so that the Slayer wouldn't hear and comment again. From her widening smirk he guessed he hadn't been wholly successful. He felt the beginnings of a throbbing headache. Not only had he to contend with the fact his surrogate son was now the legendary Demonsbane, the return of the ultimate bad girl in Faith, the expulsion of Buffy and Willow, and the supreme evil in the First he also had to cope with the apparent resurrection of Sir Lancelot! "And might I ask-."
"If I can make a suggestion?" After a second he glanced at Angel and nodded. "Lance-," the vampire shook his head. "Sir Lancelot could sing for Lorne, that would tell us if he was telling the truth."
Giles looked across at Wesley. "Would you agree Wesley?"
"Lorne is rarely wrong-."
"Never," broke in the green-skinned demon from a corner of the crowded conference room. "Never wrong."
"Very well," Giles sighed as he glanced up at their newcomer. "Would you mind Sir. Lancelot?"
"Certainly," the knight moved to the centre of the hushed room where he was met by a keen-eyed Lorne flanked by a protective looking Angel and Gunn. After a quick look around Lancelot began to sing 'Onward Christian Soldiers', his voice a rich, deep baritone. "Oh dear, oh dear," Lorne muttered, his expression queasy. "I don't get this sort of headache listening to 50 Cents." The suddenly grey demon looked towards him. "He's telling the truth," Lorne waved weakly. "Please, please stop."
Giles turned at the sandy-haired man for a few seconds before shaking his head clear. "And how," he was proud of how steady his voice was, "have you managed to live for 1,500 years. Are you an Immortal?"
"Not in the way you mean," the newcomer's genial smile was replaced by a thin grin line. "I was born in the year of our lord 490 AD. By 510 AD I was renowned as the finest knight in Brittany but always I heard tales of the peerless King Arthur, the greatest knight in Christendom so I travelled to England to test my mettle against him." The knight's eyes began to sparkle with the recollection. "I was just days from Camelot when I was met by a challenger. He was nearly seven foot tall, with a flowing brown beard that hung onto his thick chest, hard grey eyes, and the widest shoulders I've ever seen. This giant of a man said he'd heard that the knight Lancelot was coming to Camelot and was I he? When I confirmed I was the man challenged me. I agreed and we fought." Lancelot's smile returned. "The man was technically not my match, but his ferocity and spirit surpassed anything I'd ever faced."
The Round Table legend paused, obviously lost in the past. "After what seemed hours the man pulled back and asked why I wished to kill Arthur. I replied that I didn't, merely test his skill in battle. The man revealed that he was in fact Arthur. I immediately dropped to one knee and pledged my allegiance. Soon I was my king's champion. Then in 518, Arthur met and fell in love with Gwen." The man glanced at the floor. "I was 28, Arthur 34, and Gwen 16. But it made no difference, both Arthur and I fell in love with her."
"A couple of men taking advantage of a kid half their age. Fuck, like I haven't heard that before."
The knight flinched at Faith's disapproving tone. "Faith," Giles interrupted. "The laws of society were somewhat different -."
The brunette snorted. "Oh yeah G, teen babe gets perved on by a bunch of older guys. Sounds real familiar to me," she commented bitterly.
Forcing aside his worries about Faith's continuing issues, he nodded and smiled at the newcomer. "Please continue."
"In the summer of 519 Gwen married Arthur. I was best man." Faith snorted derisively. "For four years we managed to keep our mutual attraction under control. But then Arthur was injured in a hunting accident and grew angry, depressed by his injuries. Gwen became upset and sought solace in my arms.
"I bet." This time Lancelot ignored Faith's muttered comment. "For over two years we carried on our affair. Then Mordred found out about it, shortly after I found but was unable to touch the Holy Grail." Giles fought back the urge to utter another 'good lord'. "And used the situation to engineer a split and a war between myself and Arthur."
Giles took a moment to stare around the room, examining the looks of astonishment on the others' faces that he felt inside. And his headache was getting worse. "How have you managed to last fifteen centuries?"
"After I died I was judged unfit for hell or heaven and returned to earth to either redeem or condemn myself, however long it took for my good lord to pass judgement for my actions."
"Quite." Giles resisted the urge to rip off his glasses and give them a good rubbing. "And," he turned his attention to the weapon in Xander's hands. "Where did that come from?"
"This?" Xander lifted the halberd to chest level. "Faith and I found it in an underground cavern beneath the vineyard. It was stuck in a rock. Faith couldn't get it out but," the young man shrugged. "I could."
Giles felt the colour drain from his face. He opened his mouth but couldn't force any words out. Eventually he heard a dazed-sounding Angel from his left. "But that was a sword in the stone. You're not telling us you're The Once & Future King?"
The vampire's question was answered not by a confused-looking Xander but by a seemingly calm Lancelot. "As I'm sure you know Mr. Giles, a halberd is an unwieldy weapon to use. While it was this halberd Arthur," Lancelot glanced towards Xander, "pulled out of the stone to prove his worthiness he always fought with a broadsword. As a result the halberd was forgotten and replaced by a sword in Arthurian lore."
"You're saying that X..Xander," Giles was finding it difficult to breath. "Xander is the reincarnation of Arthur?" There was a thud as Xander's fainting body hit the ground. The knight cast the crumpled body an amused glance before speaking. "No," he shook his head. "Xander is of the blood, I sense Arthur's touch on him. The reason he was able to," the knight chuckled as a bemused looking Xander was helped to his feet by Faith, "lift the halberd from the stone is two-fold. Firstly, he of Arthur's line." Faith gasped. "And he shares many of his fore-father's qualities – bravery, loyalty, and determination. He is a fitting carrier for Justice."
"Quite." Giles found his emotions split. On the one hand, Xander was a fine young man but he was still an American, the idea of him being King Arthur... On the other, Arthur would be most welcome in Britain right now. Anything would be better the prat running his country right now and the EU. Giles shook his head, it was impossible for his headache to get any worse.
"Hey!" it was Colonel O' Neill. "I'm related to King Arthur, no wonder I'm such a military genius!"
"Oh dear," Giles cradled his head in his hands. "I was wrong, it could be worse."
* * *
Faith's body shook as she lay crying on her bed. As a kid she'd only ever had the bible to read but when Linda had taken her in she'd taken the opportunity to read every book available including all those relating to King Arthur. No wonder Xander couldn't love her. How could a descendant of one of history's greatest ever heroes love a low-class skank like her?
