Title: The Vorpal Blade - 9?
Author: Molossus (aka Rooibas aka myfeetshowit)
Rating: FRT
Pairing: Spike/Tara
Archive: Please, just let me know so I can do the Snoopy Dance.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns the universe that Spike adorns. I just worship there.
WARNING! Character death.
Notes: Thank you to MoeHisOwnSelf and Sexymermaid for the betas and to Luba Kmetyk for kicking me in the butt and insisting I get writing.
Previously:
An accidental spell sends Spike and Tara through a tunnel to Wonderland where they end up as eight year olds, and very little memory of the past. They have a series of adventures where they meet characters who are somehow tied into the Buffyverse - King Snyder, Queen Walsh, White Queen Drusilla and White King Giles, among others.
Tara uses her magic and they discover that they are bound together in some way, that her magic is stronger when they are touching. She has inadvertently given Spike his soul, discovered they grow older each time she uses her magic, and that the Jabberwock is actually The First. Spike has remembered quite a bit of his former life when contact with Queen Drusilla made him see both Wonderland and their former universe at the same time.
They learn that when Glory opened the walls between dimensions in S5, personalities from the Buffy/Angelverse bled into Wonderland, and now many of the inhabitants are a blend of the two. White Queen Drusilla lives backward in time, and admits she has been working for the First, who is taking advantage of the bleed between dimensions.
King Giles tells Spike and Tara that they are to go on a quest to find The Vorpal Blade and return Wonderland to its former state. Before they can learn more, the Black Chess army invades and Spike and Tara are led to tunnels beneath the courthouse by their guide, One of Hearts. The White Knight, Angel, and the Cheshire Cat accompany them. When Angel tries to go through a small passage he becomes stuck.
Chapter Nine opens with Spike and Tara and Angel after they discover that the Black Queen Willow is coming down the tunnel.
The Vorpal Blade Nine
Angel's white clad legs thrashed. Dust puffed up around him, ghostly in the tunnel's gloom, and Tara wished that ghosts were the only thing she had to worry about. Was this Queen Willow anything like Queen Drusilla? Tara waved dust from her face and ran her hands around Angel's waist in another effort to see why he was stuck.
Angel stopped moving. "This is no use. Spike, get Tara, and get out. Queen Willow's no one to fool around with."
"Come on, then, Plum." Spike must have seen the shock on her face, or perhaps he just knew her by now. "Angel can take care of himself. Trust me on that. If he thinks we should go, just means we'll be in the way if we don't."
"What about One of Hearts? And … and the Cat?" Tara let Spike pull her in his direction. She didn't want to leave anyone behind. Spike hadn't left her behind when the Jabberwock was after them.
Angel's voice was dull, emotionless. "They're already gone. They left as soon they recognized Willow's voice. And I think Willow's the reason I'm stuck." He kicked his legs in emphasis. "She's probably using her magic to keep me here, so she can get to you. Go."
Spike took Tara's hand and pulled and she followed. She wasn't sure why, but she thought Angel was right. Still, she found her steps were sluggish. She forced herself to move. If Spike weren't pulling her along, she was sure she would just stop walking. For some reason she wanted to stay. Not because of Angel. Because she wanted to see Queen Willow. Tara wondered if Angel were right. Maybe she was being affected by the Queen's magic too.
"Come on, Luv. We've got to make tracks. I've got a bad feeling about this."
Tara wanted to stay, but she wanted to be with Spike, more than anything else, and as if that thought were a magic of its own, she found herself moving faster.
She clung to Spike's hand. He strode forward with assurance, and she realized he could see in the gloom. The dimness left her almost blind, so she concentrated on staying close to him. She trusted he wouldn't let her fall. They weren't running, but Tara knew running wasn't always the fastest way to get somewhere in Wonderland.
She heard a murmuring of voices, and a steady tramp of feet behind them. Tara tried to ignore the sound.
A sudden tingling in her feet made her gasp and she stumbled. Magic.
The sensation intensified, and Tara thought the ground was rearing up - slapping her in the face. She realized that she had been thrown down, that the earth was shaking beneath her. Spike tumbled on top of her and her breath shot out with a huff.
Dirt pattered down like rain, crumbling rock pounded on her back, and she was drowning in a sea of dust. The powdery filth flooded into her mouth and nose. She inhaled, fighting for air, and found only gritty powder in her throat.
The dust subsided but the pounding continued. Spike was thumping on her back, helping her clear the grit that clogged her airways, his hand landing blows that rattled her ribs. She coughed, great hacking explosions. After long moments of noisy rasping, oxygen cut into her lungs. Painful, but Tara relished the pain. Her eyes were producing tears now, and she savored their moisture when they ran into her mouth.
Spike pulled her up, and she leaned against him, too weak to stand on her own.
"You going to be ok, Luv?"
"I'll live." Tara's voice croaked. She giggled without mirth. She sounded like a toad and she was sure she looked like one. A memory flashed through her mind – boys poking sticks at a toad to make it hop. Spike pushed at her gently, prodding her to move and she giggled again. She was a toad, and Spike was making her hop. She wondered, again, if Queen Willow's magic was affecting her but decided she was just going batty from fatigue and lack of oxygen. She was a batty toad!
She looked up and she could see Spike's eyes, even in the dark. They stared at her with concern, and Tara shook herself. She needed to get herself straightened out. They had to keep moving.
"Bugger." Spike's arms tightened around Tara, and she followed his gaze with her own. She couldn't make things out very well, but she was pretty sure the shadows and spectral shapes she was seeing were rock and wooden beams, piled high, one on top of the other, and blocking their way. They weren't going anywhere.
Light flooded into the tunnel.
"Tara? Baby? You look terrible. What's that vampire been doing to you!" The dark-haired woman -- or did she have red-hair -- moved a hand from the globe of light she carried, and she thrust it toward Tara and Spike.
Tara tried to focus, to call up a magical shield, but the power surged into her before the first words formed. She felt Spike's arms slipping from around her, and saw him flying toward the wall before she was seized, and lifted into the air. She braced herself for a blow, but what came instead was a caress.
She felt as though her entire body was being stroked, smoothed and soothed and wrapped in comfort. The dirt and grime was lifted from her pores, and her eyes were closed with cool touches. Her scalp tingled, massaged with magic fingers, and her hair floated free from its tangles. The aftertaste of sweetness lingered on her tongue. Her fatigue and hunger were stripped away, as easily as the grit, and she was bathed with a sense of well-being. She felt … she felt … loved. No, she felt … her body loved the sensations but that voice whispering in her mind ... Forget. Let me take care of the bad things. Let me take care of you … She recognized that voice, and she remembered forgetting.
Tara didn't want to forget again.
She fought against the inclination to relax, to give in to the familiar mind touch. She focused on the sounds around her. Someone was talking to Willow, and Tara clung to their voices, letting them drown out the whisper within.
"You know, when the Jabberwock sent us after these guys, I don't think he meant for you to keep the girl. I pretty much picked up the impression that he had a King and Queen idea going -- one with lots of tiny tots popping out."
"Maybe the Jabberwock will have to get used to the idea of a Queen and a Queen."
Willow's companion laughed, and Tara didn't think she had ever heard anything more evil.
"That might make it difficult to produce tiny tots."
"We can keep the blond-haired freak around for that. He doesn't have to participate -- donations will work fine."
"But participation could be so much more fun. Not that you need Spike. I can supply anything he can, and do it better, and I'm a proven commodity when it comes to vampire breeding. I can show the two of you things …"
"Angelus." Willow's voice didn't change but Tara marveled at the threat carried in that one word.
This Willow wasn't her Willow was she?
Her Willow?
She had a Willow?
She did. Tara was remembering. Remembering instead of forgetting. And she remembered forgetting a lot. Willow had been playing tricks with Tara's mind for quite a while. How could Willow even think of doing something like that? Tara felt a surge of anger, and then the memories became hard to grasp. She could feel them puffing away like dust.
She had to focus. Willow's magic was strong, and if Tara let her emotions interfere its hold would never be broken. She pushed her anger back, and centered her thought on the conversation, and let her own magic grow, unheeded.
"… you're taking all the fun out this, Willow. You make me leave that wimpy, white-hat version of myself behind, you won't let me torture Spike ..."
"You said yourself, the Jabberwock wants him."
"He wants him whole, and aware. That's what I want too. No fun torturing someone if they don't know you're doing it. I'd leave enough for what the Jabberwock wants. Or as I said before, I could make babies as well as Spike could." Angelus purred, a lustful, obnoxious sound.
Tara tried to sort her memories – how could Angelus exist if Angel did? She felt her concentration slip, and let the thought go.
"Enough!" Willow's voice was edged with impatience, and Tara felt the grip of the magic lessening around her. She stomped on her sense of elation. No emotion. Her hands grew cold, her feet grew cold, while her heart burned, spreading warmth into her chest. Tara let the outside conversation flow past her consciousness and began a chant, let it simmer at the back of her mind.
"… like having some fun with the girl?"
"You aren't having anything with the girl. Let it go."
"And how is that fair? I don't care if you intend to take on the Jabberwock, but I intend to get something out of this gig."
"How about I don't turn your innards into egg yolk. That do it for ya?"
"You're a real hard-nosed bitch -- you ever think about becoming a vampire?"
"I don't need to be a vampire ... what?"
Tara felt a tremor in Willow's magic, an awareness of Tara's growing power. The time had come, no more hiding.
Tara let her power erupt, and the force of the eruption threw her back against the tunnel wall. The blow made her head spin, but she saw Willow move her hands apart and the globe of light grew, and it ate Tara's magic.
The globe snapped, and sparked, and transformed into ball lightning, gobbling the dark and spitting it back as blinding light. Willow screeched like a wounded cat, and Angelus jumped back, putting several feet between himself and the bolts of lightning. Willow gestured; the lightning flared, and dwindled and disappeared.
"Baby, what are you doing?" Willow's voice was soft and bewildered, and for one brief moment Tara faltered. Willow made no further movement, but Tara felt Willow's magic clamping down, capping her own.
Memories flooded into her mind. Sugar sweet kisses, warm flesh, and gentle hands. Shared emotion – fear, joy, grief, love. She loved Willow. This, Tara remembered. And Willow loved her. Tara forced her eyes open.
The world seemed to split, divide like an amoeba, flow and shift and overlap.
Tara could see her beautiful red-haired Willow hovering above her, tears in her eyes. She saw Anya and Buffy, hand clasped over her mouth.
She saw the magic shop, herbs and spices and magic potions, chicken's feet, charms, candles and lotions.
She saw dark-haired Willow, purple-veined, black eyes burning. Cob-webbed walls and worm-eaten wooden beams struggled to hold the tunnel ceiling in place. She saw the pleading in Willow's eyes and she saw the aura smoking behind them – huge, monstrous, inhuman.
Dark-haired Willow threw her arms out, entreating Tara to come to her.
Red-haired Willow moved closer, kissing Tara's forehead.
The two worlds lurched and wobbled and then settled. Tara's stomach continued to churn.
Spike was lying beside her in the magic shop, ignored, while the others huddled over her body, and Spike was also behind her, struggling to reach up from the tunnel floor and touch her.
Tara realized she was experiencing the overlap of worlds as Spike had done earlier.
She let herself fall, let herself collapse bonelessly onto the floor next to Spike, and she took his hand in hers.
The two worlds wobbled again, jiggling like jelly, and then snapped back into one. Red-haired Willow and the magic shop were gone. Power flowed into Tara, augmenting, morphing, melding with hers. Tara felt a surge of confidence. Willow was strong, but together, Spike and Tara were stronger.
Tara slammed their magic into Queen Willow.
Willow flew back, colliding with Angelus and both went down. "Get out of my way." Willow shoved Angelus aside, and crawled back to her feet.
Angelus' face twisted with rage but he moved back. Willow's face and voice softened but her eyes were burning like coals.
"Don't fight me, Tara. Its his influence isn't it? Don't listen to him. We're meant to be together." Willow pleaded but Tara could feel Willow's magic tickling at her mind again, trying to take control, alter her memories. This Willow did love her. Tara could feel that, see that. But it wasn't any kind of love that Tara wanted.
Willow thought Tara was weak; the slap of power she'd thrown at Willow no more than a tantrum.
Willow was about to learn differently.
Spike had risen, given strength by Tara, even as he gave strength to her. He wrapped his hands gently around her upper arms and leaned against her. Tara felt him opening, giving tacit permission for her to take whatever she needed from him.
Tara took.
She felt as though she were tapping the earth, the sky. Ancient power, cold and hot at once, flowed through them both and it was endless. They were merely the spout for magics so vast Tara was unable to comprehend them, and for a moment she was afraid.
The hands on her shoulders tightened and Tara steadied. Spike was the buffer. The darkness in him absorbed what would have been harmful to her but he had no ability to wield the magic. Tara's talent let her use what they were given. Alone, either would have been burned to the bone. Together they were whole, light and dark, melded into one, and a natural conduit for the magic.
Tara could do little but direct the flow. In the courthouse, earlier, the power had been wild, uncontrollable. Now, she had more sense of self, of the path the magic followed, and she pictured clearly in her mind where she wanted it to go. She rested back against Spike … and let the power flow.
The air formed around her, became visible to the eye, but only as movement. It wobbled and pulsed and the sound of its motion boomed in the tunnel, accompanied by the skittering patter of dirt shaking from the walls.
The pulsation of power thrummed toward Willow, a shockwave of sound, and Willow thrust her arms forward, palms out; a pulsing green light strobed outward, and the two magics surged against each other.
The two witches leaned toward one another, both frozen in place by the strength of their magic. Their faces were grim, intent, and wave after pounding wave of ferocious power crashed into each other. The earth under their feet shuddered, and the walls around them shook, and great billows of dust formed into ghostly, mushroom clouds. Arcs of lightening flashed around them, their thunder unheard amid the whomping of the clashing magics.
"ta - ra"
Tara could hear Willow's voice, thin and reedy, tiny in the cavernous echoes.
"do-nt fi-ght me, ta-ra"
"wil-low, stop please"
"ju-st let me in"
"no"
"so be it"
Willow broke free, cutting her own magic off, and falling backwards from the knees, letting Tara's magic sweep past her.
Tara fell forward as resistance gave way, and while she stumbled, Willow formed a small globe of power, and hurled it. Tara tried to right herself, moved to block it but it racketed past her. She realized Willow was aiming at Spike. He moaned; his grip loosened but he didn't let go. Willow was already reforming her strobing blue magic, and Tara didn't dare take the time to look at him. She could smell burnt flesh. Straightening, she moved back to support him, and he swayed against her. He was still conscious but she felt his control slipping. She could taste sedimentation, a yeasty darkness rolling on her tongue. Her head swam.
Willow stepped forward, hands held out, equidistant from her head, her eyes black holes to some dark and distant place. Power oozed out of her, and Tara thrust back with every atom of magic available to her.
Spike groaned. Tara felt him slipping closer to unconsciousness, and his head lolled against her shoulder. He was no longer suppressing the shadowed elements, and Tara shuddered as darker magic poured into her. Heady, dank power -- roiling and twisting into the clear, heavy streams of the purer magic, and it leaped out of Tara, tearing free from her control. It spread into Willow's magic with inky threads, until the green was shadowed and black. Within moments Willow sagged, and dropped to her knees. And the ancient, dark power streaked across her.
Tara screamed.
She screamed Willow's name, feeling Willow's pain, remembering Willow's love, and struggling to stop the loathsome essence that flowed through her body.
The power ate into Willow, steam hissing and rising, thankfully hiding the body from Tara's eyes. But Tara could still feel. Willow couldn't feel any longer but Tara could. She was a prisoner of the magic, unable to stop it.
Spike moaned, a small noise, and clasped onto her convulsively. He spun her around toward him. "Turn around, Love. Don't look."
Tara didn't think she could move, but then she could. She realized, vaguely, with some distant part of her mind that Spike was pulling the magic back. He would have been able to stop the magic, if he hadn't been hurt.
It was her fault that Willow was dead. She was the one who couldn't control the power, and Willow was dead. Tara buried her face into Spike's chest, and let him draw out the killing magic until all of it was gone. She felt empty, a thin papery shell, and was amazed that the touch of Spike's strong arms didn't turn her into powdery dust.
She thought that would be fitting, if she were the one turned to dust, left to mingle with the filth and residue in the tunnel.
Spike held her, murmuring to her and rocking her. She listened to his words, "Not your fault, Love. No choice here. Wasn't a choice. Not your fault," and she knew, a little, that he was right, and she took comfort from the feel of his hand rubbing her back, and the way he held her tight. She took comfort from the knowledge that he would love her even though she was a murderer.
TBC...