8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Angel. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story.
Author's Note: This takes place after the final seasons of both Buffy and Angel. And, please keep those reviews coming. This is kind of new territory for me (I don't write about Buffy even though I'm an addict) and it means a lot for you to be reading and letting me know what you think.
88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
Anywhere's Better Than Cleveland
Chapter Two: Reality
8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
Faith frowned. This was not going to be as easy as she had originally imagined.
First off, she was apparently somewhere before the advent of cell phones. No signal, no service, and her phone was pretty much only good for the games on it until the battery died. That and there was no running water aside from the river to one side of the fortress and no toilets.
Commune? she wondered. Nah, those are real swords and real wounds on those soldiers, she countered silently, watching as a soldier was lifted down from the horse he had been riding.
She paused, looking at the men on horseback.
They were oddly familiar.
Faith stepped a little closer, careful to still keep to the shadow of the alley she'd taken refuge in. She frowned. Very oddly familiar since she didn't consort with armor-clad warriors. Well, unless you counted Angel, but his armor had been that black coat. She smiled as she remembered him without pain. Back to the guys in front of her. Where had she seen these guys before?
It hit her like a ton of bricks. They were King Arthur and his Sarmatian knights. From the fricking fifth century. She took a steadying breath. I've been cursed into a movie? Brown eyes narrowed. Oh, that demon better have been smoked by Buffy or she, Faith, was going to turn him into sushi.
The men were dismounting and Faith moved farther back from the men, dropping deeper into the shadows.
But someone noticed her movement. Tristan, of the dark eyes and the messy braids, watched his hawk turn its head towards the alley, golden eyes watching the darkness. Tristan's gaze followed that of his hawk and he spotted….a woman? He frowned. And then she disappeared from his view, almost as if the shadows had swallowed her whole. He started towards the alley.
"Tristan!" called Gawain. "Come, let's check on Lamorak. "
Faith watched the scout turn from his forward advance and instead follow the golden-haired knight. The slayer let out a shaky breath. Okay, time to take stock again. There were more than seven knights, including Arthur, so that meant that it was before the actual movie. She shook her head. Can't believe that I got tossed into one of Dawnie's favorite movies.
Dawn had decided to do a slayer watcher movie night and had made them all watch King Arthur. Of course it had turned into a discussion of battle tactics and historical accuracy, but none of the slayers could avoid feeling for the knights. After all, they were sworn to a duty that they hadn't chosen, had to kill to stay alive, and would likely die before they ever had their freedom. The fact that Dagonet sacrificed himself for the others hit Buffy pretty hard, the pretty blonde crying silently at his death scene.
Faith knew that the giant's death had meant something. That couldn't be said of all deaths. But then for Lancelot to die because he was chasing a piece of ass he would never get and for Tristan to job to Cerdic--that was unacceptable. She'd stormed out of the house after the credits rolled, taken a few drags off a cigarette, and bolted for the nearest cemetery, itching to hunt a few vamps.
And, now, she who was neither Willow the magic genie nor Buffy the ubercool blonde bombshell, nor even Giles of the "answers right this minute as soon as I get my books out", was in the fifth century. With the knights.
I'm twenty-seven and the idea of being around the knights has me weak in the knees. She shook her head, marveling at the fact that she'd sunk to new lows. Lusting after imaginary men. God damn Robin and his wandering eye. It was his fault that she was like this.
8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
Giles wiped his glasses on his shirt. Around him, the Scooby gang had reunited to try to pull Faith from wherever she had been sent. The spell that the demon had been casting was complex and more than dark. He had Willow and Kennedy researching. Buffy was training with Dawn, since the slayer had decided that she was more use getting ready to go in for a rescue than poring over dusty tomes.
Lorne, the green skinned, red-eyed demon, had popped in for a spell and never left. He was currently on the phone, his melodious tones soothing whomever was on the other end of the line into giving him information. And Xander was poring over plans for the building where Faith had disappeared, hoping for some clue as to how Faith had been magically "poofed".
And what was he, Giles, doing? Wondering how he was going to tell Buffy that he'd been able to decipher the spell beyond his minimal translation of before. Giles had been correct in his first assessment: it was very old magic and powerful. The words themselves were an archaic demon tongue, one not easily translated. It was, in fact, a spell to transport a body to an alternate reality. Or, more precisely, to replace the first of one's line with the person it was cast upon in another reality. In effect, Faith had replaced her own ancestor, though it was in another reality stream. To bring Faith back to the future would possibly render her an anomaly of time and space and the slayer would blink out of existence. All of her actions, both good and bad, would never have happened.
And likely the First would have won.
Giles started down the stairs to the vaults beneath the mansion that the Watcher Council had purchased in Cleveland, Ohio. He could hear the thunks and thuds of sparring practice and the soft "whoompfs" that accompanied being hit. He stepped into the cool open area that had once been a wine cellar and watched the slayer and her sister practicing for battle.
Buffy caught sight of her mentor and called the practice to a halt, watching with amusement as Dawn staggered to a chair and dropped into it. "Giles, what have you learned?" she asked, starting towards the Watcher.
Giles sighed. "Nothing good, I'm afraid. It was as I first suspected, a variant on the…"
Buffy held up a hand to stop him. "Giles, in English?"
The older man smiled, pulling off his glasses and again wiping them on his shirt. "I'm afraid that we might not be able to get Faith back," he admitted.
Buffy's blue eyes hardened and she turned to her sister, the younger Summers gaping at the news. "Dawnie, go upstairs. Giles and I have to talk."
Dawn nodded and headed to the stairs, casting a quick glance over her shoulder at the slayer and watcher, the two squaring off.
Once Dawn had left the cellar, Buffy crossed her arms over her breasts. "Okay, now tell me why we can't get Faith back."
Giles crossed to the chair that Dawn had vacated and dropped onto the cushions. "She's taken the place of an ancestor. Someone that long ago gave birth to one of her line. Though it is possible that it is an alternative timeline."
Buffy glanced pointedly at the weapons that she had set down. "Giles, again, in English. The cliff notes version."
Sighing, Giles leaned forward. "If we bring her back to our time and place, she may cease to exist."
Buffy gaped at her mentor. "You're serious."
Giles nodded.
"Well paint me yellow and call me a taxi," she muttered. Once again meeting her friend's hazel-eyed gaze she took a deep breath. "So what do we have to do?"
88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
Tristan took a sip of his ale, dark eyes sweeping the tavern. Another brother, gone. Lamorak had been a good knight and a good friend. It was not fair that so close to their goal, to freedom, that the copper-haired knight had fallen to the Woads.
But they would pay. For each drop of Sarmatian blood they shed, Tristan always extracted tenfold. That would come tomorrow. Tonight there was mourning to do.
Tristan knew that Arthur was replaying in his mind over and over again the battle, what could have been done differently and how he might have been able to get to Lamorak before the Woad's axe could bury itself in the knight's chest. Lancelot, on the other hand, was brooding and drinking. Gawain and Galahad were both quiet, neither seeking the company of the pretty girls that hovered about them. Dagonet was always, or nearly always, quiet and the giant was cradling one of Bors's bastards in his arms, rocking the child to sleep. Tristan thought it had to be two, since the child could toddle about and had a mop of red hair similar to its mother. And finally, Bors. The eldest of them, Bors was holding onto Vanora as if he would die without her touch.
Tristan pulled an apple out of his jerkin, brown eyes inspecting the green skin. It was perfect and Lamorak had offered it to the scout earlier. Tristan had just not had a chance to eat it before Lamorak had fallen.
To you, brother, he thought as he bit into the apple. May you find the peace in death that you so yearned for in life.
88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
Faith shifted uncomfortably and tried to look harmless. Food and shelter were two things that even a slayer could not go without and it wasn't exactly like there she could just start tracking down baddies for profit. She'd worked and been in enough bars. And with the gown that she'd stolen from the castle's laundry replacing her black pants and shirt, she at least no longer looked like something out of a Hot Topic catalog.
Vanora swept her brown eyes over the dark-haired girl before her. There was a hardness about the girl, a girl who'd told her that her name was Faith. She didn't seem like a prostitute and Vanora had certainly seen enough of those in her days at that tavern.
"You can start tonight," advised Vanora, turning her attention back to the infant in the cradle.
Faith nodded and took a closer look around at the tavern. "Thank you," she offered.
Vanora nodded then frowned. "Do you have a place to stay?" The red-haired mother lifted the baby to her shoulder, cooing at the infant boy.
Faith shook her head. She had actually intended to sleep in the hayloft of the barn for another night. Not warm and not particularly comfortable but at least it was out of the weather.
Vanora smiled gently. The dark-haired girl seemed lost even though she was determined to show a hardness. "There's a room at the back. It's not much but it's clean and has a bed."
"I'll take it," interrupted Faith, suddenly looking very grateful. "Thank you."
Vanora nodded. The mother of eleven motioned for the slayer to follow her and Vanora, carrying her son, guided Faith through the back of the tavern to the room.
It was indeed small. A narrow cot rested against a wall, a bureau and a chair the only other furnishings in the room. Faith smiled. It was larger than her cell at the women's prison that she had broken out of all those months ago. "It's perfect. Thank you."
Vanora blushed. Wherever this dark-haired girl had come from, she seemed thankful for the slightest kindness. "I'm grateful to have another girl to help," she admitted. She let her eyes wander over Faith's figure. "Is that all that you have?"
Faith nodded slowly. "Yes, ma'am."
Vanora smiled. "I believe that we might be able to find you some new clothes. And if you'd like, I have some soap that you can use."
Faith grinned. "Again, thank you. A bath would be lovely. Where can I bathe?"
Vanora pointed out the window towards the river. "No luxuries, I'm afraid, but the river is not too cold."
Faith nodded again. She'd done with far worse. "I'll take you up on that offer."
Vanora's face scrunched up in confusion.
"I'd like that. Yes, let me borrow your soap," translated Faith.
Vanora shifted the baby in her arms. "Then I shall leave you to settle yourself. I'll send down the soap and some clothes. Why don't you rest?" she suggested, the mother noting the way the slayer seemed to sway with exhaustion.
Faith smiled and moved to the cot, climbing onto the narrow mattress and dropping into a deep, dreamless sleep almost immediately.
88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
TBC...
88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
To My Wonderful Reviewer:
BleedingTwilight: Thank you for giving this a chance. I know that it's not like my other stories but the fact that you are willing to ride along with me on this means a lot. Agreed, Faith later in the series was far more interesting as a character. Here's hoping that it gets a bit more interesting in coming chapters. Thank you, thank you, thank you.