Title: Old Souls
Series: Winter Tidings
Author: Jmaria
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: FfA 784 Buffy / Lancelot (King Arthur)
Disclaimer: Joss owns her, and somebody else owns Lancelot.
A/N: Can I say how much I love King Arthur without becoming extremely annoying? I don't think so. Any way, on with the ficcage. Also, I have never been to England, so anything I say about it is made up for this fic. If it parallels anything in the RW, it is by chance.
Old Souls
Buffy Summers listened half-heartedly to the tour guide. Giles had sent her on this 'mandatory vacation' which turned out to be a recon mission. It was a wall. A big old wall that was as boring as boring could get. It was hot, she was tired, and she was about to get cranky. She'd rather be shopping, or looking at weapons. Not a wall
There had been some unusual magic activity that Willow had scoped out with her new extra strength powers. Buffy was supposed to be in Rome, getting over the Immortal. But no, she, Giles, and a half dozen mini-slayers were out looking for who or what caused this activity.
"It is believed that the Roman general, Artorius Castus was once stationed at the outpost here at Hadrian's Wall. Legend tells us that Artorius held off the invading Saxon armies around 467 A.D." The tour guide said brightly. "Recent excavations have given us new evidence proving this belief. Numerous weapons, daily instruments and even bones have been found."
"Weapons?" Buffy questioned out loud. Maybe this wouldn't be so boring after all.
"Yes. There are swords, axes, and even a few remaining pieces of bows." The guide turned his attention back to the group. "They are housed up at the museum, which is on the sight that archeologists believe to have been the original sight of the fort."
"Where were they found?" Buffy asked again.
"About a mile that way, I believe." He pointed toward. "We're unsure if it was -"
"It was a cemetery." An angry voice rang out. "You desecrated their graves!"
A man with curly black hair stormed forward, his fists clenched. He looked ready to take out his anger on the guide. Buffy stared at him, a long forgotten memory skipped through her mind.
"Don't worry , I won't let them rape you."
She shook it off and stood between him and the tour guide.
"Easy there, killer." She placed a hand on his arm. He spun around sharply to stare at her.
"What did you call me?"
"Okay, maybe not the best choice of words, I'll admit. I really didn't mean anything by it."
"Put them back." He spat at the guide.
"I - I'm sorry, sir, but I have no say in that matter."
"Who does?"
"I'm not sure - "
"Honey?" Buffy tugged hard on his arm, getting a very Thanksgiving-her-freshman year vibe off of him. "We'll go up to the museum and ask." She smiled at him, hoping he took her cue. She smiled brightly at the tour guide. "You'll have to excuse my boyfriend, Roger. He gets a little worked up. Used to be a gravedigger, very keen on keeping the graves undisturbed." She tugged harder and pulled him away from the crowd.
Lancelot stared at the annoyingly tiny blond woman. She was pulling him around and - dammit, she was hurting his arm. He was back for a purpose, and he needed to fulfill that in order to return to the abyss. He waited until they were farther away from the group to speak.
"What are you?"
"A Slayer, demon boy." The slayer pulled a small silver object from her pocket. Lancelot let one hand slip to the dagger he'd hidden in the loose waist of the peasant clothes he'd taken. "Giles? I think I found our perp." She spoke into it. "What? No, he doesn't look all that demon-y. I don't know! He wanted to put the smack down on the tour guide, I really didn't have time to ask his name."
"Who are you speaking to, woman?" He snapped.
"Hold on, Giles. What's your name?"
"Lancelot of Sarmatia."
"Lancelot - sure." She whispered into the phone. "Giles, he's a nut job."
"Who do you speak too?" Lancelot wasn't a believer of the things unknown, but even this tested his limits.
"It's a cell phone, Round Table boy." Her eyes widened as Giles spoke. "You're kidding, right?"
Lancelot watched her. There was something oddly familiar about her. She held herself just as Guinevere had. He stiffened. Whatever the gods had in store for him, they would not lead him to one such as her. Not again.
She stared at him. He was so odd. But then, most demons weren't known for being normal.
"You have to come with me. I can't explain why you're here, at least not right here. Too open, and you even think of throwing that knife at me, you will be in a world of hurt."
"What are you?"
"The slayer. But you can call me Buffy."
Buffy, Dawn, and Giles stared at him in shock. They'd even done the tests to prove he was who he said he was. He was - a fricken Knight of the Round Table.
"So, your mission is to protect the graves of the rest of the knights?"
"Yes." He replied.
"You know that's like impossible to do." Dawn grinned. "You can't protect them because you don't even know where they're buried. I've been all research girl on this and no one knows where Arthur is buried. And isn't he supposed to be buried in Cadbury. Didn't you all live in Camelot?"
"No, I lived at the fort for fifteen years."
"For the Romans. . ." Buffy said quietly. "There were only six of you left, and Arthur."
"Yes. Bors, Dagonet, Galahad, Gawain, Tristan, and myself."
"Dagonet. I've never heard of him. The others, certainly. Then there is the legend that Galahad was Lancelot's son." Giles went on enthusiastically.
"We were brothers in arms. Dagonet was killed by Saxon arrows, I do not know the fate of the others. We fought on Badon Hill. I died there."
"So then that whole Guinevere love affair - did that happen?" Dawn asked curiously.
"No, it never did." Buffy said quietly. "You died protecting her from the Saxon."
The others looked at her funny. Lancelot kept his eyes firmly locked on her. There was something very familiar about her.
"Yes."
"How'd you know that, Buffy?" Dawn asked.
"Old souls think alike." She said simply. "Besides, he sounds too reverent of his friendship with Arthur to screw it up."
Lancelot wondered if she'd met up with Arthur in this life.