Disclaimer: I own nothing of Tolkien's works, however all original characters and story concepts solely belong to me. The Grigori and all documented characters associated with them belong in the public domain. Any references to the original book, The Serpent and the Peacock are copyrighted to A Selby. Any references to the world created by Joss Whedon belong to him.
Author Note: Many profuse apologies for the delay in continuing this story. I got caught up in a Twilight story and I am writing that at the same time as this one. However life again got me by the short and curlies and I've had a lot of things to do. Hopefully things will now calm down as the Silly Season advances. Also World of Warcraft Cataclysm expansion is almost out and I am smack in the middle of exploring the new Azeroth and Kalimdor...very necessary I assure you all!
ooOoo
"I am neither good, nor bad, neither angel nor devil, I am a man, I am a vampire. "
- Michael Romkey (I, Vampire)
The Hellmouth
Chapter 4 – Of Elves and Coincidences
A large manor house some five miles from the Scottish town of Loch Mairie...
Willow Rosenberg was puzzled and that was a sensation that she had never learned to accept. To the senior Wiccan for the IWSC, being puzzled was a red light for hitting the research or at the very least a little teensy bit of mind probing which normally wasn't a problem for someone with her considerable power...well not a problem until she had encountered the minds of the two very unusual guests that were now staying in the headquarters that is.
It wasn't so much their unusual, and in the case of Celeborn, alien appearance, it was more that she was having trouble reading either of them and again, in the case of Celeborn, it was as though some highly amused part of his psyche was completely aware of what she was attempting to do and was effortlessly turning all the probing aside.
There was also the uncomfortable feeling in the back of her mind that she had met Celeborn before...or at the very least someone very like him. The vibes emanating in waves from the tall, slender yet powerful looking silver haired man...Elf...or whatever he was...were confusing to say the least and yet reeked of familiarity. She shook her head vehemently... and why on earth was she having so much trouble with the idea of Elves actually existing? If demons existed then so could Elves or anything else for that matter.
The other guy with the name of total weirdness...Rendil or something like that...wasn't as hard to read initially, but every time she tried to go deeper than surface thoughts it was as if something or someone much more powerful was blocking her, yet the vibes coming from him were human...he was totally human with...something else, as if he had been or was being enhanced.
She snorted with impatience... the feeling of being diverted was not a common one for her. She debated delving into those depths of her power that were tinged with their own darkness but as soon as the thought occurred she dismissed it. Nope...whatever these two were, they weren't evil...no sirree...nothing of the evilness there at all, so no need to bring out dark veiny Willow with the black hair.
Willow sighed, it would have to be the good old 'wheedling out of information' routine then. She mentally practised the pleading look that she knew full well she could manage in spades. The widening of the green eyes, the friendly ingenuous little self-deprecating grin and the babbling...oh hell yeah...the babbling was always of the good. The babbling had been known to either make the hardest of hearts melt or, alternatively, get people thoroughly annoyed because they had no idea what she was babbling about.
She frowned, maybe not the babbling then. The trouble was that Willow-babble as Buffy and the rest of the Scoobies and Slayers termed it..was not something she had a great deal of control over. She knew what she wanted to say... she even practised it in her mind before she said it...then her mouth opened and a string of idiocy would burble forth from her lips that even made her want to give herself a mind-slap.
So how was she to ask her first question and not sound totally deranged?
"Sooo...what's it like to be an Elf?"
The offending words came tripping out of her blabber mouth before she could clamp her lips shut on them.
Oh jeepers Willow...what's it like to be an Elf? Really?
It had to be said that both Celeborn and Earendil had been watching the expressions flit across her face for the past fifteen minutes and had exchanged more than one highly amused glance with each other. Her attempts to climb inside the heads of both had been adroitly turned away. Celeborn was an ancient Elf who was well practised over thousands of years in averting the sharp mind probing of someone much more expert in the area of mind-speaking than Willow; that someone being his wife.
Earendil on the other hand was, as Willow surmised. very human except for certain abilities granted to him by the Valar and one of those was in mind protection techniques. Out of all of those resident in the Blessed Realm and indeed in Middle-earth, Earendil the Mariner came the closest to the Void and the Doors of Night which provided the barrier between that dimension and that of Valinor and Arda. It had come from Eru Iluvatar himself that the Mariner was to be given certain abilities to prevent the dynamic personality of Melkor and others behind those doors from influencing him to perhaps opening them.
As Celeborn watched Willow's very expressive face alter those expressions from a little bit cross... to puzzlement ...then cross again...right through to the little mischievous grin which immediately changed to a scowl...he was reminded very much of his granddaughter now deceased. How many times had he watched Arwen as a child, puzzling over something in much the same way? It had been the one constant delight of his life to see the myriad of random thoughts slip over her beautiful features and know that she was either planning some mischief or trying to work out some knotty problem on her own before coming to him, kneeling down and placing two childish hands on his knees.
"Daerada?" She would smile up at him and his heart would melt. He would have handed her the universe on a platter if he could have.
He drew in a sharp breath as the thought pierced him. Nobody would ever know just what a sense of loss he had endured all through the Ages of Arda when her spirit finally flew the Circles of the Earth. Yes he had stayed because Arda was his home and his birthplace, but he had also stayed because he had not wished to desert the forests that he loved, nor had he wished to desert Arwen while she still drew breath. That much he and his grandsons had in common. Even though he knew that Galadriel and Elrond had drawn on and spent their power and energy on the War of the Ring, both before and just after...there was still a huge part of him that couldn't understand how they could walk away and leave Arwen. Neither Elrond or Galadriel saw her again after the company had delivered Theoden King to his rest in Rohan, although a few mortal years passed before both Elrond and Galadriel has passed across the Straight Road along with Mithrandir and the two hobbits.
Elrond and Arwen had gone off by themselves before the company carried on their separate ways and had said their farewells in private to each other. Galadriel, with her usual aplomb, had parted from her granddaughter with equanimity and her usual calm. For some reason it had been easy for the Lady of Light to accept her granddaughter's chosen fate and not question it. Elrond had been less calm of course and the distress had shown on his face as he stood on the swan ship waiting for the ropes to be cast off. Celeborn had stood watching until the ship slipped beyond their sight, as had Glorfindel, who had stood with one arm each around a quietly grieving twin. The last any of them saw of Elrond until they were reunited with him in Valinor was the anxious pale oval of his face shining out from underneath the hood of his dark cloak.
Two people who had been among the closest to Arwen Undomiel had gone leaving the others to bear the burden of the watch and the wait for the inevitable to happen.
The child Willow's ingenuous question brought him back to the here and now with a savage jolt. Even as the words left her mouth her face took on a panic-stricken look and the laughter rippled up inside him, even as it had when Arwen had done something very similar. He carefully schooled his expression into one of courteous interest. Showing the amusement he was truly feeling would only have embarrassed her. However he was exceedingly startled by the intense desire to put his arms around Willow as he would have done with Arwen all those ages ago and reassure her that any question, no matter how silly it sounded, was relevant if it was important to her.
Earendil, bless him, saw the expression on Celeborn's face and immediately stepped into the breach.
"Well, I can't speak for being a true Elf, Lady Willow." He began courteously. "My own heritage is very mixed..."
Her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh no..." The distress was plain in her voice. "That was so much of the bad...really it was...rude...rude. That was so rude of me. Here you are...in a strange place and after being used as a punch bag by Buffy and girls and here I am saying really silly things that I had no intention of saying to start with. I had a totally different question in my head, but then my stupid mouth just started talking without even asking me..."
Earendil blinked and chuckled. "No, no...not a stupid mouth...a very charming mouth and a very relevant question indeed considering that I imagine that Lord Celeborn is probably the first Elf you ever saw..."
He got no further, she immediately flushed to the roots of her hair. "No...you see...he...he might not be, only I can't remember properly. It's like I have a really really important memory and someone stuffed it away in a bag full of dirty laundry and now there's so much laundry and it's so muddled up I can't find the thought in all the mess..." Her words trailed off in embarrassment. Had she really just compared her mind to a messy basket of dirty laundry? Oh. My. Goddess. "...and there I go again with the stupid words."
Celeborn took a step forward, a small frown knitted silver brows together. He had latched onto the first part of her diatribe like a terrier grabbing a rat by the neck. "I might not be the first Elf you've met?"
He shot a look at Earendil who shrugged. Both knew what the other was thinking. Had this child somehow come across Elrond or one of the others here in modern Arda? It was feasible of course. Before sending them here with Osse, Lord Ulmo had spoken of Eönwë's task here...a task in which he was more than ably assisted by quite a few of the Elven persuasion. Celeborn's own daughter and son in law and one of their sons, Elladan, were of that group. So was Haldir, his former Warden of the Marches in Lothlorien, Glorfindel and the two eldest sons of Feanor, not to mention Finrod Felagund were also members and here in modern Middle-earth. It was not unthinkable that their path and the path of Sauron...tch...Rupert Giles's...he really must remember that... people had crossed at some point in time.
Willow coloured an even deeper pink. "Well...I...I just can't remember properly. It might have been a dream."
"Perhaps." Earendil's calm deep voice poured soothing waves over the sudden slightly tense atmosphere in the room. "Try not to let it distress you. The memory will come when it needs to."
"I suppose so." She said in a small voice, clearly not convinced.
The door to the room where Joss and Willow had taken their two guests to refresh themselves was abruptly flung open. Joss stood there with her trademark cocky, almost maniacal grin on her face.
"There's food laid out in the library and Dr Giles, Buffy and Xander are waiting for you. Are you ready?"
Earendil smiled at her. "Indeed we are..." He nudged Celeborn, who was still staring at Willow with a very peculiar expression on his face, hard in the ribs. "...aren't we Celeborn?"
"What?" Celeborn looked confused for a moment. "Food? Oh...yes...indeed, we are both quite famished."
He conjured up a charming smile at Joss who grinned back, vastly relieved that neither he nor Earendil appeared to hold a grudge against her earlier treachery. She stepped aside and gestured for Celeborn and Earendil to come with her. Willow followed them along the corridor and down the wide stone staircase that led to the ground floor of the large house. Her frown had deepened slightly. Celeborn's interest in her had not escaped her and what was it about his and Earendil's names that she thought she should know?
She decided that she would have a quiet word with Giles about it. There was definitely some remembering going on in her mind, fuzzy thought it may be. It was like she should know both of them, but from where she would know them was a mystery.
A mystery she was hoping that Rupert Giles might be able to solve, otherwise she was going to have to risk a few black roots at the very least to probe deeper. (1)
ooOoo
As Sauron, Melkor's right hand man and then as Dark Lord in his own right, Rupert Giles had possessed the same instincts about people and feelings as he did now. Then in the dark times of Arda he had used those instincts to good effect in his efforts to draw people to him. His natural charm had worked a treat with the Smiths of Eregion, but he had always suspected that Celebrimbor saw what he wanted to see most of the time and the others merely followed suit. Celeborn and Galadriel were not taken in at all by his attitude of gentleness. Later on he had abandoned those instincts about others for autocracy and cruelty. He still had those particular traits now, but they only emerged now if people he cared about were threatened...and he did care...oh how he cared. Just let anyone try to hurt his people, then and only then did the Sauron part of him emerge in the form of Ripper, a nickname handed to him by the memories built into his new life as a mortal.
In rehabilitating him, the Ainur had first led his most powerful feelings of cruelty and malice into regret and sorrow and then finally after many millennia gently pushed him into the situation with Eönwë's daughter and the American woman. They had allowed him to watch events unfold and then when his emotions were fully engaged he had been allowed to assist them.
It had been the beginning of the end of his former life. In all of his days as a Maia of Aule and then in the service of the First Evil he had never been interested in woman particularly, even though the most beautiful and seductive of woman had been paraded for his pleasure. It had been rare for him to take even the most casual of interest. Seduction of that kind was not where his interests lay. Power was far more seductive to him than sexuality, although he recognised fully that the power of sexual seduction had its own advantages. The result of this was that, once into the rehabilitation programme, he found that he was a complete novice at relationships with the opposite sex. During the rescue of Almare and Catherine he found himself acknowledging an attraction to the rather beautiful CIA agent, but was at a loss as to how to advance it beyond their situation which was hardly conducive or even long enough for a flirtation. Of course afterwards he found himself catapulted into life with the over-active bundles of hormones called typical American teenagers and there didn't seem much opportunity to indulge in something like a relationship with anybody, especially considering that most of his time was spent either with children or demons of the evil variety.
Even when Jenny had come into his life he had found himself to be a stuttering wreck, completely unable to vocalise properly when she even just smiled at him. He also found himself in the embarrassing and unenviable position of having to take lessons in Flirting for Dummies from his fifteen year old protege before even getting up the nerve to ask her out on a date. It was very clear that nobody from his former life would have either believed or recognised the confident Dark Lord from this stuttering Englishman who was constantly in a state of nervous anxiety around women.
Jenny had been the final piece of the rehabilitated Sauron jigsaw puzzle. She had been the one to finally lead him into full recognition of his emotions, although he was more than aware that by this time he had a father's love for not only Buffy, but her friends as well. He slotted into his new self almost seamlessly and it had been the first time that he acknowledged and accessed the emotions he had as Mairon in the very beginning. Her death had been the completion of his emotional journey, the grief over her and then later over Buffy was the completion of the rehabilitation, a sad, but unfortunately necessary event.
So he was by now in tune with all of his 'children', as he liked to think of them. He knew when Buffy was embarrassed or angry and needed to vent; he knew when Dawn was feeling frustrated with her sister's over-protectiveness and had been the one to encourage her to go Oxford to finish her schooling, just as he had been the one to encourage her interest in being a Watcher. He knew when Xander was mulling over his life and mourning the loss of his eye and his love Anya during the fight with Caleb and the First and he knew when Willow needed support and advice or Faith needed grounding and a safety net. He was, in all things, their mentor and he took the role very seriously indeed, also acting often as father figure and parental authority for all the other girls, some of them who were still quite young and for many of the young Watchers in training as well.
The moment Willow walked into the room behind Joss, Celeborn and Earendil those instincts homed in on the mild distress in her expression and he suspected that he knew what was behind it. The appearance of Celeborn so abruptly in their lives had started to unravel the block put on Willow's memory after the battle for the Moria Hellmouth. The Grigori Sariel had warned him that eventually the memories could re-emerge, especially if triggered off by something and the arrival of a real live Elf had apparently done just that. He sighed inwardly. He had hoped to keep her apart from Eönwë and his people for longer, at least long enough for the memory to bury itself deeper, but he was beginning to believe that the block wasn't the only thing beginning to unravel in the world.
He mentally began to prepare himself for long explanations and even longer debates about those explanations. Telling Buffy and the others about his past was not something he was looking forward to at all.
ooOoo
The Loch Mairie Police Station in the North West of Scotland...
The desk sergeant of the provincial police station was not a small man. In fact he stood out well enough in the town that every single person knew who he was. Not that this would have been a difficult achievement given the size of the town. However even he was dwarfed by two of the personages who had appeared in the small reception area, one of whom held a light in his eyes that the sergeant found difficult to withstand. It only occurred to him afterwards, while telling his wife about the extraordinary happenings that day, that the light in the eyes of the tall, very imposing British Army General in front of him was also mirrored in the eyes of the prisoner who had spent most of the night in his cold cell singing songs in a language that none of them recognised, although the DCI had thought it might be a form of Gaelic. The songs themselves had every single person within earshot mesmerised by their beauty and no less mesmerised by the poignant unearthly beauty of the prisoner's voice.
The songs spoke of different things to different people. To the DCI who had been born in a small fishing village, they spoke of the ocean depths and the eerie calls of whales or the solitary cry of a gull and the ebb and flow of the tides. To the Desk Sergeant, the songs spoke of the calm still waters of the loch, the call of the hawk flying high above it and he swore he could almost see and smell the mists that wreathed his beloved loch in the early morning and early evening. Whatever memories and long forgotten emotions any of the humans who were privileged to listen possessed were drawn forth from them by the beautiful voice of Osse, raised in song.
They had absolutely no idea that they were being serenaded by an angel, but the generally dour-faced Desk Sergeant found himself opening the cell door and handing a tray with a mug of strong tea laced with whiskey and some hot buttered toast spread liberally with some of Mrs Dougray-Scott's raspberry jam which was sold at the local grocery store. Not that stuff that was sold to the tourists mind you, but the real home-made version sold to locals. He had been rewarded by a beautiful smile and a courteous thank you.
So the Desk Sergeant was sweating a lot to start with on the following morning when he'd been just about to have his own morning tea, having taken some to Osse earlier. He had been on the pointing of pouring a liberal tot of whiskey into the gently steaming mug when the bell over the door sounded. He didn't look up; it was probably MacCullaugh the Postie dropping off the morning mail, so he continued to pour a thin stream of the pungent amber liquid into the mug and only stopped when a shadow loomed over him and caused him to look up.
At first all he was aware of was that the dingy utilitarian reception area of the station had filled with light and a feeling of well-being literally infused him, body and soul. He felt like bursting into tears for the first time in a very very long time. By the time he had managed to compose himself he was treated to the next shock for the day. His mouth dropped open and his hand shook violently when he met the shining, implacable gaze of his visitor, a man of both imposing height and build dressed in military uniform and with enough red tabs and scrambled egg on the shiny peak of his cap to indicate that his rank was very very high.
His attention was so fully focused on the being in front of him the whiskey dribbled on the desk instead of in the mug and a strong, but slender hand reached out and gently took the bottle out of the sergeant's numb fingers. An amused look entered those dark blue shining eyes and the light in them was muted a little as he set the whiskey bottle on the desk and finished the poor sergeant off altogether with a devastatingly beautiful smile.
"Good morning." Lord above but the man's voice was as beautiful as his face. "My name is Major-General Matthews, I am the General Officer Commanding 4 Division of the British Army and I would like to speak to whoever is in charge."
"Uh..." The Desk Sergeant found that the power of speech had momentarily left him.
The beautiful General shot him another smile, but this time it was one of his companions who stepped forward with a smile and spoke.
"And my name is Detective Sergeant Finrod from the Metropolitan Police in London and this is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Moore . Perhaps we could speak to..." He took out a small black wirebound notebook and examined it for a moment. "Detective Chief Inspector MacGillivray?"
The Desk Sergeant turned to look at this other new visitor and nearly collapsed. Finrod's beauty was no less than the General's, but the effect was offset slightly by the tall, equally beautiful, police officer holding out his warrant card for examination as did Jim Moore. He managed to claw back some of his composure and even managed to examine Eönwë's proffered military ID as well without losing control of his mouth again.
"Aye...aye...weel now, that would be the Inspector." He replied weakly. "And whut exactly would your business be with him might I ask?"
Those dark blue eyes fixed on him again and he quailed a little because this time there was an implacable look in them. The General regarded him dispassionately for a minute, head slightly cocked thoughtfully to one side.
"We understand that you have a prisoner at the moment and our business, as you call it, is regarding him." The General's face grew stern. "And that is all we are at liberty to tell you. Please be good enough to fetch the Inspector for us...now if he is available."
Such was the command in Eönwë's voice and demeanour that the Desk Sergeant immediately responded.
"Yes sir, of course sir...if you'd like tae take a seat gentlemen, I'll see if the Inspector is available."
He lumbered off down a passageway and Eönwë, Finrod and Jim made themselves as comfortable as they could on the wooden form benches. Jim burst out laughing when Finrod gently patted the hard wooden seat before gingerly sitting down.
"I don't think they're there for visitors Fin, they're for what passes for potential inmates in the town...you know the sort of thing, the drunk who's too drunk to drive, the kid who urinates in the street or puts graffiti on the wall of the local pub. I wouldn't be surprised if they still used the cane or even the stocks!"
Finrod grimaced. "So barbaric." He murmured. His mobile rang shrilly and insistently and he finally sighed and looked at the caller before answering. "It's Amarie..."
Jim grinned at him. "I told you not to introduce her to the swift modern methods of communication."
Finrod's grimace turned into a scowl. "How was I to know that she would embrace modern technology? It's all Jan and Kim's fault. They started her on this damnable texting thing. Half the time I have no idea what she's talking about and I have to get someone else to translate."
Eönwë sighed and sat down on the bench beside Finrod, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "You should switch it off unless you're going to use it or waiting for important news. That's what I do otherwise I'd never get anything done because I'd be too busy answering calls from Kim and texts from Allie."
Finrod's blond eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Wait...Allie texts you? Allie has a mobile phone?"
"It's a cheap pay-as-you-go, but she loves it." Eönwë admitted. "As does Kim love her damn iPhone thing that she insisted I buy her for her birthday. I did protest strongly at the time that since we can all three of us communicate a lot cheaper using mind-speak there was hardly any need, but I was overruled...as usual these days. When Kim got a little stressed about it Daeron came up and hit me over the head with his plastic hammer and told me I was a 'naughty daddy' for upsetting Mummy. Maedhros and Maksim were no help at all and I swear I heard Erestor and Haldir sniggering in the kitchen."
Finrod and Jim fell about laughing. "Surely you didn't just let him hammer you over the head?" Jim chortled.
Eönwë raised an eyebrow. "He's two years old Jim, what was I supposed to do? Draw my sword and treat him to the wrath of the Ainur?" He chuckled. "No...to Kim's utter horror and Allie's glee I did what any self-respecting irritated parent would do and turned him over my knee and paddled his backside gently with the flat of my hand which didn't do much more than make him giggle. Then...then my beloved daughter informed me that if she reported me to the police they'd arrest me for child molestation! I thought Kim was going to stop breathing she was laughing so much... I swear to Eru that I am going to find every mobile phone in my house and put them on the bonfire..." He sighed again and grumbled while the laughter erupted from both Jim and Finrod in helpless snorts. "...and now I suppose I'd better record my own oath."
The book materialised out of thin air along with the quill pen, but, unfortunately, so did the Desk Sergeant behind the desk and if his eyes had popped out any farther from his eye sockets Jim was debating whether they'd have to rush him to Accident and Emergency to get them put back in.
"Uh...uh..nnn..." The Desk Sergeant stuttered.
Eönwë didn't turn a hair. He calmly finished writing his own oath in the book whilst wryly suffering Atto's melodic laughter inside his head. Never let it be said that Eru didn't have a sense of humour! He stood up and the sergeant shrank back. The book disappeared into nowhere along with the pen and the sergeant's eyes came out even further.
"The Inspector?" Eönwë prompted gently.
"The book...the pen..." Gurgled the poor sergeant pointing to what was now empty space. His mouth was opening and shutting like a landed fish gasping for oxygen.
Finrod decided to rescue the poor man from an apoplectic fit. "Is the Inspector ready for us sergeant?"
"Ah...aye...aye..." He shot a grateful smile at his fellow officer. "If you'd just like to come this way gentlemen."
"That was very bad of you." Finrod scolded Eönwë who chuckled.
"Oh come now...it's not often I get any fun...in fact these days, not ever."
ooOoo
Back at Wellington House, official residence of the General Officer Commanding early hours of the morning...
The house was finally quiet after Eönwë's abrupt departure for Scotland taking with him Jim Moore and Finrod. The children had slept straight through everything and were still asleep much to Kim's relief. Erestor had retired to his own quarters for some well earned rest, taking with him a cup of ginger tea with honey and a book from the library which was in Sumerian, a language that fascinated him and was teaching himself. Haldir had also retired, since the General's military driver had taken the three to the airport.
Kim and Maksim sat at opposite ends of the large kitchen table, she with a cup of hot chocolate and he with a warmed mug of pig's blood. She sighed blissfully as she sipped the chocolate and curled her legs underneath her. Neither spoke, but then neither needed to, such was the relaxed relationship of the two. Of the others normally resident in the hour, Nerdanel was visiting with Jan and Maedhros in London and Celebrian had accompanied Elrond back to Moria and was then travelling to Vevey in Switzerland to see Elladan with Joaquim who was also visiting the dig site. The deep, peaceful silence of the house was only punctuated by the slow steady ticking of the kitchen clock. Erestor had been most adamant about having a clock that made a noise rather than the more modern digital version preferred by Kim. As it was, she found that he was right. There was something very peaceful about a ticking clock.
It was so quiet that both of them were taken by surprise by a soft knocking on the back kitchen door which led into a paved area and then into the back garden. Kim stiffened and Maksim's eyes narrowed. He gestured for her to stay behind him and silently padded to the door. Kim watched with bated breath as he listened carefully, head cocked on one side. She knew better than to disturb the ensouled vampire when he was in this state. He could hear and detect much more than any normal human and could tell if there was anyone other than a human waiting outside.
The knock sounded again, this time a little louder and Maksim suddenly opened the door. Kim jumped back as one of the military guards, a young Private Soldier, dressed in full camouflage and with his weapon practically fell in through the opening and in fact would have fallen flat on his face had Maksim not reached out with that preternatural strength of his and grabbed the panic stricken young man by his webbing.
Maksim set the young soldier on his feet, dusted him down and gestured to the other guard who was hovering in the doorway for him to come in. Both young men were bright red with embarrassment and especially when they spotted the new young and very pretty Mrs General standing there in her dressing gown. The second soldier threw up a sloppy salute.
"Sorry Ma'am, beg your pardon Ma'am. We're sorry to disturb you, but the Guard Room told us that the General had gone up north and we just stopped this man from coming up to the house. He was pretty insistent that he saw either the General or someone he called Maskim."
Kim repressed a giggle at the mashing of Maksim's name and Maksim himself smiled sardonically.
"That would be Maksim...and I am he." He said softly. "Does this man of yours have a name?"
The soldier frowned. "It sounded like Curly or Kylie sir...but his accent was quite strong, it was difficult to make it out. We asked for ID sir, but he had nothing on him. We were going to take him to the guard room for the BOO (2) to talk to, but...he was pretty insistent on seeing one of the General's personal staff when we explained the General wasn't here, so we thought we'd come up and ask first."
Maksim glanced at Kim who looked back at him with a clear question in her eyes.
"Could the name possibly have been Kiril?" He asked.
The young soldier's face immediately lightened up with relief. "That's it sir...Kiril. That's his name."
"And where is he now?" The question came from Kim. She knew full well who Kiril was simply because Maksim had spoken of him so many times. Kiril was the head of Maksim's former coven, one of those senior vampires who had not listened to Herumor's wiles.
"Down at the barrier Ma'am, with the MOD Plods." (3)
Kim looked at Maksim, who tapped his teeth thoughtfully with an index finger. "He wouldn't be here without good reason Kim. England is not one of Kiril's favourite places and he wouldn't have travelled here for nothing."
"Okay then." Kim sighed and turned to the young soldiers who were waiting expectantly for a decision. "You'd best bring him up to the house then. I'll give Eon...um Gary a call and let him know what's happening."
Maksim nodded. "Good idea."
The soldiers left and Kim and Maksim resumed their seats at the table, but this time neither finished their night-caps. Instead both were now alert. Kim had called Eönwë, but had to leave a message on his mobile because he was now on a flight to Scotland. She didn't distrust Kiril but she trusted Maksim implicitly to protect her if necessary, but for Kiril to turn up uninvited in the early hours of the morning didn't bode well to her mind. She shivered slightly.
Maksim saw her shiver. He got up and took a folded blanket from the back of another chair and draped it around her shoulders.
"There is nothing to worry about." He soothed. "However I will put the lock on the door and go and wake Haldir and Erestor. Remember that Kiril cannot enter your home unless he is verbally invited. You can stand aside in a gesture which means that he can step over the doorstep on this occasion but does not have a permanent invitation, but I would advise not to do that. If they knock, wait for us to come before you open the door."
Kim pursed her lips in both frustration and nerves and nodded. Why the hell couldn't this Kiril person have visited yesterday? Why did he have to wait until Eönwë was nowhere around?
It seemed like centuries to her until Maksim returned, although in reality it was only a couple of minutes. He was now armed with his gun and some wooden stakes and accompanied by a very alert Haldir, armed with bow and sword and Erestor with his knives. Moments later a knock sounded at the door again and Maksim nodded for Haldir and Erestor to stand out of sight, one each on either side of the door just in case.
Once everyone was positioned with Kim safely on the other side of the room and out of any line of fire, Maksim opened the door.
"Greetings Maksim. My apologies for calling at such an early hour, but I have great need to talk to you or your General Matthews. " A tall man with saturnine features, not dissimilar to Maksim's own features stood in the doorway with the two armed soldiers hovering behind him.
Maksim's jaw clenched slightly. He noticed that Kiril made no attempt to enter. He also noticed that there was a tenseness about his former Lord which was very unnerving. He had lived and worked with the head of his former coven far too long to not recognise the signs that something was very wrong. There was no way that Kiril himself would have travelled across water to see a former member of his coven if there wasn't something wrong. He inclined his head in greeting and stood aside gesturing for the older vampire to enter.
ooOoo
1. [ Spoilers for those who have not watched Buffy all the way through yet] The black roots reference is to Willow taking on powerful dark magicks in Episode 20 of Season 6 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer called Villains, in which one of the characters, Warren, shoots Buffy in the back garden of her home in Sunnydale. Unbeknownst to him, Buffy or Xander who is also present, the bullets from the gun also pierce the window of the room in which Willow is talking to her love interest, witch Tara McClay who takes one of the bullets in her chest, collapses and then dies much to Willow's horror and fury.
Paramedics are called and whisk Buffy off to hospital; meanwhile Willow summons Osiris hoping to summon Tara back to the land of the living in the same way she brought Buffy back from death. Unfortunately Osiris refuses her demands and this sends her on a path of vengeance during which she learns the blackest of the Black Arts literally by osmosis. As she does so, her hair and eyes turn completely back and her skin gets dark purple colour veins. She subsequently goes to the hospital and heals Buffy by magic and then heads off in pursuit of Warren's two friends, Jonathan & Andrew who end up being arrested and stew in jail.
Meanwhile Warren goes to a demon bar and starts gloating about killing the Slayer but gets squelched by one of the demons telling him that not only is the Slayer still alive, Willow was a powerful witch before but now her powers are off the scale and that she can find him anywhere and wreak vengeance on him. Warren panics and runs to a known local warlock, Rack, for help. After desperately trying to protect himself by means of magic, Warren tries to leave town, but Willow tracks greyhound-bus-riding Warren own only to find that he has created a robot identical in appearance and that the real Warren is trying to escape another way.
Willow finally tells Buffy and Xander about Tara's death and they begin to understand how events have unfurled. Buffy rushes home and finds Dawn with Tara's lifeless body. Buffy, Dawn and Xander then discuss their options and Anya, Xander's former girlfriend who is now a Vengeance Demon again, also gets involved. Willow finally finds Warren in the woods outside Sunnydale and tortures him to death. The rest of the episode is merely the events that happen and are not particularly relevant although it does culminate in Giles returning from England after having been imbued with the power of all the witches in his local Wiccan coven in order to try and offset the damage done by Willow's actions.
In the story of Buffy and my own stories, Giles has not yet earned his redemption with the Valar and therefore can only used enhanced magic belonging to others. He has no powers of his own. He gives the vengeance soaked Willow all of the enhanced borrowed magic deliberately so that she literally goes into magic overload and it has the effect of engaging ALL of her emotions, not just fury, anger and revenge. She feels everything, all the sorrows of the world in one massive dose and decides that the only way to stop the suffering of everybody is to actually end the world. The only person in the end who has the strength to divert her from her goal is the only person who has known her since childhood, Xander Harris goes to her and pleads with her and finally he manages to get through to her. She breaks down completely and her hair and skin turn back to normal.
Giles eventually takes her back to England with him and she lives with the coven for a while in order to learn how to control her powers and use them for good.
2. BOO = Battalion Orderly Officer...usually a commissioned officer, Major or below, but can also sometimes be a Senior Non-Commissioned Officer such as a Staff Sergeant or a Warrant Officer. As a Staff Sergeant in the British Army I've carried out BOO on occasions. It's a temporary duty, usually carried out over a twenty four or forty eight hour period and done on a rota basis. The Battalion Orderly Officer is the third in the chain of command from the Guardroom Sergeant, called the Battalion Orderly Sergeant (BOS) who takes overall control of the Guard Room and its duties during the silent hours, 16:00 hours to 07:30 hours. The BOS is immediately accountable to the Regimental Sergeant Major, but depending on the regiment, both BOO and RSM would be called in the event of a serious problem. Normally the BOS would deal with minor problems him or herself.
3. MOD Plods = A fond term used by the actual military to describe the Ministry of Defence Police, who were not military themselves, but employed as guards by the Ministry of Defence. MDP is the MOD's own dedicated civil Police Force, of around 3500 officers - all with constabulary powers - and some 300 civilian staff. It operates in five geographic Divisions serving nearly 100 MOD establishments and units throughout the United Kingdom.