"Of the true nature of the Powers I can tell you very little," Rowan told the assembled Council members. "As I've mentioned before, they left this reality during the epoch known as the Primordium Age. When they departed, they managed to cover and hide their tracks well enough that no traces of any... Heavenmouths have ever been discovered." Rowan smiled at the recollection of Willow's name for the hypothetical gateways to the higher dimension.
A young Council member flipped through his notes. "What about Visions and Oracles? It's been claimed that some Seers and... other less-reliable individuals have throughout the history been contacted by the Powers, either directly or through intermediaries."
"I'm sure the Council has over its own history... examined a few of these claims and made their own conclusions regarding their veracity," Rowan replied with a quick look at Travers whose features showed nothing of what he was thinking.
"Classified," Travers stated simply. "Move on, Mr Trench."
Participating in these interviews had been one of the tasks that Rowan agreed to when he and Travers made their deal in Sunnydale. The sessions included questions about the ancient times that were of specific interest to various Council members, requests to translate obscure texts from languages the Hegemon had bestowed him the knowledge of, and so on. Travers always acted as the mediator, cutting off further discussions of topics he deemed too controversial, sensitive or confidential.
Of course, then there were the... other interviews which were conducted in absolute secrecy just between himself and Travers, and which were the real reason the Head of the Council had agreed so readily to Rowan's requests and demands that day in his hotel room in Sunnydale.
"I have nothing else at this time," Trench announced after having quickly checked his notes. "Thank you, Mr Shea."
"You're welcome, Mr Trench," Rowan nodded. "Actually...," he continued, causing Trench to snap his head around.
"Yes?"
"Your notes are incomplete. There is a third way of communication besides Visions and Oracles. It's called a Conduit."
Everyone in the meeting room fell absolutely silent, including Travers.
"As far as I know it's used extremely rarely as the Conduit becomes the other end of an unfiltered, direct link to the mind of the link's creator. There are safeguards and such, but compared to Visions and Oracles, it's much more dangerous since using these safeguards is at the creator's whim. Visions are interpreted by the receiver's mind and Oracles act as intermediaries, but a Conduit connection is raw for want of a better term." 'I should know, having been one,' Rowan thought with an internal shudder of revulsion.
Mr Trench looked like he had both received ten years' worth of Christmas presents and been told that Santa had suffered a fatal stroke hauling them. He licked his lips nervously.
"I... I don't..."
"This doesn't invalidate the premise of your Thesis, Mr Trench," Travers came to his rescue. "Think of it as a perfect starting point for your doctoral studies."
Trench almost collapsed in relief. "Thank you, Sir Quentin. I... I will..."
"I sure you do," Travers interrupted the man's emotional outburst. "And it's not me you should be thanking."
"You're welcome, Mr Trench," Rowan nodded again with a straight face before the man could open his mouth.
After a short silence, Lydia Chalmers raised a hand.
"Sir Quentin. May I...?"
"By all means, Ms Chalmers," Travers nodded, turning his attention away from Trench who was dapping the corners of his eyes with his handkerchief.
"Mr Shea," Chalmers started. "About... about the vampire known as William the Bloody."
"Yes, Ms Chalmers?" Rowan prompted, raising an eyebrow.
"You've met him, I take it?"
"I have," Rowan answered simply.
"I wrote my... Anyway, what's your impression of him?"
"Above-average kisser," Rowan shrugged, not really wanting to waste any time on Spike. He could see that Gwen had trouble keeping her cool as she took notes of the proceedings.
"I see... What?" Chalmers gasped in shock with her cheeks flaring deep red as her brain finally processed what Rowan had said.
The doors to the meeting room were pushed forcefully open and a grey-haired, older man marched authoritatively inside with a few younger council members in tow.
"Roger, you're out of order!" Travers shouted angrily, rising to his feet.
"You're harbouring this... creature here, allowing him to corrupt those who are sworn to oppose what he represents!" the newcomer shouted back. He gave Rowan a look that could only be described as disgust. "I call for a motion of no-confidence."
"Father...," Wesley started quietly from his seat.
Roger Wyndam-Pryce silenced his son with a steely gaze. "I'm well within my rights to ask for a vote of no-confidence."
"Seconded," Fergus McPherson proclaimed from where he was flanking the elder Wyndam-Pryce. A few other members in the room murmured their assent.
Travers was seething and threw an inconspicuous look at Rowan who was watching the proceedings from the other side of the large room with what looked like amused interest. Travers knew he couldn't dismiss a motion of no-confidence even though it meant a possible catastrophe for the Council at this delicate time. Roger Wyndam-Pryce and his ideas and ideals belonged to a bygone era, and the Council couldn't be dragged back to the past to stagnate as it would if the elder Wyndam-Pryce headed it.
Travers had known for a long time that Roger had support for his views within the Council but, so far, his own faction had been able to easily hold sway. He had also hoped that Rowan's presence here would strengthen his own position but it seemed that the ultra-conservative sect wasn't so easily moved despite the wealth of information they had already received from the Lehaïr. Travers allowed himself a small smile thinking of what might happen if he lost the vote and Roger made an immediate move against the Lehaïr he so blatantly loathed. It would be almost worth losing to see the outcome of that. Without any of this showing on his face, he banged the gavel against the table.
"The request for a vote of no-confidence has been raised and seconded," Travers announced in a loud voice. "This session is ineligible to vote on such an issue as it was not included in the agenda before it was accepted." He raised his hand as a few mouths opened in protest. "According to the proceedings, this session can vote to call an emergency meeting with the motion as the sole item in the agenda. I ask all non-Cabinet members to leave the room."
Chairs were pushed back as those who had been present for the interview only rose to their feet. Rowan followed the procession out of the meeting room. The last he heard before the doors were closed was Roger Wyndam-Pryce's angry, "I demand a secret ballot!"
"Sorry, Roger," Travers apologised with a straight face after only the Cabinet members were left in the room. Inside he was grinning; Roger had made a fortunate mistake by interrupting an on-going meeting and demanding a vote of non-confidence outside the agenda. Had the item been in the original agenda, more Cabinet members would be present and the voting result less certain. Instead, now they had mostly members present who were interested in the Lehaïr, one way or another. "Meeting requests not in the original agenda, regardless of the type, are decided on a single majority by a show of hands, as you very well know, having participated in the writing of the current procedures, I believe. The vote itself, if this session decides to call for one, will be a secret ballot." He banged his gavel once more.
"Those in favour of calling an emergency Council meeting to discuss and vote on a motion of no-confidence, raise your hand."
Grinding his teeth, the elder Wyndam-Pryce raised his hand. Slowly a hand here and there was raised, including that of Fergus McPherson. Travers took a look at Wesley who looked like fainting on the spot. The young Keeper kept his hands lowered, though, even after his father had locked eyes with him. Five hands stayed in the air.
"Those not in favour," Travers announced after a minute. 'Eight,' he sighed inwardly in relief after another minute of waiting. Also, to his relief, both Gwen and Lydia had raised their hands. Less than he had hoped, though. A few members, including Wesley, had kept their hands lowered throughout, abstaining from voting either way.
Before Travers could announce the result of the vote, Roger Wyndam-Pryce stormed out of the room. "This isn't the end of this," he spat with a final angry glance at Travers.
"The nays have the vote," Travers formally announced the result and banged his gavel.
Those few left who had voted to remove Travers looked uneasily around, shuffling in their seats.
"I respect each and everyone's opinion in this room," he told the gathered Council members loudly and banged his gavel once more. "We're adjourned. Wesley, a word with you. Please also ask the Framadar to re-join us."
After the limo had come to a stop in front of Le Gavroche, the driver helped Gwen out of the car. Rowan followed her on the sidewalk and offered his arm to her. As they walked to the door, Rowan glanced inconspicuously over his shoulder. He saw the chauffeur dial a number on his phone. He was very good.
"A table at Le Gavroche. Really?" Gwen asked, sounding amused.
"One of the perks, Gwen. Travers seems to think he owes me."
"Now, why on earth would he think that, I wonder?" Gwen laughed.
'For conspiring to murder my... girlfriend,' Rowan thought.
Inside the maître d' lowered the receiver of a phone as they stepped inside. He showed no surprise at seeing Rowan.
"Mr Shea, Ms Post. Good evening and welcome to Le Gavroche. Please follow me; I'll show you to your table."
They were led to a private table for two, subtly away from the other diners, next to which a waiter was waiting for them.
"This is Gavin," the maître d' introduced the man. "He will be your personal waiter this evening."
"Good evening, Mr Shea, Ms Post," Gavin greeted them, equally unfazed. After they had been seated, he asked about drinks.
Gwen had a small smile on her lips as he watched what Rowan would do.
Rowan answered with a smile of his own. "A bottle of Dom Perignon 1990, please, Gavin."
"Very good, Sir," Gavin nodded and withdrew.
Gwen was impressed. "My, you have done your homework," she laughed merrily.
Gavin came back with the champagne while they were both still laughing.
"So, how's Faith?" Gwen asked with the glass of champagne in her hand. She expected Rowan to roll his eyes or something else to that effect but instead she faced a steely gaze.
"Are you asking as a friend or the Cabinet Secretary?"
She lowered her glass to the table and reached over the table to cover his hand with hers. "Please, Rowan. I still consider myself as her Watcher. Her well-being is something that I take to heart."
Rowan was quiet for a minute. "She's with a group called the Faithful. And where they are, I'm sure you will be able to make a few educated guesses."
'New Zealand, then,' Gwen nodded to herself and let her eyes project understanding.
"I'd never betray her confidence, or yours," she affirmed aloud.
"I know, Gwen, and I'm sorry," Rowan replied with sincerity. "It's just that..." Rowan continued but fell silent as Gavin came to fill their glasses.
"Would you like to order now, Sir?"
Gwen once again watched intently.
"Menu Exceptionnel for both of us, please; for Ms Post as the vegetarian variety."
"Excellent choice, if I may say, Sir."
"And Gavin, I would appreciate it if you took her disability into account. We wouldn't want her not be able to fully enjoy your excellent menu."
"I will take care of it, Sir," Gavin assured them and withdrew again.
"You think of everything," Gwen smiled as Gavin once again left their table.
"I try," Rowan winked at her, raising his glass. They touched their glasses together with a soft "ting".
"You were going to say something before Gavin came over," Gwen reminded him, sipping the champagne.
Rowan was silent for a minute, watching Gwen intently. She knew better than to prompt further, knowing that Rowan's brilliant mind would consider all aspects of the issue that was bothering him before telling her.
"I don't think the Council can be salvaged," he finally spoke.
Gwen blinked a few times. "What?"
"Remember when I once told you that the Council fails to see what's essential?"
"Yes," Gwen breathed weakly.
"The Council seems to think that it's the Council itself that's essential."
"But the Council has never been stronger," Gwen argued.
"You were there today and saw the petty bickering," Rowan reminded her quietly. "Throughout my time here, they have never asked me about Buffy or Faith."
"It's just... it's just hard to believe."
"I saw this quote the other day which I think perfectly describes the current Council. I believe it's from the Foundation books. I have them in my quarters but haven't had time to open them yet. It says: 'It's unfortunate that it has so long been controlled by people old enough to be senile but young enough to have power.'"
Gwen stayed silent in thought until the first course was served.
"So," Gwen started while twirling the cognac in her snifter. "Earlier, you said 'later'. It's later."
Rowan twirled the well-matured calvados in his own snifter in thought. "How much do you remember?"
Gwen took a small sip and furrowed her brow. "I... remember Angel telling me it was time, then holding the Glove in my hand and looking at my left palm. After that there are only fleeting sensations – pain, ecstasy, taste of blood – until I woke up in the hospital. Rupert, Buffy and Willow told me later what they'd seen – that we'd won. Olvikan was destroyed and the school lay in ruins." She touched her left sleeve unconsciously. "I... knew what wearing the Glove meant. I knew with absolute certainty I was sacrificing myself for the greater good. That it was what I was redeemed for. Then I woke up to pain with the Glove and... my hand gone. The doctor who saw me first after I'd woken up almost fainted. No one at the hospital had expected me to regain consciousness so soon – few had expected me to survive at all. They said I had 3rd degree burns over 50% of my body. Then, fast forward three weeks and not a single infection, no scarring, the skin transplant over the stump perfectly attached."
"It was Faith," Rowan told her quietly.
"What?" Gwen blinked and almost dropped her snifter.
"It was your Slayer, Gwen. When you activated the Glove, it was like my mind was torn open... again. Nothing nearly as violent as what The Hegemon did to me but definitely... unpleasant. I was... I was weeping fire and it felt... like my spirit was about to either burn my body to cinder or just snuff out. Then, after... after, there was a final burst... like my heart had exploded. Before I fell into darkness, I saw the ceiling crack and then everything collapsed around me. The next I knew..." Here Rowan chuckled briefly. "The next I knew, Faith was straddling and kissing me. Not a bad way to wake up. Better than yours anyway."
Gwen nodded and waited for Rowan to continue.
"Faith... she told me to touch her with Spirit. I don't know where she... Anyway, I did, without thinking of the consequences. It could have... but she... she 'relit my fire' as the saying goes."
"That still doesn't explain..."
"Two days later I went to her apartment. She had left me a note, basically telling me that she would be gone by the time I got the message. What she didn't know was that you and I had some... external help speeding up our recovery. But to make a long story shorter, we fought for dominance, we made love and she told me she had made a deal with the Powers."
"She what?" Gwen almost screamed but at the last moment had the presence of mind to keep her voice low, so it came out almost like a squeak.
"Unbelievable, isn't it?" Rowan smiled with a nod. "She did basically what I'd done for her regarding the Council but on a momentously grander scale. I 'gave' Faith her freedom, she gave us our lives back. She'll the Powers' 'beck-and-call girl' – her words, not mine – for a time in exchange for them reviving us and... expediting our recovery."
Gwen drained her snifter with a shaking hand. "I think I need some fresh air," she swallowed unsteadily.
"Gavin, please?" Rowan gestured to the waiter.